I haven't seen him in person since we were twenty-one...since we broke up a month after I made that horrible...and beautiful decision.
It's painful to look at him right now across from me. I don't know what to say. I look up and over and away from and fiddle with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. When I finally speak, I'm looking at the large fake plant situated yards away from us next to one of the two side entrances of the store. My lips move and my eyes trace the reddish brown ceramic tiles of the floor around the plant, "Yeah...awkward."
The walls are the yellow of crusted over mustard at the spout of a mustard bottle.
"It's so good to see you," his rich voice reaches my ears as his hand reaches to grasp my hand—laboriously and insanely tugging at the end of my sleeve—and it's a shock I'm not ready to feel again.
I can't ignore him anymore with his hand and voice on me. I can't ignore him with this desire pulsing through me—this love pulsing through me.
The rich brown of his hand looks so good on top of mine—moving around the back of it—slowly and deliberately drawing out that damn delicious tingle—over my knuckles to clasp my small hand and delicately hold it in his large brown one.
My mouth has been opening and closing all the while, so when I look up at him this desire pulsing through me from the warmth of his hand all over and around me, it's open slightly...separated to utter something I haven't thought of saying, "It's g-good to see you, too."
And that smile, oh that crooked smile of his, so different and imperfect compared to Jamal's, is enough to make me want to jump over the table and close the space that's kept us apart for three years. I want to throw my arms around him and scream, "I. LOVE. YOU."
But the reason we broke up was because I withdrew inside myself after I lost my virginity, and he didn't have the patience to wait for me to be ok again.
I washed his starter locs and massaged his scalp with oil. I played with fire too many times. I eked something out of him I wasn't ready to deal with.
He broke up with YOU.
Don't be desperate.
As he's holding my hand with that wide smile conjuring up good and bad emotions, a tell-tale ding from the old brass bell above one of Timmy Chan's double doors signals the entrance of someone. Instinctively, I look over because the doors are a few spaced square tables away from us, and I'm confused at what I see: a girl, as tall as me, yet skinny, lighter than me by a few shades, with a head full of long natural hair curly to my kinky staring at Malik's back and then me, with wide and then narrow eyes, "Malik?"
*snap*
As quick as you can flick on a light and snap your fingers, he pulls his hand away from mine and turns around in the booth, "Yeah? You said you didn't wanna come in" is his calm response to her icy "Malik"
I retract my hand and pull both into my lap beneath the table. Rejection curls at the bottom of my belly. My heart pings in my chest, and I stare at her unabashedly, he has a girl?
She walks and talks simultaneously. Her little body looks so delicate and feminine wrapped in a fitted white sweater, skinny jeans, and thigh high black boots. Her teeth flash white light when she speaks, "The CD guy kept messing with me," her soft lilt voice is pleasant now, and when she flashes those white teeth at me in a friendly smile that crinkles her elf nose, it's friendlier than before, "Hey, I'm Crystal."
"My bad, come sit down," and he slides out the booth and stands aside while she slides in and then he's beside her and they look like the perfect couple. A perfect match.
"Roshni," I extend a hand and notice that hers is smaller than mine if that's possible, and it's as warm and friendly as her smile. I want to dislike her, but she's too nice.
I wish my food was ready.
"Yeah, sorry about that. Roshni, this is my girlfriend Crystal. Crystal, this is an old friend, Roshni."
...girlfriend.
...old friend.
I'm pathetic. I really am pathetic.
"Nice to meet you Roshni!" Another bright flash.
"You, too" I've always envied white and perfect smiles. I smile through closed lips.
...girlfriend.
Malik smiles at me, and it's off, but that could me projecting. Crystal nudges him, "You order yet? Mom said she wants an extra shrimp fried rice and two more eggrolls."
Wow. I had no idea I could hurt worse, but I do. He knows her family. That means they're serious.
"Oh, yeah. Lemme go up there."
What propelled me to come inside today? I could've went through the drive thru and never experienced this. Now, I have to sit through this bullsh*t feeling salty while I wait for my food.
I.Feel.So.Bad....washed up...pathetic...loveless...and I look like a bum.
I trace lines on the table top.
"You're the one Malik knows from school?"
I don't look up. It's dangerous to meet another woman's eyes when she's asking an iceberg question. I know without thinking too hard that she's fishing for information on me, but I also know that she probably has more information on me than I realize.
She's cyberstalked me...and I'm probably going to cyberstalk her after I leave here.
"Yeah, high school. We went to the same university for a year. That's about it."
But that's not it...obviously. We had a summer fling before we went off to college and stayed 'friends'. He dated some...I dated some...we got back together for a few months...then broke it off but stayed friends...again...tried the platonic friend thing the rest of our freshmen year and all of our sophomore year...then got back together our junior year and he transferred his senior year and we dated for over a year...had bad awkward sex followed by redemptive great sex...broke up a month later. Avoided each other until we graduated...made nice-nice a year later...exchanged fake happy messages to touch base...and then--ta-da-- here we are.
I'm tired thinking about it.
"Oh, cool."
Malik is back soon with wavering smile.
"Rah'ney!" I'm so thankful, I smile at the mispronunciation of my name: he almost called me Rodney.
I get up, so grateful, retrieve my hot food tucked safely into a thick brown paper bag. Heat emanates from the bag, as I turn around with a plastic smile and wave at the couple with my left hand balancing the bag and my right hand waving at them, "Y'all have a good day."
"You, too!" Crystal chirps followed by Malik's velvety, "Nice to see you again, Roshni."
And I'm out the door.
I spend the night crying over fried rice as I stuff my face with eggrolls.
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February 5th
It doesn't feel the same.
I've been dancing across this tight rope since I saw Malik. This tight-rope is about to break.
I'm at his place, and he has a really nice place. He works hard for it, but he's always been a hard worker...just a ho.
I knew I made a mistake when I found his number and called him the night Malik broke my heart again... The night Sasha didn't want to hear me cry about Malik anymore...the night my roommate downed a beer and told me that f***ing would get me over him and out of his (curly) hair. I thought, cool, it'll be nice to have someone to talk to again.
Jamal knew me, and he was fun. I could hang out with him and stop moping over Malik and his girlfriend—the girlfriend who was now a constant presence on his Facebook.
And it was cool. We kicked it. We went to the movies. We went out to eat. We did stuff in his free time when he wasn't working. We re-developed a friendship in just a few weeks.
Today was supposed to be a day for us to kick it as usual and celebrate me being a working woman and less of a bum.
Just kicking it...cool. Even met his son.
But, now, sitting on his bed with the lights out with Netflix on and popcorn on my tongue, I feel his lips pressed against the crook of my neck. He's been going in this direction all day, and with a little liquor in his system and the concept of Netflix and Chill in the air, he's in action.
His body is tight, and with those pecs pressing against his white beater, he's the perfect person to have a quickie with.
...but my heart and body belongs to someone else.
"Jamal," I lean over to the side and re-focus my eyes on the Eddie Murphy comedy show playing.
"Stop playing girl and come ova here."
Damn, why do I love it when guys say stuff like that? It's like a switch that makes me tingle all over when it's flicked.
I shake my head and laugh, "Nah, you know I told you we wasn't gonna go there again."
"But you feel it Roshni. You ain't gonna do anything about it, but I will. C'mere girl."
I scoot over to the right, clearly enjoying this game and not understanding how dangerous it is to play with men. It's always dangerous. And Jamal isn't too much about playing.
So when he grabs me by the waist and pulls me over and down on my back with my knees bent facing the ceiling and the top of my head pressed against his pillows, I know I need to get something straight, "I ain't having sex with you Jamal."
He's already between my legs and his warmth is all over me, "I just wanna play a lil, that's all. You came over here looking good like you didn't know this was gonna happen."
"Please," I roll my eyes, turn my head to the side to avoid his strong stare, and laugh, "like you wasn't looking for a chance anyway."
His shadow covers me and then his body. I feel him pressed between my thighs and moving against my tights in his gym shorts before he's even kissed me.
It feels dirty but good to be wanted by a man again...but this doesn't feel right, and these dirty things he's whispering in my ears sound just as conflicting. We kiss, but it doesn't feel like love. It feels like lust. It feels like he wants to bust one –and will—without taking my tights off.
He tells me, "You aint gonna want to be a virgin after this" right as I'm allowing the sensations down there to do something crazy to me.
Before these words, I'm willing to risk it all because there's something animalistic about him moving against me right there through these clothes. I could have sex with him and see what all the girls were talking about. If it feels this good with him through clothes, how will it feel without them?
But these words...these words hit me before the climax does, and all the moaning and deep breathing and furious kisses and him holding onto my thighs—digging his fingers into their softness—feels wrong.
I'm not a virgin anymore, but he never got the memo.
Same ol' Jamal just looking to bust one real quick.
Right when he presses down harder, and I'm tempted to re-think it again—because the body is a natural and sensitive thing—I shove him off me with all the strength I have.
"The f*ck? Ay, where you going?"
I don't stop to put the sandals on that I left at the base of his bed. I put them under my arm and walk barefooted with my satchel bag bouncing against my hip and my keys jingling against each other. The walk turns to a fast pace because I'm scared all of a sudden that he's gonna find a way to get what he's after whether I say yes or no, but I tell myself that's not him.
Why am I so afraid?
"What's wrong?!" he's behind me, but I unlock and yank open his front door before he close it and sex me into oblivion.
I don't want it. I don't want it.
Oh, the body is a terrible, terrible thing.
I take off into a run and sprint to my car because damnit I am not about to make this mistake again. And I ain't gonna make this mistake with ol fine smooth talking ho a** Jamal.
The soles and pads of my feet are screaming by the time I reach my car and insert the key. Jamal has stopped to look at me from the sidewalk with his arms over his head and a confused expression on his face.
Baby, I turn that car on, pull into reverse and hope beyond hope that I can stop being an idiot for once.
--------------------------------------------------------------
February 13th
But the battle against idiocy is a continuous thing.
Sasha decided to listen to me cry but on one condition: we do it at the club.
"It's just so crazy!" I cradle a cranberry vodka while we stand against the grimy wall in our skimpiest clothes. I have church in the morning, but this little black dress is giving me life—and death. Is it possible to feel free and chained at the same time? Besides being black in America?
"Girl, I told you he want that old thang back." Sasha slings her weave over one shoulder and plays with the straw in her drink. She's on her second mojito and is talking about taking a few shots of rum to really get her night started, but I'm barely sipping my drink.
"Nah," I turn away from the crown, press one bare shoulder and the side of my head against the dirty a** wall and beseech her, "It's not that. Jamal...he just doesn't feel...authentic. Like he still doesn't care about me."
"I see what you're saying, but maybe it's because you're going along with it. Look, set some standards and see how it works."
"But," I stand up straight and feel hopeless, "I don't love him like I love Malik."
"Ah, sh*t," Sasha downs the rest of her mojito, shakes her head full of blond tipped black weave and continues, "look. Malik moved on—a long time ago. Right? Let that man live his life, and you live yours! Give Jamal another shot, k?"
Jamal has been texting my phone non-stop, but all I feel there is raw lust. I don't feel any love. I guess lust feels like love sometimes...but...
I turn away from Sasha and press my back against the wall.
...I want the real thing.
I've been hiding from Jamal. I duck behind bushes, turn the lights off, duck behind the wheel of my car, and silence my phone when he pops up.
There's something I don't like about him. He's twenty five and still hasn't grown up...or...is Sasha telling the truth?
Am I not giving him a chance?
I throw the rest of my drink back, "I want another one"
One hour later, after dancing in a heated frenzy, after throwing up behind a bush and walking out into balmy night of Houston, I call him.
I'm outside when he comes. Sasha is still inside turning up without me, oblivious to the fact that I couldn't possibly be in the restroom that long. I'm rubbing my shoulders even though it's not cold and standing on the sidewalk looking like one of the oldest profession.
He pulls up along the curb, gets out and half jogs over to me, "Hey, you good?"
I nod, stagger as I walk over, "Take me home?"
"Yeah, I'm glad you called. I aint gonna fuss at you, promise."
And when I'm in that car, sitting in his passenger seat, I can care less about a girlfriend. I look over at him with so much adoration...eating up his beautiful locs and his sweet dark brown skin and full lips...that he laughs before focusing on the road again, "You sure you good? You look loopy."
He's so different from Jamal.
I snuggle into the seat and whisper before I fall asleep, "I love you Malik".
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A/N: Hope you liked it!
annnnnnd
...Tell me something you would like to see this book, something you would like to see more of, what you don't like, what you do like, and what you think would make the book better!