The Most Fantastic Evening of Her Life

Helena lived in a suburb called Thunderknave Hill, named after the poet. The area consisted almost exclusively of tall blocks of flats built mainly in the 1970's and 1980's in a bid to compensate for the massive population growth back then. The bus connections were superior, so she once again decided to leave her little, blue car behind in its usual parking space outside her own block. It was raining today as well, so she was dressed in her dark red raincoat, wearing black wellingtons.

Yesterday she went to bed ridiculously early. And woke up ridiculously late. She slept until ten thirty, meaning that she slept for a solid fifteen hours. A sloth would have been impressed. Her excessive sleeping had to mean that her body and mind craved rest. Now it had got it. She felt remarkably well, the bad episode at Arikaz Mall had slid into the comforting bliss of oblivion. Five minutes shy of six o'clock she rang the doorbell outside Helena's tall block.

"Hello?" her soft, sexy voice sounded through the speaker.

"It's Amalie," Amalie replied with a voice that for once was not tense. She had not been nervous at all today. Only cried twice and panicked once.

"I'll buzz you in," Helena said.

Amalie entered the building through the buzzing door and stepped into the elevator. A red-walled box with a mirror. Amalie and the other Amalie stood there looking at each other. Both of them had a serious, but calm expression on their milk-white faces. Dark-red lipstick and mascara. She almost looked as Goth as Henriette. Was it coincidence? Maybe. Helena lived on 13th floor. A short ascent later the semi-Goth exited the elevator and walked along the endless, red-walled corridor. A black door opened in the middle of it. Helena's stunning, smiling face popped out. Her kind smile. Her even kinder hazel eyes. Her brown hair. Her tall, slender figure. Amalie approached her with crazy head tingles, her mouth slightly opened.

"Hey, you..." Helena purred softly. - "Come in."

Amalie took off her red raincoat. She was dressed in a black, tight-fitted sweater, her shoulders and decolletage bare. A pair of black, shiny tights under a dark-red skirt. In addition she wore her new leather choker with the dragon pendant. Her rather short fingernails were black as coal. Henriette mark II. Was it coincidence? Maybe. She hanged her raincoat on one of the hooks on the wall. It fell down. Letting out a sigh, she bent down, picked it up and hanged it back up. It fell down yet again.

"D****t, it won't hang," she muttered.

"Here, let me," Helena said, took her raincoat and hanged it up. This time it stayed there.

The two turned to each other.

"I've missed you," Amalie said, looking the stunning, doe-eyed beauty standing before her. Helena let out a soft giggle, before she hugged her. The two exchanged a soft, tender kiss. Helena scratched her back slowly and evocatively, making Amalie melt like butter. A teasing smirk on Helena's face.

"I've missed you too, Amalie," she said softly into her ear. Amalie got crazy head tingles. She smelled her hair. - "I've missed your soft hair. The smell. I love it." Slow scratching. Amalie let out a vocalization that could not be classified as human speech. Helena took her hand and led her into the living room. The smell of something spicy filled the flat.

There was a dark-blue, comfy couch and a dark oaken living room table in there. On the wall there hung a large LCD TV. A black kitchen counter. A large black kitchen table set for three. A bottle of wine on the table; some Portuguese-sounding brand Amalie had never heard of. On the floor next to the living room table there was a sheep's hide, its fluffy wool as white as snow. It was a nicely decorated flat that bore a strange similarity to not only Amalie's flat, but Denise's as well. Was it coincidence? Maybe.

Helena poured wine into a glass and handed it over to Amalie. She took a sip from it.

"I love your necklace!" Helena said, stroking a finger across the choker. Amalie's mouth slightly opened.

"Thank you," she said with a whimperish voice. Helena herself was wearing a dark-blue shirt and a pair of white jeans, a glittering silver necklace around her slender neck. Her brown hair was in a pony tail. - "I bought it yesterday at Arikaz mall."

"It's beautiful," Helena said, pouring wine into her own glass. - "It really suits you, baby." The two glasses touched. Both of them took a sip. Helena put down her glass, Amalie did likewise.

"So... You wrote that you got a new job?" Amalie asked.

"Yup. It's a full-time position in Central Battersby. The position I had at Ligut Heights was only 60 %, so I relied on taking extra shifts, sometimes having to step in on a few hours' notice. Very hard to make plans. Now I work 100 % and have every Saturday and Sunday off. Pure luxury in this line of work."

"That's great news, Helena! What kinda job is that?"

"I'll still be an ergotherapist, but now I will travel all around the region and help disabled people with selecting the aid that suits them the best. The main office will be in Central Battersby, so I'll get my own work car. Probably a cheap car, like Toyota Aygo." Amalie's car.

"All over the region?"

"There are many disabled people out there, and not two have the same needs. Someone might just need specially made shoes, while someone else might need an electric wheelchair like that of your brother's. My job is to determine what they need."

"Congratulations, Helena." A genuine smile. - "I'm so happy for you."

No more Helena at Ligut Heights. Now she would be traveling all around the region in an Amalie car.

"How about you, Amalie?" Helena asked. - "How's your job going?"

A sting. It did not go very well.

"Okay, I guess," Amalie said, taking another sip from her wine. Helena listened attentively. - "I teach math, and that's about all. Nothing new under the Sun. Math doesn't change, it's always, you know, math... I guess... No... Not much going on." A short laugh. A kind smile. - "And now I'm here with you."

Helena took her hands and led them on the small of her back:

"You're so cute, Amalie. I've been thinking a lot about you since Thursday. I'm so sorry I didn't answer your text. And that I sent a text to you that wasn't meant for you. I intended to send it to my mother, but I sent it to you for some reason." Dark, kind hazel eyes. - "I hope you're not mad at me."

"It's okay," Amalie said. - "I could never be mad at you. Never." Feeling the warmth from Helena's body tantalized her. Especially when Helena got that teasing smirk on her face, before she started scratching her fingernails on her lower back. Drowning in her large doe eyes she could not control herself anymore! Pulling Helena closer to her, she kissed her.

The two started making out, Amalie leaning against the black kitchen counter. Soft moans. The two's moans slightly differed from each other; Amalie's moans were whimper-like, Helena's were a tad deeper.

"I want you...!" Helena whispered into her ear. Amalie let out a cat-like sound, twisting her body in pleasure. - "I want you so badly...! Later tonight, when my mother's gone, I'm gonna drive you insane!" Slow, intensifying scratching on her lower back. Amalie squealed and giggled - she squiggled. - "You think what happened in the shower was intense? Just wait until I show you what I can do with my tongue...!" Amalie swallowed, virtually melting like butter, mesmerized by Helena's crazy hazel eyes.

Right then the doorbell rang. The two interrupted their ascent to Heaven. Heaven would have to wait. Amalie was so aroused that she was on the verge of crying, taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart. Her face was red as blood, her cheeks boiling.

"It must be mom," Helena said softly with her blushed cheeks, giving Amalie one last kiss and one last slow scratch. - "You just wait here, honey. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to meet you." A doe-eyed smirk.

Amalie took her glass of wine and drank a decent sip from it. The door opened. Phrases in what had to be Portuguese sounded, a language of which Amalie understood nothing. Pleasant voices. Helena's mom sounded like a very nice person. A dinner with Helena and her mom would be awesome. Then Helena's... tongue. The violently aroused blonde melted like butter only thinking about it. This evening was going to be the most fantastic evening of her life! A wide smile on her face as Helena and her mother entered the living room.

The smile stiffened.

"Mom, this is Amalie," Helena said with her soft voice and beautiful smile.

No... It could not be. The Hispanic woman from the mall! No! Impossible! So totally, utterly unfair! Amalie paled all the way to the bone, wanting to dig herself six feet under. She did not see that one coming. Karma was not only a b***h, it was a dominatrix from Hell equipped with a metal strap-on with barbed wire around it.

The smile turned into a grimace of visceral horror. Anxiety ran rampant through her body, before seizing her chest and diaphragm with its cold claws. The barbed-wire strap-on of twisted justice, the rabid demon hound that came back to bite her in her milk-white a*s. Past once again fucked up her life.

"You!" Helena's mother exclaimed in shock and revulsion, her dark-brown eyes narrowing, her face contorted in a hostile frown.

"YOU're Helena's mother?!" Amalie exclaimed with a shrill voice. Poor Helena looked back and forth between the two, stumped by their reaction to each other.

"You two know each other?" she asked curiously.

"If we know each other?!" the mother vociferously exclaimed. - "It's that b***h from the mall!" Amalie's mouth closed bang shut, her body slowly bending as if getting into attack mode. A wide-eyed glare of offense and humiliation.

Helena's mother now switched to Portuguese. Judging by the intonation and the aggression, it was not pleasant small-talk. Helena stood there with her mouth agape, appalled by what her mother stood there telling her. The tall, slender beauty turned to Amalie with a look of disbelief and slightly narrowing hazel eyes. No longer kind. The door to Helena's heart (and tongue!!) closed with a loud bang, and the poor blonde found herself standing in the proverbial rain.

"Amalie, what the Hell?!" Helena exclaimed with fiery eyes and a flint-hard voice. Her latin roots now shone through, her soft and kind demeanor was long gone. - "You attacked my mom?!"

"I'm sorry!" the poor blonde wailed, letting out a sob. - "I'm so sorry! I didn't know she was your mother!"

"That gives you no right to treat her or anyone else like that!" Helena exclaimed aggressively, pointing her accusing finger at her. Amalie was devastated. - "I should have known. Your assaulting Sophie at Phil's gym raised a red flag. Now my own mother tells me you assaulted her. My mother! That's unacceptable. I don't want violent, unstable people in my life. I've had my fair share of them."

"Helena, please..." Amalie whimpered, tears running down her face.

"No. You lost me at the 'I attacked your mom' behavior. There's nothing you can say or do. Get out of here, Amalie."

"Fine." She left the living room with the little she had left of grace and dignity, leading a trembling hand through her hair. A sob.

"You should have just apologized," her mother lectured from the living room. It was the last thing Amalie heard before she politely closed the door to the flat. She wanted to scream. Pull out her hair. Jump from the balcony. However, she kept it all inside of her.

She could have just said "Excuse me". She could have just apologized the second time she met her. She could have just been nicer. If only she had the ability to travel back in time and change it all. How far back would she have gone? Back to when she was nine? When she started masturbating? Back to when she was 13? When she shoved a baseball bat up her vagina and-- No. She could not change a thing. There was not a thing she could change about her past. Not what happened when she was nine. Not what happened when she was 13. Not what happened this week. Damn! Why did life have to have such rough and merciless guidelines? One could take the driving test how many times one wanted. One could take the human being test only once. Once a human being did not like one, it was over. Nothing to do. Helena's mother did not like her. She would never ever like her. Helena was lost forever.

Her tongue too.

This Friday was not the fantastic evening she hoped it would be. Instead it had turned into a dreadful nightmare of bad karma, of vengeful mothers, of promised love that suddenly disappeared. Doors slamming shut in her face. Lecturing. Should have done this. Should have done that. One thing was certain: She should have apologized.
Back in her empty, silent flat she cuddled together in her red, comfy couch, preferring bad reality television next to the silence and the emptiness. She cried. My God, how much she cried! Watching a program about pornography addiction, she ate vinegar-flavored crisps from a big bag while drinking carbonated water with pear flavor. Watching people addicted to pornography and masturbation. What a denouement of what could have been the most fantastic evening of her life! How tragic. How pathetic.

A full stomach. An empty heart. A deep, hollow feeling that no food nor drink could fill. Her red, sore eyes glared at the LCD screen. A picture clearer than crystal. A mind denser than muddy water. Addiction made people stupid. A man risked losing his beautiful, caring wife and three little children due to wanking and watching porn. Did he deserve his family in the first place? A sardonic smile. Enraged she switched channels. A documentary about teenage moms. Another sardonic smile. At least they got laid. She switched channels, seething with resentment and bitterness. 24 pushing 25. A documentary about a girl her age living with MS. She was diagnosed when she was 17. Very young, unusually young for the onset of that horrible disease. Finally someone worse off than Amalie! She watched the documentary intrigued.

The woman celebrated her 25th birthday with her family and closest friends. By another amazing coincidence she was from Norway, the country in the world with most cases of MS relative to the number of inhabitants. Watching her trying to cut the cake was harrowing. She could barely hold the knife. One could see her try so hard, but her hand just would not stop shaking. Eventually she let go of the knife and her mother had to cut the cake for her. Amalie sat there with big, shiny eyes. The next clip showed her catheterizing herself on the toilet, since the disease made her unable to control her bladder. Yellow urine flowed out of the plastic tube and into the toilet. Again, quite harrowing. Yet another clip showed her walking along a wind-torn beach, using a cane to walk. The disease's nature was revealed: She had good and bad periods. She had just emerged from a bad one. It had lasted for weeks, and she had been bedridden most of the time. She called it an attack. For every attack the disease slowly progressed. The binding fat in her nerves was slowly being devoured by the body itself; MS is an autoimmune disease, meaning that the body essentially attacks itself; in this case the myelin chains, which function as information carriers between the nerve cells. It was incurable, but the symptoms could be managed with drugs and, surprisingly, marihuana. Although it was illegal in Norway, she smoked weed on a regular basis, claiming that it relieved many of the debilitating symptoms. Health personnel came to her house every day, and they simply pretended that they did not see or smell what she was doing. That gave them plausible deniability of her breaking the law just in case of an investigation.

She missed having someone in her life. Amalie knew that feeling way too well. Having a boyfriend was not easy when one had to insert a plastic tube in one's bladder to relieve oneself. But, as the girl said with a smirk, her sex life is normal. At least for now. A sombre expression in her pale blue eyes. The documentary ended with short clips of a woman in her mid 30's with advanced MS. She was in an electric wheelchair, dependent on a computer to communicate. This was the young woman's future.

Amalie now preferred teenage moms and wanking family guys as opposed to the bleak future of the sufferer of an incurable disease.