The Diamond Mine
of
Diamond’s Mind
A Compilation of Short Stories Written by Diamond Cartel
Smashwords Edition
This book is a work of fiction. Any characters, incidents, situations, or the like are not real nor are they based on actual events. Similarities to individuals, living or deceased are purely coincidental and not deliberately intentional.
Copyright 2011 by Diamond Cartel All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be copied, duplicated, reprinted, or reproduced in any form (print, digital, verbal, or otherwise) under any circumstances without written consent from the publisher. For use permission, or to purchase in print, please visit http://www.isyspublications.com for more information.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Cover designed by Kat Slade of Donkey Kick Designs
Dream
Dare
Desire
~Rockstarr~
We were not your typical couple. The only ones that understood us were he and I. Yet, even we were lost at times. We had a bond that was envied by others...yet hated by us. We were too close. Too on top of each other. Too interdependent. Was it by choice? Not really. It just happened that way. One day we were the average couple. Going out to dinner and a movie. Maybe a drink or two afterwards. Then back to his place or mine for the best mind blowing sex you could ever imagine.
So when did it change? Where did we go wrong? I wish I had the answer. All I know is that somewhere along the line, the man I loved, I lived for, would die for...became a complete stranger. Out of the blue he changed. No warning signs, no signals....nothing. His demeanor grew cold. His stares were blank. His touch was nonexistent. Kisses extinct. Then one day...he was gone. With nothing left but a nightstand radio. The only part of him left behind would be the part that would show me the way.
"Where I Want To Be" -Donnell Jones started the night off with this sweet ballad. Maybe that was the issue. He wasn't sure of the commitment he was about to make. He wasn't sure if he wanted to give it all up for just one woman...his woman...this woman...the only woman that could or would ever possibly understand him.
"Energy" Keri Hilson said it best. It's exactly what he's taking from me. I have given so much, yet received so little in return. All I wanted was love, affection, and to be the only one. Why couldn't' he give that to me consistently? Not just in spurts...but on a daily basis? Was that too much to ask?
"Spotlight" - Jennifer Hudson may have given me a new way of looking at it. Was I there too much? Did I not give him enough space? Or is this just a cover up for how he really feels? Maybe I was too much of a shadow...too much of a hindrance. Yes, he was my star and I always shined the light on him....I guess he couldn't handle the glare.
"Un-Break My Heart" -Toni Braxton was really feeling my pain. The hurt is so strong, yet so dense, like a heavy load I can't lift. He just left me. No goodbye. No reason. No excuse. He just left...with nothing but this radio to remember him by. To listen to. To contemplate the many reasons why he's out of my life now.
As they pause, I pause, and begin to wonder. What are my tears for? Why do I hurt so much? How can I feel such great pain for a person that couldn't even say goodbye? Is he worth it? Was he ever worth it? Then my answer comes to me....
"Not Gon' Cry" Mary J. was preaching right to my heart. Why give him something he never gave you? Why let it all go over someone that just let you go without a second thought? He was my all at one time, but he's not all there is. That would make him....
"Irreplaceable" _ Beyonce' had to school me on this. No man is irreplaceable. Not even my strongest love. I gave and gave, and at one point so did he. I guess he got tired of giving. Giving his affection. Giving his attention. Giving his love. Well you know what? This is how I feel about it....
"You Don't Have To Love Me" - Monifa knew it, and now I do too. Love resides in me. Not in the heart of a man. Everything that's good will eventually come to an end. He was no exception. I enjoyed most of our time together, but in the end it wasn't enough to sustain us. The smiles. The laughter. The mind blowing sex. None of it was enough to build a solid foundation on. So what else is there for me to do? Only one thing.
"Gotta Go, Gotta Leave" - Vivian Green gave me my answer. The four walls surrounding this empty room echoed her words loud and clear. I'm tired. I'm weak. I'm drained. I can't do this anymore. And thanks to him walking out, I no longer have to. I have my out. No need to search for you. No need to beg and plead for you to come back. I need to be free. I need to focus on me. I need to let the past be just that, and keep my gaze on the future. Everything that I needed to know resided in this past hour of songs.
Through Donnell and Keri, Jennifer and Toni...
Mary and Bey, Monifah and Vi.....
My questions have been answered, to an extent.
I could get angry, I could resent.
That would get me nowhere, so what should I do?
I need a song, to dedicate to you.
To explain how I feel about the way you deserted me,
the way you treated me, the way you hurt me?
Then, once again, the answer appears.
It echoes though the room, and rings in my ears.
"Good Night and God Bless" was all that was said.
And with that, the sounds of the radio went dead.
There you have it, that's what I need to do....
There's no need to play a song for you....
Why? Because we're through.
As I stand here in front of this mirror I begin to wonder...where did I go wrong?
I'm 32, single, childless, successful by my standards, wealthy by society's standards...yet, I feel so incomplete. As if nothing that I'm doing matters anymore. Blocking out the world, it's just me and my reflection. Face pure of foundation, mascara, lip liner, gloss. Hair pulled back, exposing every African feature that I possess...wide, broad nose...thick, full, luscious lips...paining eyes.
This is me...every night. Looking. Searching. Wondering.
My soul weighs heavy. I can't shake my past. It's always there. The hurt. The humiliation. I was just a child...why didn't someone help me? I was left alone at the age of 15 to fend for myself. The streets were my home. The corner was my position. Room 115 at the Hanneby Motel was my office. My mouth and my pussy were my tools. And Mr. Swag was my pimp. Five years of pure hell. That was my life. His death was my out...and without thinking twice I took it.
Self made and self sufficient, I continued that lifestyle to get me through two years of college. That's all I needed. From there I developed and launched my own business. Here I am, years later, and I'm still not satisfied. A fiery rage builds up in side of me. My eyes are burning. The tears can't even cool them off. I feel weak, minuscule, and helpless. With my eyes closed, I fall back and slide to the floor.
Then....it happened.
I am awakened by a sweet scent. The air is warm and inviting. A man speaks. I see no one, but I feel every vibration of his voice. Daddy. I haven't heard him since he passed when I was 10. Where am I? Is this heaven? Or am I hallucinating?
"Ajna...my flower. Why do you weep over the past, when your present is so strong? You can't dwell in the events that have molded you. You must focus on the here and now, or you won't be prepared for future opportunities."
"He's right princess." The tears flow. Mommy. Another voice I haven't heard since my younger days.
"Why did you two leave me?" I asked. "I was so young. Why did you have to go?"
Then there was a still calm. I felt a chill run through me as they each touched a shoulder. It was the same chill I felt on lonely nights, birthdays, holidays, and at random times when my life was almost taken by the hands of another. That protective feeling I never knew or understood was with me here and now. It all became so clear. The experiences. The lessons. The trials. It just started flowing through me at an uncontrollable speed. The heaviness in my heart lightened. The negative thoughts in my mind began to dissipate. My soul was being cleansed. A peaceful feeling rushed over me. I've never felt so...so....free.
And then...it was over.
I came to with tears streaming down my face. This feeling...it's been missing from my life for so long. I thought I would never feel this way again. Happiness. Peace. Tranquility. Hope. It was so overwhelming, yet so welcoming. As I rise to my feet, I no longer feel so heavy. The mirror, once my mortal enemy, now reflects the true me. There's a heart drawn in the steam.
"Thank you mommy and daddy."
Who knew they were with me all along? I see the reason for it all. I understand why everything happened. Now...I'm releasing the demons from the past. The hurt. The pain. The bad choices and decisions. It's over. Done with. That path has been beat. Here I stand today, a new woman. I accept everything that has happened....and I release it into the universe. I run my fingers over the image, and feel the love that I never had for myself.
"I love you Ajna."
It's been a long time since I've said that and meant it. Today is the beginning of new things. Peace....who knew it was so grand?!
I did it again!
I overlapped my dates with Tran and Dyrell. I must love playing with fire, but if this keeps up they are going to find out about my slip ups. Or even worse, find out about each other. I always saw Dyrell as the playboy. I knew all he was after was the tail and it was cool with me. We've known each other for years so what was the big deal? I'd get into town or he'd come my way, we'd do what we do, and that was that. No biggie, right?
Then there's Tran. He's looking for a wife; not a wifey, but a wife. Someone he can come home to every night after a hard day's work in the brutal corporate world. Someone to birth and raise his kids and make him home cooked meals. I knew when I first made my specialty lasagna for him from scratch he'd be hooked. What I didn't know was the brother would be back every day afterwards. Not that I mind him coming by. His smooth brown eyes and jet black curly hair made him a sight to see after my own brutal work days at my restaurant. My Italian roots blessed me with the gift of knowing how to throw down. Blend that with the Creole and Black side of my momma and you got a recipe for a damn good meal! Cooking was my passion, and after years of living to make others money I turned it into my own venture, and Tran loved every bite of it.
Now I had a dilemma on my hands. I was in need of a good Dyrell dick down, but Tran just called and said he had our entire evening planned out. He wouldn't tell me what it was, just to be ready by seven wearing my form fitting black dress, my sexy five inch red pumps, his favorite scent "La Bella Diva" and be at the door waiting. Maybe I can pull this off. After all, it is a Friday night and I know he's on call this weekend. Maybe he'll make it a short night, regardless of what he had planned. That was one thing I didn't like about Tran. Even during his off time he was so absorbed into work. They knew he'd jump at any request so they always used that to his advantage. That used to happen to me a lot as well, which is exactly why I left the corporate world, and my Master's Degree in Accounting Forensics, alone. He sees it, but refuses to acknowledge it. I can't be with a man that can't stand up for himself. How can I expect him to stand up for me? He is a sweetheart though, and a very passionate lover. Maybe in time he'll change...maybe.
I received a text from Dyrell.
"Hey sexy! Can't wait to see you tonight. I got something new to try out just for you! >:o>"
There goes that devilish face. I know what that means...some good sex is on the horizon. Man I hope I can ditch this date by midnight. That will get me to Dyrell by no later than one. By then I'd be good and juicy for him. Deep breaths girl, deep breaths. This isn't the first time you've pulled this off, but make sure it was the last.
I have a major decision to make. Who do I really want? What do I really want? Support and stability, or good sex and freedom? I'm only 27, and doing damn good for someone my age. I'm not necessarily looking for the ring right now, but I know how hard it is to find a good man like Tran, even if he is slightly a punk in my eyes. Dyrell on the other hand is a man's man. He has no problem taking charge in every, and I do mean every, situation. I love that about him. So does KiKi, and Shawna, and Brielle. Yeah he has others, so what? We're not in a relationship, so what right do I have to say anything? Plus, I have Tran. No, he doesn't know about Dyrell, and he will never find out.
Seven o'clock rolls around and I'm at the door as requested. Good thing, too, because his pearl white Lexus pulled up right on the nose. I opened the door to let him in, and to my surprise he's carrying bags. A night in. That was his plan. He wanted to cook me dinner and watch a movie together. I couldn't understand why we were both dressed up to go out, but that was fine, so long as he was gone by midnight like I planned. I'll just play it cool and it will all be over before I know it.
"Thanks for dinner babe." I said as I cuddled up next to him on the couch.
We were watching Titanic, and although I loved this movie I really wish he'd picked something shorter. I only had half an hour before I had to leave and we were just starting disc two.
"No sweetie, thank you." There goes that glow in his eyes. He was definitely up to something. Fuck!
"Thank me? For what?" I was curious to see where this was headed. Hopefully not in a direction that will keep him here much longer.
"For making these past three years absolute heaven." He then slowly slid off the couch and got down on one knee. He can't be doing this now! I thought to myself.
"...and hopefully for making the future just as precious."
He pulled out a blue box with a white bow. Damn it! Not Tiffany! He opened it and out came another box. Inside was the most gorgeous three karat diamond platinum ring. A proposal. This is something I was not prepared for. Suddenly, after staring into that diamond shining just as brightly as his tear filled eyes, I forgot all about Dyrell. I forgot about his 6'5" muscular frame, his goatee I loved to play with, his tongue that knew every inch of my body and knew it well, his empty promises, his games, and even his line of women. I had my answer. I knew what I wanted. It was...no, he was right in front of me. The diamond was a sweet gesture, but the love Tran gives me, has always given me, supersedes all else. We can work on his lack of take-charge attitude. Right now, I was being asked to become his wife. There was only one word I could muster up.
"Yes!"
Three hours. Three hours of the best, most intense, most passionate love making that we've ever had. I guarantee that had I been ovulating there would be a baby brewing inside of me. I knew that wasn't the case though, but it didn't matter. I'd have 50 of this man's children if I could. Lying in his arms, I could hear his heart beat. It was fast and rhythmic. Yeah, I put it on him good! I can't take all the credit though. He damn sure did a number or two on me. I didn't know he had it in him. Drifting off to sleep, I could imagine our wedding day. Nothing big and fancy, just the ones we love sharing our moment with us. It was small and intimate, and a tear dropped when I imagined him saying "I do". Yes, I made the right decision. Tran was the one I was meant to be with.
"A-hem!"
In my groggy haze, I looked up to see an unclear image in front of me. I didn't immediately feel Tran next to me so I assumed it was him. Turning over to see the clock, I noticed it was almost four in the morning.
"What's wrong baby?" I asked as my head hit the pillow and my eyes closed again. Nothing could have prepared me for this moment. The light flicked on.
"Open your eyes and ask that question again."
That wasn't Tran's voice. Oh shit!
"Dyrell, what the hell are you doing here?"
"No, Kara!" Tran said sternly. "The real question is what the hell is going on here?"
I had to think quick, but deep down I knew no amount of explaining would save my ass now.
"Did you break in? I'm calling the police."
"Call them." Dyrell said with a snicker. "And when they ask what happened I'll simply say I used my key to get in like I have been doing for the past four years."
"Care to explain that, Kara?" There goes that twinkle again, only this time it was filled with pain.
"You know what? You two can do what you want. I'm out. Oh, and your key is on the table. Tran, I'm sorry you had to find out like this." Dyrell turned around and walked away like nothing happened. The last words I heard from him was "Stupid bitch" before he slammed my door.
Tran didn't budge. Normally, that was the one red button that would set him off if someone pushed it. I guess given the situation, he probably felt the same way. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded, staring at me like a stranger.
"Tran, say something! Please! Anything!"
Nothing. I rambled off every excuse I could. From "I forgot he had a key" to 'It's been over for years and he was just vengeful". Nothing worked. He didn't budge for twenty minutes straight. I was running out of excuses. At this point all I could do was cry. I sat at the edge of my bed on my knees crying, begging, pleading for Tran to forgive me. Finally, he walked over to me. He stood in front of me and held me close. I felt so safe being in his arms again. I could feel his heart racing. Mine was echoing his. He pulled back and looked at me. Gently wiping my tears with his right hand, he took my left hand in his. In one swift motion, the ring was off, and just like that he was gone. No good bye, no words of any kind.
It finally caught up to me. My secret lives collided with each other and there was nothing I could do to change it. Both Tran and Dyrell changed their numbers. I had no way of contacting either one of them. I wanted to give Dyrell a piece of my mind for ruining my life, but that was impossible. Besides, I can't blame him for my wrong doings. I so badly wanted to talk to Tran and try to work things out, but he vanished without a trace. Word is he left his job, his condo, and all of his possessions behind. No one knew where he was, not even his family. Not that they'd tell me anyway. I did the ultimate wrong to him and now I was paying dearly for it.
I thought I could have it all. The wonderful, loving family man and the good looking, sexy, suave one on the side. Turns out, I really had it all wrapped into one. I just needed to be patient and wait for it to come out. It doesn't matter now. I've lost it all and will never love like that again. It was a hard lesson learned, but now I know to be careful in love.
It was 11 in the morning. I'm already two hours late cracking open the first beer of the day. Since I got laid off last month nothing had been going my way. Finding a job as a steel worker was hard enough, but when the auto industry went down I went with it...hard. I didn't have any money saved and my bills were beginning to pile up. My son had an injury that required emergency attention. It was at the hospital where I was notified I no longer had health insurance. My husband was on edge about receiving his own pink slip. Things were just falling apart all around us. I had no extra abilities, so making money on the side wasn't an option. I felt stuck, and the only thing that could put my mind at ease was my ice cold beer.
The sad part about it is I hate beer. Despise it even. Yet it's the only alcoholic drink we can afford. Long gone are the days when I would have bottles of Absolut and Goldschlaugher chilling in the freezer, waiting for me to pop them open. Now all I had was my trusty Steele Reserve 211. I couldn't even afford the real stuff! But I will say this, the cheap stuff gets you buzzed a hell of a lot quicker!
As I sat at the kitchen table, twirling my nearly empty can around, I began to wonder...why me? What did I do to deserve such a hard life? I worked my ass off for a company that couldn't keep its finances straight and went belly up. I bent over backwards for a husband that was cheating on me when he wasn't beating on me. My son was constantly talking about leaving home so he could have some peace. I did everything that a loving wife and mother was supposed to do...without a gripe...and this is how I end up? A jobless, penniless, neglected, abused alcoholic?
Then it hit me. I was the image of every woman in my family before me. From my mother all the way back to my great grandmother; we all had the same problems. The only difference is they didn't work at all. Their husbands wouldn't allow it. Initially, my husband was the same way, but then his gambling debts became too much so naturally I had to do something to keep us afloat. I didn't even like my job, but it provided the income we needed to keep our house running...while he went out and squandered his money. Everything else was the same, from the liquor consumption to the backhanded slaps we'd get for bringing up the extramarital affairs. It was a sickening cycle.
That was it. I couldn't take it anymore. There was no reason for me to stay. My husband didn't want me here. My son would soon be an adult and was already making plans to get away from his father. I had no job, no future, and no desire to be in this dead end town. The factory is gone, what else is there? Nothing, which is why I decided to leave.
But how? How could I just up and leave with no money and no plan? How could I just abandon Scott even if he will be 18 in three days? How could I move on with my life without the worry of Jerry tracking me down and making me pay for leaving him alone? There were more questions in my head than answers. I didn't know how I was going to do it, but somehow, someway it was going to be done.
I walked over to the sink, with the second can of beer I just opened.
"This is it, Lana. The cycle stops here."
I poured the entire can down the drain. I did the same with the other four beers sitting in the refrigerator. Afterwards, I had a nice, tall glass of water to replenish my system. I walked up to my bedroom and closed the door. I've never really prayed before, but it was at that moment I knew I needed God. I got down on my knees, that part I knew how to do, and from there I just talked. Nothing formal, no memorized prayer. I went to God with an open mind and heart and asked for two things: forgiveness and help. I had a week to make a decision. Scott already graduated and was prepared to move in with one of his buddies near the community college. He was my only child and my biggest concern. So long as I knew he'd be alright, everyone and everything else could function without me.
Two weeks went by, and I still had no answer. Scott had moved out and it was just Jerry and I. Mainly myself because he was never home; too busy frolicking with his whores I guess. I had all but given up on God helping me and chalked it up as my punishment for not following his path in the first place. I guess he doesn't love me. It was a disheartening feeling, but one I couldn't dwell on. I had to get out, and fast.
While at the grocery store I browsed the ads board. I glanced over it pretty quickly, but nothing caught my attention. I went inside, restocked my beer amongst other things, and paid for my groceries. On the way out, the tiniest of ads caught my attention. There wasn't much said on the ad; just five simple words: "Ready to break the cycle?" There was a number listed on it as well. It was the only one posted, so I stuffed the piece of paper in my pocket and headed home.
After bringing everything in I called the number. It was to the Women's Crisis Center. They worked with abused women to help them rebuild their lives. The center was three hours away and unlisted so the abusers couldn't track down their girlfriends or wives. The director of the center gave me so much information over the phone about what they do, how they operate, and how I could receive help. I asked her why they posted an ad so far away and she seemed baffled. She said they didn't post ads because they are very particular with how they advertise so as not to draw any attention to them. I was perplexed, but at the same time I didn't care. She said they had room for me if I needed help. After explaining my situation to them, she gave me instructions on what to do next.
Within an hour, I had all my things packed. I took very little; only my clothes, a few photos of myself and Scott, and a Mother's Day card he made me that I never let go of. Since communication would be restricted once I got to the center I stopped by Scott's place. Neither he nor his room mate were there, so I left a note for him. I told him it was time for a change and that I needed to focus on me. I also told him how proud of him I was for being his own man and that I would be in touch soon. I slid the note under the door and headed east to the Women's Crisis Center.
Driving along, I couldn't help but cry. I was so filled with joy and peace and loved every moment of it. He was listening. He did care. He made a way for me to get out of my hell. It didn't happen when I needed it to, but it happened just in time. I no longer had to worry about Jerry's hand, Steele Reserve, lack of money, or a jobless future. All of that would be addressed soon. From rehab, to therapy, to training for a new position. I was on my way to a better life. The cycle had been broken.
Thank you God!
"Oh come on!"
Trichelle scream at the car in front of her. Blowing her horn and banging her steering wheel simultaneously, she veers into the left lane and flies past the oh-so-cautious driver, but not without first giving them a sign of her affection...her middle finger.
Road rage takes over her as she tries her hardest to maneuver through the evening rush hour traffic. She has to get home before Dave shows up. He'll be angry if his dinner isn't ready on time again. She's just recovered from one black eye. She's not ready for another one.
Twenty five minutes, and 3 near misses with the cops later, she's finally home.
"I've got 30 minutes to put something together. Now the only question is what?"
She ponders to herself momentarily, before deciding on a grilled skillet dinner. As much as he hated it when she "re-cooked frozen meals" as he puts it, he loved the grilled skillet dinners. Not wasting any time, she throws two bags in and covers them up. She then proceeds to make lemon tea, his favorite drink. While dinner was cooking, she decides to head upstairs to freshen up and redo her makeup.
Trichelle hated looking at herself in the mirror. The eyes that stared back at her were so hollow and empty. Her face was a canvas of sorrow and pain. Her nose slightly crooked from the last time he broke it. Yet, you couldn't tell she was a woman in pain. The way she fixed herself up, the way she carried herself, the way she held a conversation even, made her seemed like she was the typical, everyday woman. To the average person on the street she seemed happy, well kept, in shape, and content. To herself, she was a lost soul crying out for help.
After reapplying her makeup she just stood there. Looking. Searching. Trying to find where she went wrong. What happened to her? How did she end up here? They weren't married. They had no children. She was the primary breadwinner in the relationship. They lived in her home. They drove her cars. She wanted and needed nothing from him. So how...how did she...how did he.... "What the fuck happened?" That was all she could come up with. Lost in her thoughts, she was jerked back into reality by the sound of the smoke detector going off.
"Oh shit!" Trichelle ran downstairs into the kitchen. She grabbed the pot holder and quickly moved the skillet to the other side of the stove. After turning the burner off, she assessed the damage.
"Thank God!" Only the bottom portions were burned. She shifted the rest of the food from one skillet to the other, hiding the burnt one in the dishwasher. She then opened the back door to let the smoke and smell out. Scouring the house for the air freshener, she sprayed the can almost empty. Five minutes later, Dave pulls up.
Trichelle runs out to the car to open his door. With his paper and tea in hand, she greets him with a kiss on the cheek...just the way he taught her.
"What took you so long?" Dave rants off before his foot even hits the pavement. "You're supposed to be out here BEFORE I pull up!"
"I'm sorry baby, I was just finishing dinner."
Dave snatched his paper and tea, spilling part of it on her shirt, and walks in the house. Their routine was predictable. He comes in, drink in hand, and sits in the recliner to read the paper. About half an hour later he's finally ready to eat dinner. As Trichelle was preparing his plate, Dave went to the back room. When he came out, all hell broke loose.
"What the fuck is this?!" He yells at her.
"It's grilled chicken with noodles and vegetables. You know, the kind you like so much."
His eyes grew dark. Fear instantly took over Trichelle. She knew what was coming next. As she started her silent prayer in her head, Dave flipped the plate off the table and began his rage.
"You stupid bitch, you know I hate that shit! What the fuck are you trying to do, piss me off?"
Crying and shaking, Trichelle braces herself. She's been through this scene too many times before. As she tries to back away from him, he grabs her and throws her across the couch, breaking her new glass table in the process. She lands near the corner and curls up in a fetal position. For the next few minutes she's violated with hits, kicks, hair pulling, punching, smacking, and being spat on while being called a worthless, useless, dirty, ugly ass bitch, whore, and slut.
Finally, the lowest blow of all. With Trichelle still lying in the corner, Dave unzips his pants and urinates on her. This was a new low even for him. After urinating on her back, and spitting on her one more time, he walks out the house, gets in the car, and leaves.
Officially disgusted, Trichelle remains on the floor. Seemingly lifeless, she's had all she can take. She reaches over for the piece of glass lying next to her from the broken table. The feeling of pain, stinging, aches, and warmth from the urine overtook her. She's had enough. She wanted out. She couldn't bare dealing with it anymore. With the glass in her hand she commenced to slit her own throat. Her carotid artery explodes, gushing blood everywhere. As she laid there, with life releasing from her body with every faint beat of her heart, she felt free.
Free from being abused.
Free from being unloved.
Free from being disrespected.
Free from being unwanted.
Free from being...broken.
Five inch red stiletto pumps. Rich, creamy brown legs freshly waxed and baby bottom smooth. Bikini line tamed to perfection. Her hour glass figure, covered in an all white form-fitting Chanel dress she bought especially for this occasion. With her 2 carat diamond earrings, 5 carat diamond and platinum bracelet, and 5 carat single stone necklace, Lena Langhorne was a vision of perfection...and tonight she couldn't be more ecstatic about her life.
In approximately 2 hours, she will receive the Audrey Henton award. Established in the memory of the firms founder, it's a very prestigious award given to the top attorneys for their hard work, dedication to their clients, and outstanding community service. Since losing her fiancé' in a drunk driving accident 3 years ago, Lena poured her heart and soul into everything she did. Work became her solace after losing Lenny, a promising author and poet in his own right. His words were what won her over, and it was precisely those words that she missed most. Orally, she thought he was perfect; from the poetry he spoke, to the motivational speeches he gave, to the skills he pleased her pussy with at night, every night. She missed him and his vast oral skills so much. Since his passing, she has never came across another man that could woo her the way he used to with his skills...literally or in any other kind of way.
Noticing the time on the clock, she called down to the main desk to have her car pulled around. After putting the finishing touches of her makeup on, she grabbed her red mink fur wrap and headed out to the elevator. So far, she was enjoying her stay at the 5 star suite in downtown Atlanta where the convention and awards ceremony are being held over the weekend. She loved this city and always wanted to live here, but her life was in Los Angeles. From her family, to her friends, to Lenny's graveside...there was just too much for her to leave behind.
Once the elevator reached her on the 12th floor she stepped in. While descending down to the lobby her nerves started unraveling. She was becoming more and more nervous about receiving her award. She had no speech prepared because she decided to freestyle her acceptance. Like Lenny, she too had a way of words, and always spoke better on demand. Words flowed like water from her lips and touched the hearts and spirits of everyone she talked to. Jokes were funnier, tragedies were sadder, and knowledge was more powerful when it came from her. No one knew why this was so, but they admired her for it all the same. In fact, it was her way with words that won her every case she took on, as well as her looks, although she would never admit it. For being a 38 year old woman she didn't look a day over 21...and her many attempts to purchase a bottle of wine without being carded proved it.
8...7...6...the elevator continued to descend. It stopped on the 5th floor. When the door opened, a vision of perfection joined her. She nodded and obliged, all while checking this amazing body that stood before her. Sculpted arms...rigged abs...firm butt...long legs...it was all there. Instantly Lena became wet. Clearly they were on their way to the fitness room, but Lena was contemplating a workout plan of her own. She wanted to reach out, to touch those arms and feel those abs against her. She wanted to run her fingers through the crisp cornrows designed in all crazy ways. She craved for the long, slender fingers to explore the walls of her vagina. Before she could stop herself she approached her new prospect and kissed them. Using her tongue softly, yet aggressively, she couldn't hold herself back any more. What was even more amazing is that the kiss was returned just as sensually. Then there was a jerk.
The elevator stopped. It wasn't stuck though...Lena pulled the button. Her sexual cravings were taking over now. With the suppression of Lenny's passing came a strong urge to fill his void in other ways. At this moment, that's exactly what she was doing. As her dress rose above her hips, the tongue action continued. It was moments like this why Lena never wore underwear. From licking her clit, to sucking on her labia; at first slowly, then with more intense passion she was taken to another world. Sex was always good, but sex with a stranger...a willing stranger at that...was better. The oral skills they gave to each other inside the confined walls of the elevator was simply amazing. Once she felt those fingers glide inside of her, it made her cum harder. Nothing could come between them as they satisfied each other's desires. Even the calls of the maintenance crew went unanswered. As they both pleasured each other with their mastered oral skills, from one to the other, to simultaneously, it was cum after cum for the next twenty minutes.
After the final round, Lena pushed in the button and began to fix herself back up. 3...2...1...and it was over. Neither one said a word, and luckily the only person standing in the lobby was a gentleman waiting to get on the elevator to go up. Feeling sexually satisfied, she wiped the corner of her mouth and prepared to exit the elevator and head to her car. Before leaving, she reached over and looked at her temporary lover and gave a smile and a look that said thank you. The lover obliged, doing the same. As they both stepped off, they snickered and went their separate ways, but not without the gentleman greeting them before hand.
"Good evening ladies."
Oh yes...what a good evening it was.
It's been a hard two years. Terry and I had been trying so hard to start a family, but to no avail. Maybe it wasn't meant for us to be parents. Maybe I wasn't meant to be a mother. I wanted a child so bad, but I kept putting it off. I was too focused on my career. Too focused on my marriage. Too focused on life. The desire for a baby was always present, but I kept pushing it to the back of my mind. Maybe next year became my mantra. Those constant "next years" turned into a decade. Now I'm on the verge of turning forty and my biological clock is ticking so loud it keeps Terry up at night! He's content either way, but me...I feel I need this.
I didn't have the best childhood. My father passed away when I was young, so I never knew him. My mother was always working odd jobs, so I was pretty much raised by my older sister Vivian and my oldest brother Sean. I was the baby, so there wasn't much I could do to help. Vivian was 17 at the time and Sean was 16. Then there was me, at the ripe old age of 5. Hell I was just getting a grasp on my alphabets and numbers, but I wanted to be a big girl and help out too. Mama always said that the hugs I gave her every time she came home from work was the biggest help ever. It was rough, but we made it though.
My mama conceived me at the age of forty. She understood my urge, because that's how I came to be. I was the only one of her children that didn't have their own "family". Between my brother and sister, she already had 9 grandchildren. I thought that was enough, but apparently it's part of a mother's joy to see ALL of her children have offspring of their own. I didn't understand it, but then again I also wasn't a mother. And that was bugging me. I had so many should have, could have, would haves in my head that I was going crazy. I was thinking about having a baby so much that I was starting to hear them.
That sound was so sweet, yet so disturbing at the same time. I turned over in my bed, reaching out for Terry but he wasn't there. He was gone on a business trip. Here I am, laying alone with my thoughts and all I kept hearing was the innocent cry of a child. A few moments later, I sat up. I no longer thought it was my imagination. I still heard the cry. Looking out of my bedroom window, I noticed a car seat sitting on my porch. I quickly put on my robe and ran down the stairs as fast as I could. Being careful not to meet an intruder, I had my trusty Louisville Slugger bat at my side. I lived in a relatively safe neighborhood, but these days you can't be too safe. Slowly, I opened the door. Looking around, I didn't notice anyone. The baby was wiggling around in the car seat uncomfortably. I reached down and picked the seat up, scanned once again to see if anyone was around, then shut my door.
I placed the car seat on the couch and carefully took the baby out. It was a little girl. I examined the child for any marks or bruises. I checked her diaper to see if she was wet. Luckily, she wasn't. After checking the baby, I looked in the car seat to see if she was laying on anything. Inside I found a full bottle, a little jar of baby food, and a note. That explains the wiggles she had; she was laying on all of this stuff. The note was short and simple:
Please take care of Nahlia Marie. In more ways than one, I no longer can. I will send her information later on.
That was it. No name, no signature, no nothing. I called the police to notify them of what I found. In the meantime, I fed baby Nahlia and was able to comfort her back to sleep. When the officers arrived, I asked them what would become of baby Nahlia. They informed me that she would be turned over to the state for custody. I gave one of the officers my business card and asked them to pass it on to the social worker that would be responsible for baby Nahlia. They agreed and took the baby away. After calling my husband and telling him what just happened, I tried to go back to sleep. I tossed and turned all night, wondering and worrying about baby Nahlia. Was this God's way of granting me what I wanted, or was it a sick reminder of what I could have had?
The next day, I got a call from a lady named Sonja Whitson. She was working baby Nahlia's case. She asked me a few questions, and I answered to the best of my ability. I asked her about adopting baby Nahlia. She said they had to try to locate the family first and that could be a lengthy process. In other words, she was basically telling me to not get my hopes up. It took a few days, but I began to let go of my hopes of bringing baby Nahlia home with me.
Two months later I received a package. There was no return address, but it was made out to Sandra Lattison, caregiver of Nahlia Marie. I opened the package and inside was her birth certificate, social security card, and a legal waiver of all parental rights. Somehow, she got my personal information and signed the rights over to me. The mother's name was Grace, and this time she included a more detailed letter. She was in a bad relationship with baby Nahlia's dad. The night she left her on my porch, he had threatened to kill them both. She apologized for not having a diaper bag with her, but she literally had only a few seconds to get out of the house. He managed to hit the car when she pulled off, but missed hitting them. She is currently in hiding and doesn't want to be traced. She knew about me wanting to have a baby though someone mutual, but wouldn't say who. The letter itself was about five pages long. It was full of all kinds of information about Nahlia, her family history, her pediatrician...basically everything I needed to know. I had tears in my eyes. I wasn't sure if she was legally mine or not, but the fact that this mysterious lady entrusted her to me meant so much.
The next day, I headed straight for the child services office. I spoke with Sonja and showed her the paperwork I got in the mail. In a few hours, baby Nahlia and I were driving home. Since the mother granted custody to me, and the father had recently been arrested on charges unrelated to attempting to murder them, I was now the guardian of this sweet, precious angel. It took her a few days to warm up to me, and for me to get used to her, but once we settled in our new routine everything was fine. God has a funny way of giving you want you need, when you need it. I needed baby Nahlia in my life, and she needed me. This arrangement worked out perfectly.
Four in the morning, and he still isn't home. This wouldn't be unusual if it was the weekend, but it's late Tuesday night...early Wednesday morning...however you want to look at it. Either way, the bastard is still not home...and Maya is pissed!
She's been dealing with Jamael for three years. Three long years. Their relationship was solid in the beginning. No one could split them apart. It was like they were conjoined twins, always together...always smiling...always happy. Then one day it just stopped. No warning signs, no slow progression to change, nothing. He just woke up one day and was never the same. Everyone told her that the signs were always there. He was "too clingy" as her BFF Chante' put it. He was "too happy" was what her brother Raheem said. "Too emotionally attached" was how her father put it out to her. She didn't take heed to any of their warnings though. She thought they were all just jealous that she finally found someone to love her like he did. Jamael used to buy her all kinds of gifts; from diamond bracelets, to weekend vacations in Miami, to flowers just because. He was buttering her up, and once he had her marinated just like he wanted, he stopped. That was two and a half years ago, and there is no sign that he's going to go back to his old ways anytime soon.
Five AM; still no phone call. "He must be out fucking somebody!" Maya thought to herself, becoming even more enraged. This was happening more and more often. Especially in the past two months. Was it the summer heat? The parading of loose, young girls leaving nothing to the imagination except how quickly you can get them out of their thongs? Was it his boys getting into his head? They were all single...maybe that's what he was missing. Maybe he was trying to be like his friends and have freedom.
"Then what the fuck did he give me this ring for?" Maya screamed. She wanted to take the 2 carat diamond and platinum engagement band and haul it across the bedroom. As she sat on the side of the bed she stared at the ring, twisting it back and forth on her finger. It felt heavy...so heavy. Not because of the weight of the diamond, but because of the weight of the burden associated with it. She couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't stand being left alone and neglected anymore. Too many lies. Too many mistakes. Too many infidelities. She almost wished he would hit her, then there would be nothing left he could do to her. Two miscarriages, one abortion, and one encounter with the one-two punch of Gonorrhea and Chlamydia....she should have left him when the fire died. Instead she stayed and got burned...literally.
"That's it!", she said. She'd had enough. She got out of bed and started towards the kitchen. As she walked away, her cell phone rang. Quickly, she lunged across the bed to answer it.
"Hello?" She didn't even bother to look at the number, but before she even heard the voice on the other line her stomach turned into knots.
"Maya?" A woman said.
"Yes, who's this?" Maya asked with concern. Her anger turned into fear, thinking something happened to Jamael.
"That's arrelevent." Hoodrat was Maya's first inclination. The girl couldn't even pronounce irrelevant right. Instantly, she knew where this call was going. "I just wanted to let you know that Jay is on his way home. Sorry I kept him out so late, but it's been a while and I needed him to break me off real bad."
Maya's skin got hot. She was beyond pissed now. Not only was this chick calling her at all odd hours of the night...hell morning now...she had the nerve to tell her what her man was doing out so late.
"Are you fucking serious? You're going to come at me with that bullshit bitch?" Maya was about to give her the business, then she stopped herself. She knew this chick obviously had no self respect, so what would cursing her out do? "You know what....thanks for the update. I'm hanging up now before I make you feel any more insecure than you already do."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"
Click. Maya could barely contain herself. Her eyes were red and blazing. She barely slept, and after two thirty she was just up...waiting...wondering...fearing...and this is what was going on. The girl could be lying. Sadly, with Jamael's history that was unlikely. She proceeded to head to the kitchen again. She needed something to calm her down. She had to clear her head before her alter ego came out and wrecked shop. She grabbed a shot glass and the bottle of Citron left in the fridge from their BBQ two days ago. For twenty minutes she sat, drank, and contemplated. Then she got up, with a sly smile. She knew EXACTLY what she was going to do.
It was a quarter to seven before Jamael stumbled in the house. He got there around six thirty, but was sitting in his car in the driveway. Maya was watching him through the blinds, becoming even more enraged as she looked at his silhouette. As soon as he came in the door, she was all over him.
"So...you finally made it home, huh?"
"Come on man, don't start. I had a long night and I'm not up for arguing with your ass right now."
"Damn, her pussy wore you out like that?"
Jamael stopped. He knew she knew what was going on, but was not about to admit to a damn thing.
"Here you go, accusing a nigga of shit. I ain't been out fucking no bitch." Jamael headed towards the kitchen.
"That's not what she told me." He stopped. Jamael turned towards her with a look of shock, but it came across as a look of guilt. "And there it is."
"Who called you?" Jamael asked, in an almost demanding voice.
"I don't know her name, and at this point it's IRR-elevant. By the way, tell the bitch if she's going to use twenty dollar words, she needs to at least know how to pronounce them."
"What the fuck ever, ain't nobody call you."
Maya walked back to the room. She came back into the kitchen and slammed her phone on the table in front of Jamael. He shot up. "You can also tell the bitch that if she's going to call somebody being funny that she might want to learn how to block her number as well."
He was caught. There was nothing he could say. He recognized the number. Lisha. He tried to reach out for Maya, but she backed away.
"I have to get ready for work, and when I get back you better be gone."
"Let me explain..."
Maya was already in the bathroom by the time he even got the sentence out. Jamael sat at the table. He was drunk, tired, and busted. A bad combination. On top of that he felt like he was going to be sick. He was so drunk that he could probably make himself sober with one more shot. He grabbed the shot glass that Maya left on the table. He threw it back in one gulp. Then he put his head down again. The next thing he knew he heard the door slam. Maya was off to work, without so much as a goodbye. Jamael got up and headed to the bedroom. He fell on his back and passed out.
Six weeks later, Maya was beginning to feel like herself again. Jamael had done a lot of damage to her physically, mentally, and emotionally, but since that faithful day when she ended it all she had been working on rebuilding what she let him destroy. Her family was surprisingly supportive. No "I told you so's", no "See, if you had listened to me's", she only got love and support which was what she needed right now.
As she walked into her home, she was sorting through her mail. She got a letter from the state of Georgia. Nervously she opened it. It was the results of the autopsy done on Jamael. They ruled his death as a result of alcohol poisoning. She was no longer a suspect of murder. With tears in her eyes, she cried with relief. She called her family immediately with the good news. It took about an hour to get though the phone calls and conversations, but she was glad she was no longer a suspect. Granted she was a nurse and had access to many medications, but none were found in his system. Just a Blood Alcohol level of .596, marijuana, evidence of ecstasy, and another brewing round of gonorrhea. Luckily, that was what he caught from Lisha.
Once she was done, she poured herself a glass of champagne. She toasted her release of being a suspect. Then she said a prayer. She asked God for forgiveness and to heal her spirit from negative karma. Afterwards, she took a sip and walked into the living room to watch the news. Since she would no longer be the headline story, she could bare it again. As she sat there, she couldn't help but to smile. Freedom was finally hers....and no one would ever know what was really in that last shot of Citron.
Sleepless nights.
Tossing and turning.\
Trying to find that inner peace.
...but I can't. All I can see is Tracie. The lies. The infidelities. The lovers in missionary. My heart still breaks. It's been two years. Two long...agonizing years. The only image I can remember. Him. Her. Bed. Moans. Sweat. Candles. Music. Boyz II Men specifically. Uhh Ahh. Used to be one of my favorite songs. Now I can't even stand anything about Philadelphia. It was all ruined on that day.
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