"That's it," declared Layla as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Looking at her reflection she vowed again. "That's it. I'm done with him."

She'd always known Joseph never put any stock in her interests and what she did. He preferred and believed in science and hard facts. Her holistic, psychic 'lifestyle' was mumbo jumbo. At least his sister, her BFF was a different story. Still what possessed her to go along with Keisha and do a tarot card reading after dinner tonight?

Mentally washing her hands of her seven year crush Layla began to part her braids and plaited them into pigtails before bed. She went through the mundane motions of brushing her teeth, used the toilet and wrapped her hair. Then changed out of her pants, tank and cardigan, pulling over her head a blue threadbare and faded, laced up three-quarter sleeve shirt. She'd lost the laces a long time ago so the shirt dropped into a deep V down her chest. The bold, white letters name of her alma mater, Spellman, across her chest were mostly peeled away. The survivors clinging on as best they can after ever wash. in in bold before she slipped into cotton sheets and turned to her side. All the while refusing to give another thought to the stubborn-blind-fool-who-should-not-be-named.

Too many times, too many years she spent wasted thinking about him. Crushing him. Desiring him. Loving him. Too many times hurting her heart a little and breaking others when she tried to move on with other men. Guess that part she couldn't completely blame on him. From the very beginning there was a third person in her relationships. But no more. She was done. Done. If he couldn't, if he refused to, acknowledge what she knew from the moment she saw him. That he was beautiful. Okay the second realization after meeting him. That they could be great together. Magical even.

Layla turned to her back and sighed. A few minutes later she flipped to her other side and then her stomach. Twenty minutes later she found herself on her back again staring up at her ceiling. That's when she found herself, her butt parked on the kitchen counter orgasming over spoonfuls of vanilla and caramel swirled, crunchy and chocolatey chopped peanuts goodness.

"God," Layla moaned out loud, her voice echoing in the kitchen in a android like warble. "I love Snickers ice cream."

She scooped another large spoonful when the doorbell rang. The thing was as shrill as a banshee making her jump and dropping her spoon. Layla tried to catch it but only caught air. And watched in dismay as it clattered on the floor in a cold, smushed death.

The bell rang again. Layla looked up at the wooden wall clock. Instead of numbers, words were carved on scrolls. Twelve. And in clockwise. The little hand was on 'home' and the big hand on 'garden.' Which meant a very rude someone was about to find out what happened when they come between her and her snickers ice cream.

Who came to someone's house at 10:40 in the evening without even calling first? A dead man. Or woman. She didn't care. That person was dead.

She quickly jumped down and grabbed some towel papers. She cleaned the mess and cursed under her breath at whoever was still at her door ringing that damn bell. Layla walked around the counter, tossed the spoon into the sink and the trash in the black, plastic garbage can under the sink.

By the time she reached the door she already a string of curses prepared to fling at the unlucky person behind the door. But when she opened the door she silently turned those curses on herself, admonishing herself for not going to Home Depot sooner and replacing the door with one with a peephole.

"Layla, are you alright," asked Joseph. "What took you so long to answer the door? And what are you wearing..."

Layla stood in shock. She hadn't heard a word Joseph said. After all, she never thought she'd see him so soon, standing before her outside her door, looking as fine can be. The man always took her breath away. So much so she wondered how she would actually pull it off just being friends with him.

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