The Proverbial War (Chapter Three - Emotional Exchange, page 1 of 4)

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I stepped into my apartment ignoring the box and its spilled out contents on the floor. I was no one's slave girl!

I was my own woman. I liked my independence, but if I was to ever feel physical touch again in my life it would be a man's touch and not that of a woman's.

The problem was that I did not want a man's touch. I never had. It had been a far easier and comfortable thing to accept a woman's touch than it had been a man's. I'd known it was wrong though and eventually that was why I had stopped, but it hadn't been easy and it was still a temptation for me.

I hated myself and my weakness all the more for it. The forbidden had only brought me ruin and threatened the loss of those I cared about most.

I walked to the window and looked out not really seeing anything in the bright night lights of the city. I brought my phone up from my pocket and dialed the first contact and let it ring.

"Hey Sis what's up?"

I closed my eyes at the sound of my twin brother's voice and prayed for courage.

"Keko there's something very important that I need to talk to you about. Could we meet in the morning somewhere?"

"Sure! My shift starts at seven; maybe we could meet in the park around six and grab a coffee?" Came his quick response.

I fought to hold onto my emotions and quickly said, "That sounds great! I'll see you then."

"Is something wrong Kim? You don't sound right." Came my brother's perceptive voice over the phone line.

"We'll talk in the morning. Good night Keko. I love you!" I said quickly before ending the call.

I held the phone in the fist that I pressed tightly against my lips. Would my brother love me the same after tomorrow morning?

The constant war of thought and emotion over that very thing kept me awake all night.


I fingered the sealed edge of the thickly stuffed manila envelope for a moment. Francesca was about to take a fall, however, so was I. I'd never be able to return to a country like the United States ever again.

It was a small price to pay to see that countless people got their jobs back. I opened the flap of the mailbox outside Jim Swanson's house and let the manila envelope slide into it.

Briskly I hurried away feeling lighter of burden inside, but dreading the emotional exchange that was to come with my brother. He wasn't going to be happy.

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