by Amir Abrams
She blows air into the phone. “Oh, ’cause I was about to say, let’s go stomp the yard on his head.”
I smile, happy to know I have friends like her to always have my back. “No need, but thanks.”
“So what’s this about you being back on the block? Are you still his wifey or what?”
“Girl, I was popping mad junk; that’s all. Besides, Sincere’s not my husband. So how am I gonna be wifed up? Duh!”
“Tramp,” she snaps, “you know what I meant. Are y’all still going out or not?”
“I, um . . .” There’s a knock on my bedroom door. “Hold on,” I tell her, getting up to answer it. My mouth drops open. It’s Sincere. He’s standing in the doorway, looking like a lost puppy. I smile inside. “Ameerah, let me call you back.”
“Ohhh—”
I hang up on her before she can get the rest of her words out.
“How’d you get up here?”
“Your dad,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. I roll my eyes, annoyed that my dad let him in. Well, okay, okay . . . I’m lying. I’m happy to see him, but he doesn’t need to know all that.
“I effed up, Miyah,” he says, looking real sad. “I shoulda never grabbed your arm like that.”
Never give in too easy. “You’re right. So what do you want?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.
“Can we talk?”
I glance over my shoulder, checking for the time. It’s almost ten thirty. “Talk,” I state, trying to act all nonchalant, but inside I’m struggling to hide my smile that he’s standing here in a blue Seton Hall T-shirt and a pair of sweats. “You have five minutes to say what you need to say. Then bounce.”
He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “You’re not gonna let me in?”
I shake my head. “Nope. You can stand right there and say what you need to say.”
He stares at me.
I tilt my head. “Well, talk . . . your time’s ticking.”
“I’m sorry, ba—”
“I’m not your baby, so don’t call me that,” I snap, cutting him off.
“My bad, Miyah.”
“It’s Kamiyah, to you. And you’re wasting my time.”
“Damn, c’mon. Don’t do that. Nothing’s changed with us. You still my girl. And I’m still your man.”
I am smiling inside. Always flip the script and make it be all his fault. “Yeah, whatever.”
“C’mon, Miyah. You know I’m sorry, for real. I’m all effed up over what went down earlier. I don’t even know what happened. I was pissed. You were pissed. And we both said some things I don’t think we meant. At least I know I didn’t. The last eight hours have been hell for me. I miss you, baby.” He reaches for me, but I back away from him. Not that I don’t want to be in his arms, but I need to teach him who’s in charge in this relationship.
“Mmmph. Yeah, right. But you were all up on Facebook, poking and tagging and posting it up with them birds.” For some reason, mentioning him Facebookin’ it up, I feel the urge to slap his face again. I will my hands to stay still, planting them on my hips. “If you missed me so much, why were you all up on them hoes’ pages, posting up on their walls?”
“That wasn’t about nothing. I was only passing time. But I saw what you posted. So, you back on the block? Is that how you doing it?”
I smile inside, pleased to know my stunt to get him over here worked. I keep my hands on my hips. “Maybe.”
Alicia Keys’s “Try Sleeping with a Broken Heart” starts playin’. Oh, wow . . . how fitting, I think, trying to block the lyrics out of my head.
“C’mon, Kamiyah. I’m sorry, baby. Don’t let this one thing mess us up. I can forgive you for slapping me if you can forgive me for grabbing you by the arm. Can we just sit and talk for a few minutes, please?”
I sigh. “You got five minutes,” I say, stepping back and opening the door to let him in. He steps in. I close the door behind him. I brush past him. His six-foot frame looms over me. There are tears in his eyes. And I feel myself becoming unglued. Me!
“I never wanna hurt you, Miyah. I care a lot about you.”
“Well, you have a fine way of showing it,” I say, finally sitting down on my bed.
He takes a seat next to me. His leg brushes against mine.
“Let me make it up to you.”
I look him in the eyes. “How?”
“I can show you better than I can tell you,” he says, touching the side of my face with the back of his hand. I don’t stop him. “You’re so beautiful, Miyah.”
I feel myself getting hot from his touch. Oh, he is soooo dang sexy! The idea of him being with someone else . . . uh-uh, I’m not even going there. I shrug, forcing myself to think up something really, really sad to make me cry. Learning how to turn my tears off and on at the drop of a dime has taken me years to perfect. But I finally have it mastered, as you’ve already seen.
“I’m scared, Sincere,” I say, blinking my wet lashes.
“What you scared of, baby?”
“You have my heart, Sincere. Every single piece of it. I ain’t beat to be getting all caught up in you and then you play me. I don’t wanna get hurt.”
He swipes at my tears with his fingers. Promises me he would never do that. That I’m all he ever thinks about. That I’m all he needs and wants. Tells me I’m his world.
I better be, I think, giving him a half smile. “For real?”
“No doubt,” he says, smiling back at me.
I decide to ask him what he wants from me.
“To be your man,” he answers. He leans in, pressing his forehead up against mine. “I know you don’t believe this, but I never felt like this—the way I feel about you—toward any other girl.”
I rest my hand on the back of his neck. Pull his face closer to mine till our lips meet.
“Can I be your man again, baby?”
I shake my head.
He snakes his arm around me. “Go ’head with that, Miyah. You know you don’t want me to go nowhere. You know I don’t wanna go anywhere. So stop playing.” He lightly kisses me, staring into my wet eyes. And I stare back into his. “Miyah, I’m crazy ’bout you, girl. Don’t do this to us. Don’t keep me from you, baby. I promise I’ll never hurt you.”
I keep myself from smiling. You have him hooked, boo! Now it’s time to reel him in.
He kisses me again. And this time, without thinking, I part my lips and allow his tongue to touch mine. It tastes like a watermelon Jolly Rancher. And when we finally come up for air, I’ve forgiven him for taking all night to finally come to his senses.
“Am I still your man, baby?”
This time I nod, whispering, “Yes.”
And just like that, with one simple kiss, this is how it all begins and ends. With Sincere being right back where he belongs—with me. And there will be no breaking up unless I want there to be.
24
Three days later, Sincere and I are chilling up in his bedroom, cuddling and watching the movie Takers on DVD. Of course I’m supposed to be in school today, but I’m not. I’m here with my man, laid up in his bed, being all grown and whatnot. His parents are away for the week, leaving him the house to himself. He’s lounging in his Polo boxers and a wifebeater. And I have on one of his button-up shirts that fits more like a minidress on me. Although we’ve been spending a lot of time together, we still haven’t officially had “sex.” We do a lot of making out and other things that leave us both very satisfied. Sincere never pushes the issue to go further than what we already do. And I love him for that. Anyway, Sincere says if I don’t want to go all the way, then he’ll wait for me.
Of course, leave it to Zahara to say he’s getting it in somewhere else with one of them hot-box hoochie-coochies on campus. “Girl, please. If he ain’t gettin’ it from you, he’s definitely gettin’ it somewhere else, ’cause he sure ain’t playin’ with himself. And he’s in college. Oh yeah, them college hoes are tossin’ him them panties left and right.” That’
s what she keeps saying.
Then there’s Erika’s voice in my head, nagging me about cheating guys. Under the right conditions, if he thinks he can get away with it, all guys will cheat. They can’t help themselves. It’s in their nature to be doggish, which is why you have to always keep ’em on a very short leash and yank it every so often to let ’em know who’s in charge.
I’ve asked Sincere many times if he’s ever cheated on me, and he tells me no. He says he would never cheat on me. He tells me I mean too much to him for him to do something like that. And I believe him. Well, um, I try to believe him. I mean, I really want to believe him. But something in my head tells me I better keep my eye on him.
Last night when I was on the phone talking to Erika about what Zahara said and about those things Erika used to say about guys, she said to me, “Now that I’m older, I don’t think all guys cheat, but I still believe that most will.”
“Has Winston ever cheated on you?” I asked her.
“Not that I know of, but I’m not worried about him cheating on me.”
“Why not?” I asked, curious. She sounded so confident.
“Well, one, he’s never done anything to give me a reason to worry. I trust him. But, trust and believe, don’t think for one minute that I don’t keep my eyes and ears open; just in case.”
“Well, how will I know if Sincere is cheating on me?” I asked her.
“Your gut will tell you,” she answered. “Trust me. You will know it and feel it in your bones.”
I was so relieved that that wasn’t something I was feeling in my bones when it comes to Sincere.
She asked, “Has he given you any reason to think he’s cheating on you?”
“No, not really,” I told her.
“Good. And hopefully he never does. Still, keep your eyes open; watch him closely. Trust me, if he is doing something he shouldn’t be, he’ll slip up and show you everything you need to know.” We talked a few minutes more then hung up.
Unfortunately, talking to her didn’t really make me feel any better about what Zahara keeps saying about him sleeping with some trick. I know me. And I know if he is cheating on me—or if I even think he is, there is going to be hell to pay.
Sincere nudges me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What you thinkin’ about?”
I look up at him, shaking my head. “Nothing.”
“You sure?”
I shift my body to face him. I stare into his eyes. “Does it bother you that we aren’t having sex? I mean, I want to, but. . .”
“Nah, not at all,” he says, rubbing my hair. “I told you, it’s cool. When you’re ready to go all the way, then I’m ready.” He lightly kisses me on the lips. “Until then, what we already do is good enough for me.”
I smile at him. “Are you sure?”
He smiles back, pressing his body into mine. “No doubt, baby.” I lower my hand, reach for him, and feel how excited he is. I squeeze. He groans.
“You like that?”
“Yeah, baby,” he says, pulling in his bottom lip, then biting down on it. I kiss his lips. If I ever catch him with another chick, I think, slipping my tongue in his mouth, I’ma set it off!
Thirty minutes later, Sincere is downstairs fixing us something to eat. I glance at the clock on his nightstand—1:38 P.M. I get up and sit on the edge of the bed and decide to text my girls to let ’em know where I’m at. As I’m texting back ’n’ forth with Zahara and Ameerah, Sincere’s BlackBerry starts buzzing. I glance over at it sitting up on his dresser. The buzzing stops. Two minutes later, it starts buzzing again. Now, I know I should mind my business and leave it alone. But I don’t. I can’t. And I won’t. The temptation is too great. And against my better judgment, instead of ignoring the constant buzzing, I get up and press the space bar. His screen comes to life. I scroll over to his messages, then press the thumb ball. He has two new text messages and twelve new e-mails; mostly from Facebook. Kamiyah, don’t do it. What if he went through your phone? You know you wouldn’t like it. I try to talk myself out of it, but the voice in my head tells me this is what I’m supposed to do. Keep your eyes open!
The texts are from a Miranda. I click open the first text message. I read it. Then reread it, blinking. HEY SEXY. . . WHEN AM I GONNA C U? I MISS U
I click open the next text: CALL ME WHEN U GET THIS. I WANNA HEAR UR VOICE.
“I don’t think so,” I mumble, deleting both texts. Oh, but not until I memorize the number. I’ma check this ho real quick! I put his phone back where it was, then sit back on the bed, fuming.
My hands shake as I punch in the number. I wait. Four rings later, a chick answers. “Hello?”
“Listen,” I say, “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but do me a favor, sweetie. Don’t text my man again.”
“Excuse you?” she says with attitude. “Who is this?”
“Don’t worry about who I am. All you need to worry about is not texting my man.”
“And who’s your man?”
“Sincere,” I snap. “And like I said, don’t text him again.”
She laughs. “Oh, you must be that little girl he calls himself messing with.”
“Little girl? Trick, puhleeze. This little girl will beat the snot outta you, okay? So try it on my time if you want. Don’t send him any more texts.”
She laughs. “I heard how you attacked that other girl a few weeks back. I wanna see you try it with me, sweetie. I’ll text your so-called man all I want. And for the record, my name is Miranda.”
“I don’t care what the hell your name is. Don’t call or text my man.”
She laughs again. And this only pisses me off more. “Little girl, the only thing you are to Sincere is a little plaything. Trust me. When he gets tired of messing with you, he’ll come back where he belongs—with a real woman. Now get the hell up off my phone, little girl.” Click!
“Oh, no the hell she didn’t!” I snap, calling her back. She picks up and before I know it, this chick and I are arguing back and forth, threatening each other. I’m yelling at the top of my lungs. And she’s yelling back. I don’t even hear it when Sincere barges into the bedroom to see what all the commotion is about.
“Yo, why you screaming? Who you on the phone cursing at like that?”
“Some trick named Miranda,” I snap, throwing my phone at him.
He tries to duck, but the phone catches him upside the head. “Owww! Yo, what the eff?! Why you do that?”
My nose is flaring. I’m punching my fist in my hand, pacing the room like a wild animal. “Who the hell is Miranda?!”
He frowns. “Who?”
“Don’t play stupid with me! You heard me the first time. Now, who is she?!”
He doesn’t answer me. He rubs the side of his head. His jaw tightens. “What the hell you doing going through my phone?”
“What is that bird texting you for?” I ask, not answering him.
“How am I s’posed to know? I haven’t talked to her in weeks.” He walks over to his dresser, snatching his phone up. He starts going through it. “Well, where are the texts at?”
“I deleted them,” I state, placing a hand on my hip.
“You did whaaat?”
I repeat myself.
“You buggin’ now, for real, yo.”
“No, you buggin’,” I shoot back, glaring at him.
He mumbles something under his breath. And when I ask him to repeat it, he brushes me off. The next thing I know, I slap him in the back of his head.
“Yo, Miyah, go ’head with that puttin’ ya hands up on me. I’m not with that.”
I mush him in the back of the head again.
“Yo, I’m warning you, like for real. Keep your hands to yourself. You didn’t like it when I snatched you up by the arm, and I told you I wouldn’t do it again. Now I’m telling you to not put your hands on me.”
“Excuse you?! That broad straight disrespected me, and you’re gonna stand here and try to act like I’m outta pocket. I don’t think so
.”
He gives me a confused look. “You are outta pocket. But, tell me. What did Miranda do that was so disrespectful?”
“She texted you, that’s what she did. Then she started popping off at the mouth when I told her to not text you anymore.”
“Well, you had no business calling her. And you’re probably the one who came at her all sideways.”
“I called her to tell her to beat it. And she started talking all reckless.”
He laughs.
And that only pisses me off more. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”
He frowns. “You’re joking, right?”
“Does it look like I’m joking?”
He shakes head. “You got some issues, yo. You called her. She didn’t even know you were here, number one. And number two, if you hadn’t gone through my phone, you wouldn’t have known she texted me. So the only person who’s been disrespected here is me. The only person who should be pissed off is me. You had no business going through my phone.”
Before I realize what’s happening, I run over to him and punch him in the back.
Sincere quickly turns around. “Yo, what the hell is your problem, Miyah?”
“You’re my problem!” I yell, glaring at him. “I wanna know why she’s texting you, talking like the two of you got something going on.”
His nose flares. “Yo, how the hell am I supposed to know? I already told you I haven’t spoken to her in weeks. But I’m telling you, yo. Don’t put ya hands on me like that again. I let you get that off three times already. I don’t hit you, so keep ya damn hands to yourself. I think you should leave.”
I slam my hands up on my hips. “Excuse you? I’m not going anywhere.”
He starts picking up my clothes off the chair and tossing them over to me. “No, for real, Miyah. You need to leave.”
“Oh, so you can call that trick up?”
“Her name is Miranda,” he says, pacing the floor.
I can tell he’s heated. But that chick had no business coming at my man like that. “Oh, so now you wanna take up for her. Whatever.”
“Yeah, you right. It is whatever. Now bounce.”
For some reason, I feel like I’ve been slapped. I blink. Then it’s on and popping like hot grease! I lunge at him, digging my nails into his neck, yelling and screaming and cursing. He grabs my wrists, trying to get my hands from around his neck. I keep screaming and cursing at him. He throws me onto the bed, pinning me down.