Hello Soulmate Read online

Hello Soulmate

  Copyright 2016

  Hello Soulmate by Faith Anna

  www.faithbrownonline.com

  All rights reserved.

  The contents of this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any part or by any means without the prior written consent of the author and/or publisher.

  Disclaimer: All character names and personalities in this work of fiction are entirely fictional, created solely in the imagination of the author. Hello Soulmate is a work of fiction and businesses, locations, and organizations while real are used in a way that is purely fictional.

  Graphic Design by Truevined https://www.truevined.com

   

  Chapter One

  When I turned 34, I decided I had spent too much time dilly-dallying and hurting. I accepted that I was responsible for my own happiness and for making my dreams come true. Those far-fetched goals I called daydreams were actually worth pursuing. I figured that I could live my dreams if I embraced change. I could indeed live my dreams. Acting on the new-found impetus, I applied for an internally advertised position in my organization and got the job. I was going back to the United States.

  Along with another colleague, I was on a job transfer from Pretoria, South Africa to Minot, North Dakota. I was in communications while June was in finance. Many refugees from Africa were settling in Minot which made it difficult for the local Peace Institute staff to cope. The opening could not have come at a better time. I was barely keeping my excitement in check. Although Canadians, my parents and I had lived in Sioux Falls, South Dakota since I was fifteen. My dad had worked at the Royale Bank, USA until his retirement. After my dad died a decade ago, my mom moved into a retirement home in Brookings.

  Minot was not that far – it was just the neighbouring state. But it made no difference since I was an orphan. My mom had died two years ago. I was never the same after that. I wished she had lived to be at least 90. We had never been close to the few relatives we had and I had no intention of pursuing a closer relationship with them after my parents were gone.

  My mom was forty when she got pregnant with me. They had given up hope of having a baby. I was an only child but my parents never spoiled me. They brought me up to be a strong, independent woman. My parents had encouraged me to follow my dreams and that was what I did. I regretted that my single-minded focus on career had deprived them of grandchildren.

  A voice sneaked up to my conscious reminding me that it was not too late to have a child. After all, women in their forties (like my mom) and early 50’s had successful pregnancies and deliveries. Didn’t Halle Berry have a baby at 47 and it was hardly newsy? I entered into dialogue with the voice, reminding it that I needed a man to form an equation.

  One snag in my ‘it is not too late to be a mother’ theory was the fact that I found it difficult getting emotionally involved with men. Being the stereotypical romantic, I must be swept off my feet to allow even a close embrace or smooching. In the past, I’d had a few flings – mere infatuations that lasted a couple of months. I knew the first guy when I was in my second year of college and the other when I was about leaving college. Actually, I only went on a date with each of them. After they had paid for dinner, I was not willing to reciprocate with even a goodnight kiss. That was it. End of story.

  Time had done a fast forward on me and I found myself ‘in my thirties’. I still remember how scared I had been of turning the much talked about 30. When the day arrived, I felt nothing. Happy? Sad? Excited? Scared? No; nothing. Truth be told: it was more like numb.

  That was five years ago.

  As time continued to race, I began to see myself as a nun in camouflage or perhaps without vocation. Perhaps I had become a hermit. Everyone assumed I had a boyfriend and I did not bother telling anyone the truth. But what was the truth? Was I an ice princess? Did I always find reasons to discourage men from getting close to me? It was unfair to label every man as mean. I wished I did not reject men so forthrightly. I did not believe in toying with emotions. I did not even know how to. But being so blunt was getting me nowhere and TIME was a merciless taskmaster. Sometimes, I wished my Mom had taught me how to ‘handle men’ – you know, it was a skill many women possessed. Perhaps she had not known how to either – Genes… DNA: such a sticky, tricky thing. You could never run from it. I never had ‘wild’ and sophisticated friends; perhaps I would have learned a thing or two from such friends.

  The Continental Airline plane touched the ground, bringing me back to the present.

  We arrived at the Minot Airport. I thought it was called ‘International’ but it was really small. June and I went through customs and then walked towards the arrival area where a few people were waiting. As we scanned the crowd, a woman walked towards us, beaming.

  “Hi Erin! Hi June!” I guessed that was Lisa – the personal assistant to the Director in the Minot Office of the Peace Institute. She had informed us that she would be meeting us at the airport.

  My colleague June and I walked towards her. The small space seemed crowded.

  “Glad to see you made it. I’m Lisa.” She welcomed us genially and then turned to the man beside her. “By the way, I want you two to meet one of our heads. Michael, meet June and Erin.” Lisa was friendly and genuinely happy to see us – not the ‘I’m just doing my job’ kind.

  “Nice meeting you, Michael.” That was June. I felt the usual reticence with strangers but managed “Hi”.

  Michael shook our hands. “Welcome to Minot. Nice to meet you both.”

  As I looked into Michael’s eyes, my heart missed a beat. His eyes held me spellbound. I couldn’t tell why but they were the most attractive eyes I had seen. And that smile… oh my gosh! I could not explain the feeling. I was confused. Usually I did not give men a second look and so rarely remembered faces after a couple of casual meetings. Also, I had always considered myself a social misfit. Often, I would be in a social environment and not be able to engage people in conversation. That day was no exception but that did not stop the strange feeling that came over me as Michael smiled at me. He had a boyish smile that was innocent and honest – almost shy – but nonetheless disarming. Then I became irritated by it. Here’s another hypocritical clown, I thought. Giving his signature smile to impress but privately he must be horrible as a partner. He had his hands in his pocket so, I could not tell whether he was married or not.

  As we stood, the others chatted. I could hardly get a word in. Not that I wanted to, anyway. I was habitually silent and allowed others to dominate conversations. It was normal for me. The strange feeling made me lose my tongue all together. I used the opportunity to observe Michael. He was tall. Be careful, cautioned the silent voice I thought I had abandoned in Africa. I conceded the curt words of caution. It must have been Dick’s height that attracted me to him and look where it got me. But that was history.

  Michael was tall and well-built like he worked out. His hair was beginning to gray giving him a striking appearance. It was also over grown making him look slightly untidy and the balding middle prominent. I put his age at mid-forties. He had a finely chiseled nose. His lips were almost too thin.

  Almost? What’s wrong with me? When did I become an expert in describing men? In high school I could not even write one good descriptive essay in spite of being the best student in every English class I took. Only my teachers knew my weak point. Luckily, they had not capitalized on it. There had always been alternative essay questions to choose from. After college, I had taken a professional writing course to make up for my inadequacies.

  I wished I could slow my thoughts as they swiveled from one unrelated thing to another.

  Michael was wearing a green short sleeve cotton shirt that blended with his healthy skin. His haze
l eyes looked kind and piercing all at once. It was like he was trying to see into my soul when he occasionally spoke to me but in a discreet way. That might explain why I did not feel violated in the least.

  Although he was facing me all the time, he appeared oblivious to my stare. He often looked my way and gave me a friendly smile. Yeah, he was either a womanizer or a naïve man who was unaware of his good looks. Before I could swing the pendulum of character analysis towards any subjective angle, Lisa broke into my thoughts.

  “Erin, the car is over there. You’ll be staying at the Grand International for a couple of weeks.” She went on to explain as we walked towards the exit that it was on North Broadway, not far really.

  As Michael left, Lisa spoke to someone on her cell phone and a couple of minutes later, a minivan stopped at the curb. The driver, who I assumed was PI staff, hefted our luggage into the back of the van. We got in with Lisa and soon were driving into the town. As I looked at the scenery and then houses, I marveled at how quiet the town was. The traffic was light. There was only a handful of people about although it was afternoon.

  As the van turned towards a big, cream building, I was drawn to the flags flying at full mast. The American flag and the Canadian flag side by side made sense since there were Canadian borders not too far away. The Canadian provinces of Saskatchewan and Manitoba happened to be our neighbors. I contemplated the possibility of visiting Winnipeg and Regina sometime.

  As I showered and got ready for bed, those hazel eyes kept haunting me. Get a grip, girl. What’s his name? Yeah, Michael. He might have looked attractive but he probably was also a Casanova. I had no business thinking about him. Nonetheless, I kept wondering why he affected me the way he did.

  By the way, did I mention that I was married? Actually, it should be separated since divorce proceedings were yet to begin. It was such a relief to be able to blank out that part of my life for a while. I must say that the entire trip was the longest stretch of time I had gone without thoughts of my marital predicament.

   

  Chapter Two

  Dick and I had lived in the same house in Pretoria until I left to take up the job in Minot. Some people called that the modern day marriage but I thought of it as hell on earth. We were not respectful of each other. When we were not at each other’s throat, we were icy, frosty cold regardless of mode of communication.

  I was a willing prisoner in my marriage and home. It had been that way for a long, long time. But it had not always been that way. There had been some peace and quiet at the beginning. However, they did not last long enough to leave any positive impact or happy memories.

  I got engaged to Dick a year after I left college though I had known him for less than a year. I guess I should have taken the warning signs seriously. He would never apologize for offending me but would rather nag and sulk. He was so restless that even if he was sick he would still find somewhere to go. At a point, I stopped begging him to stay home sometimes. I thought socializing with others would make him happy and so nicer to me when he got back. I was wrong. His nagging and narcissism became so horrendous that I never stopped blaming myself for being deceived by his charm.

  Since I was not materialistic, I did not mind that he was struggling financially when we met. His family was very poor and that must have given him such a complex that he always tried to make people see him as rich and successful. He literally walked with a chip on his shoulder. The world did not owe anyone anything. That was what I wanted to say to him but restrained myself. On many occasions, his arrogance had embarrassed me but he was so thick-skinned and delusional he acted like everyone was in awe of him. What had drawn me to such a man? It was a question I had asked myself several times. How easily you forget: his height and charm. No need to remind me that I am superficial. I know it. Stereotypical attractiveness was at the forefront of my deal breakers and boy, did I suffer for it.

  Right from the start of the marriage, I could never do anything to please his overblown ego. Talking about himself in glowing terms was his favorite past-time. To keep the peace, I had to dance to his every whim and accept that he was never wrong. Even when the truth was staring him in the face, he would still insist he was right. He would spend the whole day trying to prove he was right. He should have been a lawyer. I agreed with the inner voice without hesitation.

  For years, Dick kept all the money we earned and decided how we spent it. When I disagreed over any monetary decision, he over-ruled me reminding me to be a submissive Christian wife. Whenever we quarreled, he would refuse to give me any money. Before I cut off from all my friends, I had sometimes relied on them when I needed money for basic necessities. That went on for some time until one day I could not take it any longer. I went to my employers and arranged for my salary to be paid into a personal account I opened at a different bank. As expected, he raised hell but I stood my ground. Consequently, he began to contribute very little to monthly expenses since I had ‘grown wings’. So I began to pay for most of our grocery shopping and still contributed fifty percent to bills payment. When I went to the stores and saw clothes that would look good on him, I bought them from my salary. Without exaggeration, almost all good clothes and underwear that he had, I bought.

  Initially, it never bothered me that he was not buying anything for me at all. I knew that whatever good I did I would be blessed in return even when the recipient was unappreciative. Due to my upbringing, I never took money Dick left around, even small change. He kept money where I would see that he had it but I would never touch it. Having to carry so much of the financial weight put unbearable pressure on me; I had to depend on my single source of income: my salary. At that point, I began to suspect that I had married and was living with a sadist.

  It was not until my graduate course that I began to understand that Dick had a serious personality disorder. I was taking a psychology class and the professor had given us an assignment that required our reading an article by Brenda Branson titled ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’. Brenda’s article made me see that nothing was wrong with me and that I should stop blaming myself for Dick’s behavior. That article was an eye opener for me: I was married to a misogynist.

  Honestly, the thought of Dick made me angry. I used to feel sorry for him but that was a long time ago. Dick was so controlling that he claimed to know everything better than I did, even things I had taught him. It got to a point that I was fed up being a zombie. From then on, there was nothing we did not disagree over. As days, weeks, months and years went by, his knack for nagging increased. It was hell living with him.

  “Do you know that I’m a well-known man? I can do whatever I want to you and you can’t do anything about it.”

  I knew to be silent and not get into it with him.

  He continued. “Look at you! You think you’re so great because everyone says you’re smart and beautiful. There are women more beautiful than you out there that would be glad to be my wife.”

  I wish you would get one of them so that she would make your life the same hell that you have made mine. I wanted to scream that at him but remained quiet. I just walked to the bedroom and he followed me, seething with rage.

  “Who do you think you are?” he screamed repeatedly, white spittle gathering at the sides of his mouth. I was disgusted. The thought of him kissing me made me want to puke at that point. And that image remained fresh in my memory from the first time I saw it.

  I had grown up reading such romance novels as Mills and Boon, Barbara Cartland, and the Silhouettes and had entertained hopes of blissful foreplay and love making with my prince. A man whose kisses I would look forward to. It had not turned out that way. Right from the start, I did not like the smell of his breath.

  Sometimes I would lock myself in the bathroom and turn on the shower in order to blank out his raised voice. It was one of those days as Dick shouted abuses at me that I left the house because he was pounding on the bathroom door, insisting I opened it.

  Eventually
, I did. Then I took my purse and began to walk down the street. I felt sorry for myself and angry too for accepting the abuse for so long. I had many opportunities to leave him but I stayed. One thing was certain: we did not love each other. He probably never loved anyone but himself and I did not love him anymore even if I had at the beginning. To him, I was a sexy body that turned him on all the time. He was also proud to display me as his wife at least in public. But for me, I was trapped in a place I did not like and did not know how to escape. I did not even have the courage to consider my options.

  Hot tears coursed down my cheeks as I kept walking with no destination in mind. I stumbled blindly along the dimly lit narrow alley. I did not know exactly where I was or how I got there. Curious eyes turned my way, sometimes hostile. I brushed an impatient hand across my cheek. The suffocating stench of decaying litter carelessly dumped all over the lane made me queasy. As I walked on, I wondered, not for the zillionth time why I did not have the courage to leave him. I loved peace and craved love but I could not have those as long as I remained with him. I was miserable. Not because I was heart-broken. I despised myself for what I was allowing him do to me. The torment had not let up. It only assumed new dimensions and stretched its tentacles of dominance. I was powerless in my detractor’s merciless grip.

  “You’re nothing.” The words rang repeatedly in my ears. “I’m popular and can have any woman I want. No man can live with you. You don’t even have friends. No one likes you,” he dug deeper, going for the kill.

  Subconsciously, I raised my quivering hands to my ears hoping to shut out the voice of my oppressor. But as tenaciously as ever, the tormentor’s voice refused to let me go. “You think that you’ve got things all figured out. I haven’t even started with you yet. You know me and what I can do to you.”

  Oh God, what have I done to deserve this? How long will I continue to live like this?

  Thoughts of defeat swirled in my head, each competing for pride of place. Suddenly, the sound of traffic became exaggeratedly high and grating; I stumbled and the world began to tilt. As darkness closed around me, I heard a voice from far away call out and then all was blissful darkness.