The neon sign of the massage spa flickered in the afternoon light, a beacon against the urban backdrop. I had frequented this place over the years, drawn by its tranquil ambiance and the skill of the masseuses, but today, it was a new receptionist that grabbed my attention. Clad in a form-fitting black blouse and mini skirt, she sat poised behind the counter, radiating a striking allure that was impossible to ignore. Her long legs, accentuated by high heels, gave her a statuesque appearance, while her straight black hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing an exotic face that could have belonged to a fashion model.
Our eyes met as I handed over the payment for my usual service. There was a momentary flicker of recognition, or perhaps interest, in her deep-set eyes that piqued my curiosity. As she handed me my change, I reached out, intentionally allowing my hand to graze against hers. I paused, taken aback by the soft, femininity of her touch. I longed to strike up a conversation, but just as I was about to speak, the spa phone rang, and she was pulled away by her duties.
Days turned into weeks, and I found myself repeatedly visiting the spa, ostensibly for the relaxing massages but, in truth, to catch another glimpse of the enchanting receptionist. But each time, I was met with disappointment. She was not there. According to her colleagues, she had taken an unexpected leave of absence and had not returned since.
Her sudden absence was unnerving, and my mind began to churn with all possible scenarios. A sense of foreboding loomed over me, pushing me to uncover the truth. With a bit of research and some detective-like snooping, I discovered her address and went there.
An elderly neighbor, watering her plants, cast a curious glance in my direction. I approached her, showing her a picture of the receptionist. The neighbor’s eyes widened in recognition, and then she sighed, her expression filled with concern. The receptionist, she explained, was living with a man notorious for his involvement in illicit activities.
This revelation made me uneasy, triggering an instinctive urge to help. I walked up to the house, every fiber of my being on high alert. As I reached the doorstep, a sharp cry pierced the silence, setting my heart racing. Kicking the door open, I saw her on the floor, bruised and battered. The sight fueled my adrenaline, and without thinking, I rushed to her side, pulling her into my arms.
But her man, a hulking figure, emerged from the shadows. Anger distorted his features as he accused me of trespassing. Before I could respond, a flash of silver caught my eye, and a sharp pain erupted in my chest. A gunshot echoed around the room, and I fell, my vision blurring.
I woke up to the sound of soft sobs. She was by my side, tears staining her cheeks, her hands tightly holding mine. Her relieved smile was the last thing I saw before I drifted back into unconsciousness. But then, a startling realization hit me – it had all been a dream, an unsettling figment of my overactive imagination. However, the emotions were real, the fear, the concern, and an unexpected desire to protect her. As I woke up, I knew my perception of her had forever changed, and maybe it was time to know her better, as a person, beyond the beautiful receptionist she was.
Mike m. luster 