Sparks Will Fly

Nolia's Blog Post #3

I tried to understand why Kevin was hurting me because I loved him so much. Trying to make sense of why my husband found comfort being under and on top of another woman was gut-wrenching. And I couldn't. I stayed up late for many nights on the couch, while Sol slept and Kevin out being with Sabrina, I assumed... crying on the phone to my sister because I knew that if I called my mother, she would call Kevin herself, and have my stepdad accompany her to beat Kevin's ass. And honestly... a small sliver of me didn't want my mom to know what was going on in my marriage because I didn't want to feel the weight of the situation feeling like full on reality. It's odd– when you feel like when your mom knows about a situation that makes it just more permanent.

    Tiana tried her best to soothe my aching wounds but she couldn't help me until I found ways to help myself. My anxiety was at an all time high, I sobbed– all the time, didn't have an appetite, nor a drive to do anything... not even write. I was writing In All For Love at the time, when Kevin was cheating on me... and that's where I poured all my emotions out onto paper because the world that I created in that story provided me with more comfort than the world I built with my husband.

    Going to sleep with and or without my husband was another challenge in itself. I went from craving his body-heat to not wanting him near me. It was as if his body was a combustion of fire that was memorable to look at but painful to touch. Kevin was my night sky, I was his moon and Sol was our sun... at least that's what he said when he would come home late at night bringing in a bouquet of white roses, a pint of vanilla ice-cream from Trader Joes, smelling like fresh soap– like he stepped out a shower moments before he arrived. Unfortunately, on occasion, I would ask him why he didn't smell like the day passed through him. And unsurprisingly, he would say that he and the guys went to gym and he always felt the need to shower afterwards... as if I was some goofy ass bitch that didn't read in between the lines that he was cheating on me. I knew my husband like the back of my hand, and I knew damn well– that if he really went to the gym, he would've came home to shower because after that he would want to have sex... and every-time Kevin claimed that he came from the gym, he was disinterested in having sex with me. He didn't exude the desire to caress my breasts, while we drifted off to sleep, he didn't want to cuddle while watching movies on the couch, and whenever I initiated sex, he shifted his attention to Sol or claimed that he was exhausted.

    All the clues led to me sneaking into the bathroom while he took one of his iconic hour in a half long shower, stealing his phone, and hiding in Sol's bedroom to scroll through it. Eventually finding pictures and an extensive text thread between him and his so-called best-friend Sabrina. I didn't know what in the Brown Sugar was going on– but I was heart-broken. However, the blunt of this trauma wasn't even finding out that he cheated, it was the aftermath. It was after I stormed into the bedroom while he was putting on his pajamas, screaming at the top of my lungs that I couldn't believe he cheated on me with Sabrina.

    It was the fact that he grabbed his phone, tied up the strings of his plaid pajama pants, slipped on his white v-neck t-shirt, and stared at me demanding that I explain to him why I felt so comfortable with going through his phone, and disclosing that I was the sole reason he had to find comfort in another woman because I wasn't myself after having Sol. It was the aftermath of feeling his face turn cold, when I cried to him how sorry I was for having such a low moment in my mental health, it was me telling him that I was getting a therapist that would help me, help me be a better wife. It was him– telling me that I needed to do better and that the marriage would be on pause until I got myself together, because he felt that I would divorce him if my therapist suggested it, instead of supporting me on my mental health journey. It was Kevin– telling me that it was my trauma that ruined our marriage... not knowing that I was fucking trying... and how I felt like everything was ultimately my fault as he pointed it out.

    You see, Kevin was a throwback. I met him when I was thirteen years old– at my great aunt's house in Kentucky. We dated a bit as teenagers, and reconnected in our early adulthood after I broke up with my last boyfriend, who left me to go back with his baby-mama. Kevin was my rebound... at the time. I was a bit sad over my ex boyfriend, and after finding out that Cody was in another relationship (delusion at its finest) . I ached constantly, and needed a distraction. It wasn't until Kevin messaged me on Facebook claiming that he was in Chicago, wanted to see me and ask me out on a date. I was vulnerable, and agreed to go out with him... and then the next thing I knew– Kevin and I dated for a bit, and then after I found out Cody got married, a year or so later– Kevin proposed, we got married, had a baby... and then a divorce. All in the timespan of two to three or four years. I'm not sure of the accurate time-frame, life has been feeling like a complete blur because I've been going through it.

I was steadily trying to land a literary agent, pay bills, and be a consistent– good mother to Sol and wife to Kevin. I was stretched thin, burnt out and depressed... but instead of Kevin being a loving and supportive husband– like he vowed he would be. He changed and left... At that time though, I couldn't blame him because I felt like a complete fuck up. Now though... I blame Kevin for not having the decency to be a real man, a real husband... a true one. Throughout that year of me finding out that Kevin was cheating on me with Sabrina, I wrote another book right after I completed In All For Love and sent it off for edits. The book I wrote was titled Queen and ironically throughout that time frame, my mind drifted off to Cody. I wanted to write about a life that could've been– if I was honest with myself about my feelings for Cody, and if that would've changed the trajectory of my life... at all... even for a little bit. I found comfort in using the aspects of him that I encountered for two years of college as a muse for my book. I found crevices of him as a suitable muse... I didn't expose the ways in which my heart palpitated for him and echoed the loudest when I was experiencing remnants of heartache because the memories of his presence, his peace and safety that it brought me gave me a soft space to be cradled.

Thoughts of Cody brought peace, while thoughts of Kevin brought pain. Yet, in those moments– I wanted Kevin to be like Cody. I wanted to feel safe with Kevin, like I remembered feeling with Cody. I wanted Kevin to fill me up in ways that only Cody did. I wanted my cup to overflow instead of transitioning to a drought.

Kevin was the man I chose to marry and build a life with.

While Cody was the man that my soul chose to love.

And yet, I had to adjust to living without both.

My heart cracked in response to it... and the only thing that tugged it close enough to close and salvage it was my daughter. God knew I needed her love to bring me light, when I was settling in nothing but complete darkness, craving to be loved by the men that clearly didn't love me.