•••Sequel to Black and Blue: The Calm•••
It's been nearly four years since Nyla Bridges and Elijah Davis have crossed paths. With their relationship ending in the worst possible way imaginable, the two fight to pick up the pieces and rebuild their l...
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"May I ask why you have that large bandaid on your neck?" Georgetta Thompson ceased the maneuvering of her pen against the clipboard. I soothed my hair over the bandage, dwelling back into insecurity over its presence. I thought that maybe the flesh toned bandage wouldn't draw in as much attention and that my hair would suffice in concealing its appearance. Decorated in bite marks and scattered dark hickeys, my neck looked horrendous, along with other various parts of my body.
"I didn't try to slit my throat, so don't go writing down that I'm suicidal now."
Georgetta covered her mouth to suppress a laugh, but the upturned corners of her mouth exposed her, "I assure you, that's not what I wrote down, Nyla. I'm simply concerned about your apparent injury, that's all. What's been new, since our last visit?" I laid back on the sofa and crossed my ankles, my forearm resting across my forehead, "Elijah and I had semi intercourse." I turned my head to assess Dr. Thompson's facial expression. Perplexity. The admission I had just made would surely cause it.
"Okay. That was a fairly simple statement, with a lot for us to unpack here. Let's start with how you came about being in the same room with Elijah, long enough for the two of you to have semi intercourse."
"Well, it started by him popping up out of the blue, after he had somehow discovered Eliana's identity." Dr. Thompson removed her glasses and folded them over the collar of her blouse, "how did you feel when you saw him?" I closed my eyes and reflected on that night, "terrified. Venom illuminated off of him, and it was evident in every adjective that he used to narrate my character."
"What were some of the descriptives that he used?" I opened my eyes, meeting Dr. Thompson's, "nasty bitch. Slut. Bad mother." Dr. Thompson scribbled with the writing utensil, "what was going through your mind, while hearing him call you such things?"
I rotated my head and peered up at the ceiling, "there was a time when he had my nose so far up in the air and it was wide open, from how much life he would speak into me. This may be too much information, but one night, he used spoken word poetry and his hands to penetrate me. The work of his gentle touch and kind words gave me an orgasm that I didn't know I was capable of having," I closed my eyes, recalling the sacred memory. "I would have never imagined that after years of missing him so deeply that I couldn't breathe from the pain of his absence, the next time I'd see him, I would be desperate to get away from him, for anguish was now brought forth by his presence that reeked of repulse of me."
"Repulse? You know that you aren't any of those things, don't you?"
"I know that I'm a good mother. I nurture her, I'm attentive to her, I educate her, and I love on her, like every day is the last day that I'll be able to illustrate just how deep my love for her runs. The comfort she seeks from me whether she's happy, mad, or sad, and the random sweet kisses she can't go too long without giving, validate that I'm doing right by her. As far as his slut shaming, I've never been one to have different men in and out of my bed. Even if I were, that's my right as a single woman."
