Tag Archives: Bella

Bella’s Very Last Attempt

Regardless of how many mariachi bands Hancho might hire, Bella knew her time with him was nearing its end. In the days that followed, he returned to his grumpy self. The dinners were no longer heavy spreads of flautas, fried plantains, and sangria.

Hancho grilled chicken or steak without seasoning and served it with cold salsa. He cracked bottles of beer and burped between bites. Despite his ever-bulging biceps, the man had lost all attraction for her.

Bella felt like a kept woman. She gave him one last test by hopping on Etsy and buying this gorgeous silk slip dress in burgundy. She wore it at dinner, hoping Hancho’s eyes would finally turn toward her as tears slid down her cheeks.

Listening to Hancho’s endless exercise routines made her sick. What about gazing at her once in a while? Asking about her day?

Bella tried three solid nights to connect with him. She cleared her throat, yet he spoke over her. She let him fondle her nipples while she talked about a new piece of gym equipment, but she might as well have been cloaked in armor.

On her final testing night, Bella broke down in tears. Hancho kissed her on the cheek, skipped to the bedroom, and shut the door. He might as well have buried her in that silk dress, spit on the tomb, and cursed her name for the rest of his life.

Bella had no choice but to form a new plan. One that will be revealed in the next post.

There’s an alluring piece of wardrobe made purely of silk. Should you use that link, I will be offered a few coins strictly for my amusement.

Hancho Steps It Up?

Just when you think you’re about to move in one direction, life has a funny way of asking, “Are you sure?”

Bella was almost certain she was going to leave Hancho. Her bags were packed. The costume was tucked neatly at the bottom. She even bought this gorgeous canteen, thinking she’d be living in the woods for months.

Lo and behold, Hancho came home one evening with a dozen balloons, a Mexican meal from Bella’s favorite restaurant, and a mariachi band. One of Bella’s favorite servers showed up to help. Hancho lit candles, dressed like he was going to a job interview, and waited for Bella to return.

At 7:30 p.m., Bella walked through the door and froze, wondering if she had entered the wrong apartment.

“Come in, come in,” Hancho shouted over the mariachi band.

“What’s this for?” Bella blushed.

“You’ve done so much for me, baby. You took a job so I could spend time at the gym. It’s time I pay you back. Sit down. I have wonderful news.”

Those three-plus hours he spent at the gym every day had caught the owners’ attention. They decided Hancho could be more than a patron. They hired him as a full-time trainer.

“So does that mean you’ll be spending more time at the gym?”

“Not necessarily.” Hancho took a sip of sangria. “I’ll be training with clients. You and I will get home from work around the same time.”

They toasted to Hancho’s new job. They ate, laughed, and giggled as if they were just meeting for the first time. The sangria kept flowing. Four pitchers later, everyone, including the mariachi band, was drunk.

Their server crashed on the couch. The band stumbled out of the apartment and nearly fell down the stairs.

As Bella’s vision spun in circles, she lay in bed listening to Hancho next to her and the server on the couch, both snoring like an entire forest being leveled. Before drifting off to sleep, Bella mumbled, “What the fuck am I doing?”

By the way, if that leather-wrapped canteen I mentioned earlier caught your eye, there’s a link above. If you pick one up, it throws a little change my way. Just promise me you’ll fill it with water, not sangria.

Hancho, Make This Real!

If you run a bakery, wouldn’t it make sense that your customers support you by buying pastries, breads, and other baked goods? If your answer is “no,” then I can’t help you. Not sure who can.

When it came to Bella and her romantic life, she expected Hancho to meet her partway. Not just by offering his gorgeous physique, but at the very least checking in on her.

Here’s a fantasy that often crossed her mind: she’s on her way home from work. Every passerby reeks like rotten eggs. Maybe she smells that way too.

The stairs up to her apartment feel like thirteen miles. She opens the door, and a woman Bella has never seen before has a massage table propped open in the living room.

“Bella, dear,” the woman says. “Hancho will be back any minute, but please hop in the bath.”

She locks fingers with Bella and leads her to the bathtub. The room is dimly lit with lavender-scented candles. Rose petals are tossed here and there. The bathwater is the perfect temperature.

The woman offers Bella a glass of champagne and tells her to take her time. When she’s done with her bath, she should wrap herself in this gorgeous pink robe.

Instrumental flute music plays in the background. Bella’s muscles ease. She almost falls asleep, but then remembers the massage.

She lifts herself out of the bath, dries off, and slips into that wildly soft pink robe. She shuffles to the massage table, lies down, and this time does fall asleep.

Each time she woke from this fantasy, she knew something had to be done. Either Hancho had to step it up, or she’d have to leave.

Above is a link. If you click it and buy that stunning robe, I’ll earn a teeny tiny profit.

Protection

Bella dreamed she had morphed into a butterfly. She flitted among the daisies, sipping their nectar. With her butterfly friends, she drifted up to a branch high in the trees. They shared their day’s collection of nectar, getting slightly intoxicated, until…

Bam!

Hancho slammed the bedroom door. Bella jolted awake, half-expecting him to fling her across the room.

“Damn cats,” Hancho muttered.

“What cats?” Bella’s eyes stung. She needed at least three more hours of sleep.

“Outside. You didn’t hear the commotion?”

Bella shook her head.

Hancho groaned as he undressed. His once-appealing muscular body now reminded her of a medieval knight, except instead of armor, he wore freckled flesh.

“You got work tomorrow,” Hancho hissed. “In the bed now.”

Bella crawled under the covers, but she lay awake. As Hancho’s snores filled the room, she thought about that wool sweater, how it disguised her, but didn’t necessarily keep her safe.

She carried a can of mace, but it didn’t feel like enough. Guns were bulky, and illegal in New York.

Knives though. Or better yet, one simple pocket knife. Perfect. Bella grabbed her phone, searched the internet, and stumbled across this gorgeous one. She didn’t think twice. She made the purchase.

As she drifted back to sleep, she reminded herself that the knife was just in case. Hopefully, she’d never need to use it, other than to open packages, cut twigs (if she ever went camping, which she knew she eventually would), or slice a hunk of bread from a loaf.

There’s an affiliate link above. Should you purchase it, earnings will come my way. More importantly, may you use that knife in the most ethical way possible.

Bella’s First Disappearing Act

If you ever met Bella on the street, you might have a hard time seeing her. It has nothing to do with her physique. She’s gorgeous, slender, with brown eyes that spark a mix of excitement and just a hint of naughtiness.

It’s her clothing that makes her disappear. She leans on black, gray, and white. Sometimes those colors overlap, sometimes they stand alone, but compared to the women in brighter outfits, Bella fades into the background.

She isn’t clueless about fashion. She dresses this way on purpose. Bella hates standing out, and muted colors let her slip by unnoticed.

That choice became her shield. If Hancho came looking, he’d scan the crowds for the blacks, grays, and whites he knew she wore. To test her theory, Bella decided to experiment.

She went on Etsy and found this hand-knit turtleneck in blue and white. Autumn was creeping in, and her lace dresses were useless against the cold. The sweater promised warmth and a new kind of disguise.

When it arrived, she tried it on, pulled her hair into a bun, layered on rouge and mascara, and glued on long lashes. Then she staked out Hancho’s gym.

He walked in and out several times, never once recognizing her. Bella grinned. Success.

She hurried home, washed off the makeup, folded the turtleneck, and slipped back into her old clothes. To Hancho, she was still the muted Bella he knew. But now she carried a secret.

Above is the very turtleneck she wore. If you pick one up, I’ll receive a small token of financial appreciation in return.

Hancho, Part Two

Hancho’s father never left. Sure, he’d hobble to the bodega every morning for a paper and egg sandwich. Occasionally, he would join a group of men for gambling and arguing over appropriate female attire. Mostly, he sat on the couch like a kind old lump.

Bella tuned the man out and focused exclusively on Hancho. Did he have any idea what a damper his father’s presence had on their budding relationship? These thoughts overwhelmed her, so she’d ponder work instead.

Other than taking lunch with her boss, Bella was quiet. She barely mingled with her co-workers. That is, until the company hired Daphne. She could’ve been Bella’s twin, except for her bright blue eyes.

Daphne was obsessed with frogs. She had frog mugs. Pins made of assorted materials that, when melded together, formed a frog. Daphne would stay late at the office, not because she had work, but because of this solar-powered frog figurine. If you click on the affiliate link, you’ll see a happy frog holding a book, either thinking or perhaps happily interrupted by a loved one. The book only illuminates in a dark setting.

Bella had yet to see the magic of this figurine.

“Can you stay late with me?” Daphne asked Bella. “I’d like to show you something.”

“I can head back to the house, eat with Hancho and his lovely mole of a father… then return after that.”

They nodded in agreement.

At 8:30 p.m., Bella and Daphne stood together, their elbows gliding against one another, staring at the frog figurine.

“It’s so lovely,” Daphne sighed.

Bella said nothing. This is exactly how she pictured Hancho someday. Wisened. Happy. Rested. Eager to interweave fantasy and reality. She fell to her knees as if that frog statue had become some religious icon, then sobbed.

Above is an affiliate link where I will get the most luscious nickels that will fall from the sky and into my pocket.

Bella, Part Three

For three solid weeks, Bella and Hancho hobbled around his apartment in silence.

They moved like mute pantomimes, directionless and bruised by something neither would name.

Hancho’s time at the gym doubled, denying Bella the chance to watch the veins bulge in his arms during a bicep curl. So she stayed home, staring out the window, eating beans out of a can.

On the street were happy couples, arm in arm. Some walked dogs. Others pushed baby strollers.

“Will I ever get there with Hancho?” she asked herself.

Before she had a chance to answer, he came bursting through the door with a box.

“This is for you,” he said, sliding it her way. The side of it grazed her left calf.

Inside was a leather briefcase.

What the hell was Bella supposed to do with this?

“It’s very nice,” Bella told him. “But… what’s it for?”

“What’s it for?” Hancho’s face turned red. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead. “You’re gonna go to work.”

Then came the expletives. Then the mumbling. Something about how ungrateful she was.

Back in Wisconsin, Bella’s only job was at Dairy Queen. She started in high school and worked there until several days before she left for New York. If she showed up to Dairy Queen with a leather briefcase, everyone would’ve laughed. The manager might’ve pulled her aside and asked if she intended to move up in the company.

As she stared at the briefcase — tilted sideways in its cardboard cradle — Hancho told her to use her time wisely. He gave her two days to find a decent office job.

“And what if I can’t?” Bella asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Hancho replied, gym bag in hand.

He slammed the door behind him. Its vibration sent a chill down her back.

In next week’s post, Hancho’s abusive energy is put on hold while Bella navigates joy in unexpected places.

Oh, and if that briefcase link above gave you a tingle of “maybe I need that,” just know it’s an affiliate link.

If you grab one, I might make a few coins — not enough for a mansion, but maybe enough for Bella to upgrade to a can of organic beans.

Bella, Part Two

As I zipped up the tent, I figured Bella would mumble a quick thank you, and we’d both be out like lights. But the moment my head hit the makeshift pillow, the questions started. Who was she? Would this be Abby’s and my last night on Earth?

I started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Here we are, two strangers, lying side by side—almost as intimate as it gets—yet we know nothing about each other.”

“Would you like to hear my story?”

You’d think the scream that prompted me to “rescue” her would’ve been a sign to say, “Maybe tomorrow?” or “Just a quick version?” But nope—I told her to go ahead.

Bella’s originally from Wisconsin. Estranged from her parents, who used religion as a weapon. Two summers ago, she’d had enough. She hit the road for New York—on foot, no less—wearing these badass motorcycle boots.

She had never been to NYC. Instantly, she fell in love—not just with the city, but with the wrong man. Hancho. A Greek Jew who spent more time in the gym than he did sleeping.

Hancho wore tight shorts and a muscle shirt. Bella fell in love with the veins running down his arms. She wasn’t paying attention to the force behind them.

“Sit here!”

“Get out the fucking way, bitch.”

She’d never encountered a man like Hancho in Wisconsin. Bella did everything to appease him—polished his lifting shoes, ironed his sweaty socks, handed him his 128 oz thermos between sets.

It didn’t take long before Bella lost track of her finances. One day, sent to buy protein bars, her card declined. She panicked. What would she tell Hancho?

She raced back to the gym—where else would he be?—and muttered her confession. For a moment, he looked at her like she’d turned into a rotting corpse. Then he resumed his workout and ignored her for the rest of the day.

There’s only so much of Bella’s story I can tell in one sitting before getting ill. It’s so tragic. Absurd. And it’s to be continued.

Until next week, I hope your eyes stumbled across the affiliate link above. May the boots fit—and may you never trip over your own feet. Bella didn’t. Why should you?

Bella, Part One

It’s the middle of the night. You’re lying in your tent, tossing and turning, searching for that perfect position.

You’re about 50 yards from the trail, yet the sudden scream sounds like it’s coming from inside your tent.

This isn’t a dream. Not a drill.

You know someone’s in terrible danger—but you have no idea what to do.

If you unzip the tent, he/she/it/they might spot you.

Do nothing, and the person…

What would you do?

I’ll tell you what I did.

First, I shut Abby up—her barking was ruining the vibe.

Then the beast in me tore the tent wide open, and I hollered,

“Pull your shit together or I’m gonna beat all your asses.”

Silence.

Not a stir.

I then grabbed this fucker.

Thank god for it—if I’d had any weaker flashlight, I would’ve seen nothing but branches.

Turned it on, and just beyond the light: a woman in her early 30s, dressed in what looked like a large doily.

“You’re not gonna hurt me?” she asked, trembling.

I didn’t dare step forward. She almost looked feral.

“If you attack me, I will.”

“I won’t attack you.” She grinned. “My name’s Bella.”

Bella said she has regular nightmares and was hoping a night out in nature would cure her.

“Could take a while,” I told her.

I hadn’t shared my name—must’ve forgotten.

Just as I thought the conversation was winding down, she asked if she could stay in my tent for the rest of the night.

“With me?”

“If you don’t mind.”

I nodded.

She hobbled over. In we went.

We didn’t sleep, but there was no hanky panky either.

More on Bella—and our journey—next week.

Hopefully the affiliate link above didn’t blind you. It has that power.