This is a voyage through the possibilities of who he is and who he can be in various universes. I welcome you to a world of each and every characteristic of DeVanté is existing as a separate entity in its own universe.
created: 23 February, 2018
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A walk of shame can't compare to a walk of guilt in the eyes of either of the separated spouses. Divorce rested on the horizon, doused in fabrics of uncertainty as a question mark remained in line behind. Finality lacked the stone needed to become concrete when it came to the proposal thirteen months after vows were made in holy matrimony. It'd all came tumbling, crashing down, from the skies of bliss once the lovers fell from the ninth cloud away from heaven.
Blue orbs, a cursed gift playing as a reminder of the misfortunes of an early female ancestor, narrow at the door as the pained stare awaits the opening of the french styled wood in the suite. Uncomfortable. She remains uncomfortable addressing her past life as head on as she deems she must in order to get what she considers a deserved right earned through many nights of tears salting pillow cases as fears ate away at the plasticity of her brain. The awaited party remains tardy as his schedule and lack of concern for other opinions have allowed him to comfortably become used to such practices. It was too bad she forgot about his disregard for punctuality prior to agreeing to a nocturnal appointment.
Sabrina's eyes fall to her snakeskin pumps, pointed toes and red soles play as a sign of luxury. Her nerves swell, cotton skirt tightening on the body already bloating as her menstrual cycle awaits around the corner ready to greet her with the bittersweet relief of her uterus remaining vacant. Sabrina sighs, shifting in her seat, eyes breaking away from the door to seek out the time of hour on the rose-gold watch she wears on her left wrist. Two minutes. Her scorned lover has two minutes to arrive. If not, she will be taking less understanding precautions to ensure a signature is placed on a dotted line that will grant her the martial freedom she's seeking.
The tick that followed the tock on the suite's clock is what Sabrina expected to be her final sound heard upon her exit from the hotel. As she stands, the jingle of a twisting doorknob intercepts the right of the clock. The sour taste of her stomach acids shifting, nauseating her to the point of an overly damp tongue contradicting her desert dry, burning esophagus becomes the flavor pallet she associates with death... Death to her relationship, death to her past life, death to her dreams, death to her past self. Death, nothing short of a graveyard.
"JoJo say she had holes in her drawers," he laughs to himself as he fully enters the room. His smile fades as the door is shut behind himself. He recognizes that fact that he's walked into Sabrina's makeshift graveyard in his home for the night. "What you doin' here?" Standing somewhere on the verge of four inches above six feet in his boots, his lengthy arms are weighed down as the energy is drained from body the moment his hazel stare notices the body waiting for him at the room's main table.
Sabrina fights the urge to negatively respond. Instead, she gathers her patience and composure. "You told me to come here when I called you the day before yesterday," she reminds. "Did you forget, Don?"
"Yeah, I forgot."
Outside forces struggle too see how the pair can hardly stand to be in the same room as the other. The two recognize the heights of their intense emotional connection and that was the moment Don had his own realization. They can be in the same. They cannot be in the save room while both are sober, however.
