Bad as in Good

by J. Lovelace

  I didn’t want to; he made me feel uncomfortable. Something bothered him, and he wasn’t letting me in. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

  He scratched his scalp and smiled. “No, my scalp is a little dry, and I miss you. Want to spend as much time with you as I can.”

  Louis had left a bottle of his peppermint oil under my bathroom sink. I wasn’t in the mood, but I couldn’t think of a valid reason not to. “Okay, lemme go get the oil.”

  As I walked into my bedroom, he watched me. His eyes glued on my skin. I felt his eyes on my back as I passed my bed on the way to my bathroom. When I found the peppermint oil, I walked back into the living room. Louis was sitting down on my couch staring at his hands. I cleared my throat to let him know I was back. A second passed before he looked up at me and grinned. I strolled over to him and sat with him between my legs. He let his dreads fall off his shoulders, allowing me to get my fingers in between.

  As I poured the peppermint oil on the tips of my fingers, I gently pulled his head back and ran my fingers up and down his scalp. I stopped and felt his scalp with my dry hand when I realized how oily his hair felt. “Your scalp seems pretty oiled up to me.”

  He pushed up his lips. “It is? It felt dry to me.” He rubbed the skin on my calves and exhaled. “I guess I wanted to sit between your legs before I left.” I bottled up the peppermint oil and sat back. Louis kissed my inner thigh, stood up, and tied up his dreads. “Did you want to get to bed?”

  I nodded. He helped me up. As I walked him to the door, I said, “I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ll oil your scalp then.”

  We reached my door, and I wrapped my arms around his neck briefly before pulling away and holding the doorknob. Before I could see him out, he stopped suddenly and pulled me into his embrace again. He clutched my waist and squeezed my skin. With his breath on my neck, he held me close and then grabbed my neck as he pushed my lips toward his. He kissed me furiously, as if to remind me of the kisses I’d be missing if I let him leave. I closed my eyes and let him remind me. It was a passion I wasn’t used to with Louis, and my body hungered after more. I circled my arms around his neck and used his body to support me. Between kisses, I exhaled. I exhaled all of the conflicting emotions I felt and inhaled the one thing that made sense to me, the love that Louis did have for me. Though I could never define the emotion Tariq felt for me, Louis’s emotions were always clear, no games. He wanted me desperately, and he made no attempts to hide that. He kissed me again, and I exhaled. I released the confusion I felt when Louis touched me, held me, and penetrated me. I let in the assuredness in his embrace. When he grabbed my legs and yanked me up toward his waist, my inner thighs floated up his six-foot-three stature like an elevator. I loosened his dreads and let them fall atop his shoulders. He smiled with his kisses while our tongues salsa danced with each other, letting our short, panting breaths play the music in the background. Then, right as I sucked on his bottom lip and pulled, he pressed his top lip on top of mine and used his tongue to push away. He looked in my eyes and murmured ever so tenderly, “I wish you wouldn’t fight this feeling. This hot, anxious feeling that has your heart beating the same beat and the same rate as mine. This is what I’m feelin’. Every time you speak, every time you’re near me, every time I see you…this is exactly how I feel.” Kissing the millions of goose bumps scattered throughout my arms, he said, “And your heat tells me that you feel it, too.” Looking into my eyes, his heavenly, deep-brown eyes that gazed into mine, he continued, “It’s obvious. Stop fightin’ it.”

  He covered my mouth with his lips and kicked the music back up, letting our tongues salsa. I gripped his shirt collar and tried to ignore the tingling feeling that slid up my thigh. The tingle was restrained but palpable. It gradually intruded my nether regions as he did a backward glide toward my bedroom. I wanted him bad, and I forgot all thoughts of the married man whose name held no relevance. All I needed was Louis’s body thrusting on top of mine. When my back hit the bed, I spread my legs like eagle wings and summoned his presence inside the entrance of my body. I commanded his services and would accept nothing less than his best. “Give it to me,” I demanded. I asked no questions and left no room for forethought. I quickly seized his neck and tugged him forward.

  There was no foreplay. There weren’t any more kisses. Certainly no more words. Upon retrieving a condom from my nightstand, Louis rested on top of me, and I welcomed him. We didn’t break our gaze as he moved forward and backward, rubbing my skin with his chest. Our sweat mixed into one another, sizzling from the heat of our friction and creating a new substance. He pushed in deep, and my reflexes slid away from him. Instinctively, he grabbed my butt and ended the chase as fast as it started. He worked my body up and down like a pogo stick while my back arched.

  I saw the back of my skull as my eyes rolled back. My body shook and jived as I welcomed him deeper, held on to his shoulders, and demanded he go harder, punishing me for forsaking loving as faithful as his. Opening my mouth to scream, I caught his stare. He gaped at me as if I were his goddess and he could do nothing but worship me; examining my skin, admiring my lips, adoring my dimpled cheeks. When I wanted to scream, staring into his eyes, I affirmed, “I love you.” The words didn’t make sense to me. I closed my mouth and clutched my jaw to keep any more words from escaping.

  I thought my premature confession would break the rhythm. I tensed when I looked up at him, and the look in his eyes went from intensity to weakness, a weak passion that craved to react and respond to the words he was begging to hear. I was afraid to hear what he would say next. I closed my eyes and awaited the inevitable. Instead, he turned me over and reentered my body without breaking a step. His arm clasped across my shoulders, and his lips glued to my neck and shoulders, he steered my hips with each thrust. I leaked down my thighs as I tightened my pelvic muscles and buckled my knees. When I opened my mouth this time, only screams escaped. Loud, throat-burning screams that gnawed their way out of captivity.

  Louis grunted as he pulled away and let his cum trickle down my backside, staining the sheets. As we fell on top of each other, he pulled me close to him, threw the used condom to the floor, and muttered, “I’m glad you finally realized it.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Tariq

  Present…

  “You’re not taking my son.” I dropped the divorce papers on my coffee table. Simoné stood in front of my TV with her hands gripping her hips. The coffee table separated us as we stood across from each other. When she noticed the papers, she flipped through them and pushed them aside. “I’m not signing no damn divorce papers either.”

  “Simoné, I’m tired of you playing these games—”

  “I’m not playin’ no damn games! You started all this by fuckin’ some bitch in my bed. You’re the one playin’ games.”

  Her bed? I rubbed the top of my head and sat down. “You like makin’ shit hard. What happened to an annulment? What happened to you wantin’ me to be there for my son? Now, you won’t even let me see my son.”

  She smirked. “Shit changed.”

  “Is that right?”

  She twirled her neck. “Yep, that’s right. You don’t get the right to walk out on me, Riq. I poured my heart into this relationship, and you betrayed me. You say you’re done with me, but while we were living under the same roof, you fucked me over a dozen times. What the fuck am I supposed to think about us when you fuck me one night and fuck another bitch in our bed the next?”

  “We fucked like twice, Simoné.”

  Simoné huffed. “If you say so, Riq. You deserve everything I’m putting you through.”

  I was done listening to her play the victim. I may have succumbed to temptation a few nights while living with Simoné. After passing out from a round of shots of Patrón, Simoné was all too ready to meet me on the couch and take advantage of my weak state. I enjoyed it while it happened, but come morning, she would use it against me. Nevertheless, I was done. I dropped my shoulders and tugged the skin between my fingers
. “I did some research, Simoné.”

  “And? You’re still not takin’ my son.”

  “I know that our situation is partly my fault. I should’ve tried harder to divorce you, but I dunno, Simoné. What I do know is that I can’t let you keep fucking my life up anymore. Simoné, we are done. We are never getting back together. I will never love you. I never loved you when we actually were together. I’m tired of this shit, Simoné. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of not seeing my son.” I exhaled. “Since you won’t get an annulment, I will move forward with this divorce and keep my son in the process. I’ve already started contacting lawyers.”

  “What the fuck does that mean, Riq? You think I can’t fight you on this?”

  I took a deep breath and pushed the divorce papers closer to her. “That means that I’m ending this. You don’t have the right to keep me in this bullshit because you can’t let go. I want things to be easy. I don’t wanna go through all this bullshit, especially when we got Amari to deal wit’. We can either do this like two adults or I can make shit real difficult for you.”

  She dropped her hands and breathed. She spread her lips and whistled through her mouth as she stared at the papers. She picked them up and leafed through them. Not understanding what to say, she threw the papers back down and put her hands back on her hips. “Whatchu tryna say, Riq?”

  “I tol’ you, Simoné. I’m done. I’m tired of going through this. I tried to be there for my son, and you put me through hell doing it. And now, you wanna move my son away from me ’cause you can’t move on. I’m done wit’ it.”

  “I put you through hell?”

  “Simoné, you cheated on me! Do you remember that I caught you fuckin’ another nigga in my damn shower? And then you tricked me into marrying you. Why the fuck would I wanna be married to you?”

  “Riq…”

  “Nah…” I stood up and picked the papers back up. “We goin’ get this divorce, After that, I’m coming for my son.”

  She snatched the papers from my hands and threw them to the floor. She kept her eyes on me intently as if she already decided where she was goin’ to bury my body. Then she laughed. She looked down at the scattered papers and cackled as she walked toward my front door. “Fuck you, Riq. You’re not takin’ my son.”

  After gathering the papers from the floor, I held her arm and yanked her back. An inch away from her face, I said, “You think everything’s a fuckin’ game.” She snatched her arm away and folded her arms over her chest. “You ain’t got no job, no place to stay. You ain’t got shit. You think I won’t be able to take my son from you?”

  “I know you won’t.”

  I was the one laughing now. I looked her up and down and chuckled. When I first met Simoné, her take-no-shit attitude turned me on. At that moment, I found it amusing. She didn’t realize when it was time to throw in the towel. I was serious about my son, an’ Simoné was soon about to find out how much. “And what makes you so damn sure?”

  Her face was expressionless. Although her nostrils were slightly flared, I couldn’t accurately predict what she was about to say next. She didn’t move. She stared right through me as she spoke the next six words low and slow. “ ’Cause he ain’t yo’ damn son.”

  It was as if she knocked the wind out of me. I stumbled backward. Her words packed the punch of a heavyweight champion. My ribs caved in after she knocked me out. I stared at her, searching for a tell, a smirk or a wink. Something that implied the joke. It wasn’t a funny joke, but I’d take it. Her face was straight. She stared me down and silently delighted in my reaction. I wanted to punch her back and hit her wit’ the same blow she’d hit me wit’. “What?”

  “You heard what the fuck I said.” She turned around and tried to walk out my door. I squeezed her forearm and pulled her back. She hadn’t gained enough footing, and she had to grab my kitchen counter to keep from falling backward. I didn’t care if she fell. I wanted answers, and I wasn’t goin’ let her walk out this time. She plucked her hand away from my clutch and sneered. “What the fuck is wrong wit’ you? Don’t put yo’ damn hands on me!”

  “What the fuck are you talkin’ ’bout, Simoné? Whatchu mean, he ain’t my son?”

  “I mean what the fuck I said! He’s not yours. He never was.”

  “Then what did you show me? What was the paternity test you showed me, Simoné? I was there when they took my DNA and tested you again. What the fuck was all that?”

  “Bullshit! I faked it! You think I don’t have friends in useful places? I could’ve had those results say our son was the president’s baby. Why the fuck would I want to have a baby by a nigga wit’ no fuckin’ job, a lazy eye, and still lives wit’ his mama? I called in a big favor to hook you, Riq.” She took a deep breath. Her eyes welled with tears, but she wiped her face and shook her head. “I wanted you back.”

  “Simoné, are you still playin’ fuckin’ games?”

  “Do I look like I’m playin’? Take a paternity test yo’ damn self if you don’t believe me. Amari’s not yours, Riq. He may look like you, but trust me, he’s Jamar’s. Sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Did women really think that sorry was the cure? Women would put a knife in a man’s back, turn around, and say sorry when blood stained his shirt. What the fuck does sorry do for me in this moment? Right then, I wanted to crack her skull against my hardwood floor, not a fuckin’ sorry. “Simoné…you ain’t fo’ real…” I pictured Amari’s face. I pictured the face of the fuckin’ nigga she had in my shower. Amari had his ears and the same smug expression about his face.

  “I gotta go.” Simoné walked to my front door without a look back. I wanted to stop her, but if I’d moved, I wouldn’t have been able to account for my hands. I closed my fists and breathed steadily. I couldn’t look at her. I heard her footsteps disappear out into the hallway as the door shut behind her. I didn’t move. I stood there as images of my son’s face flashed through my mind. I dissected his face, his eyes, his nose, and his lips. When I used to look at him, I saw me. After hearing that, I saw a stranger. Ten minutes ago, I had a son. In that moment, I had nothing but pain and blind fury.

  • • •

  Damien stood in the middle of my condo eyeing the damage. He eyed the fifteen holes in my wall. Fifteen fist-wide holes that went as deep as my elbow. He watched his step as he walked over the shattered glass strewn all over my floor. Broken dishes and cups lay dead on my floor as scattered bits scratched my hardwood. Damien kept his hands in his pockets, strolling around my apartment in silent awe. I sat on my couch staring at the wall. My knuckles covered in dried blood and drywall. Dried sweat rested on my forehead, neck, and back. When he walked in, I had no words for him. I simply sat down and stared at the wall—breathing.

  Simoné called. She called thirty-seven times. She blew me up with voicemails and sending text messages. I didn’t react to the first ten calls. After a drink of water, she called again. I threw my water glass against the wall, then another glass, then some plates—I did that through twelve more calls. Tired of being a bitch and throwing plates, I saw Simoné’s face in my walls. I punched her for each call. Then, Damien stopped by. I turned my phone off and gave my walls a rest.

  “Um…is there something I need to know?”

  I never knew silence made a sound. In my silence, I heard Simoné’s voice constantly reminding me of the paternity of my son. I needed to drive her voice out of my head. I took a deep, much-needed breath and said, “Simoné.”

  Damien walked toward me. He stood in the way of my view of the wall and stared down at me. “What did she do now?”

  “I tol’ her I was comin’ for my son.” I had to remind myself to breathe to keep from getting angrier. I got lightheaded as I attempted to let the rage simmer. “She tol’ me that Lil’ Man ain’t mine.”

  Damien dropped his jaw and stepped back like I hit him in the face. “Stop lying.”

  I stared at my feet and pressed my fists together. “Does my condo look like I’m lying?”


  He chuckled nervously. His laugh was weak and shaky as he rubbed his chin and cataloged the damage. “That’s fucked up.”

  “No, what’s fucked up is that I had a bitch claimin’ my last name, puttin’ me through bullshit, and then lying about a son who ain’t mine.” I laughed. It was the first laugh I’d had since Simoné walked out my place. There wasn’t anything funny, but I had to release an emotion other than anger.

  “Shit, man. Whatchu goin’ do?”

  “I don’t know, man. The only reason why my place is so fucked up is ’cause it ain’t in me to knock out a female. I want to, though. I gotta stay here until it’s safe for Simoné.”

  “I was ’bout to say we need to go out to the club.”

  I shook my head. “Nah, man. I can’t risk it. If I get drunk enough, I’ma somehow make it to Simoné’s mama house. She ain’t goin’ make it out alive.”

  Damien nodded. He understood my frustration. Damien had two kids that he knew were his. I had a son who didn’t belong to me. Instantly, fury overtook me. The anger had resurfaced, and I stood back up and headed for the front door. The wall between my entryway and my kitchen had two holes in it. I clenched my fists and then punched in a third hole. The first few holes punched back. That time, my fist went through easily. That felt good. Damien stood up and walked up behind me. “Aye man, you tryna get the cops called?”

  I exhaled. I wasn’t breathing. I stood there staring at my three holes and holding my breath. When he spoke, I shook my head and turned my doorknob. “I’ma have to hit you up later. I can’t even think straight, man.”

  Damien sympathized, and nodded in agreement. When I opened the door, we were both surprised to see Erin. She stood there with her hand up and ready to knock. Damien looked at me and back at her. I could sense he was undressing her out of the yellow sundress she wore. He licked his lips as he eyed her pedicured toes in beach slides and smiled when he noticed her hair pulled up into a loose bun. She stared back at him as she waited for someone to say something. When neither of us spoke, she caught a glimpse of my apartment and turned her eyes toward me. I stood there in a ripped undershirt and dirty sweatpants. With her uneasy smile, her dimples stared back at us, wanting answers. She spread her lips and looked back into my place. “Is this a bad time?”