by S. Ann Cole
Slipping from the bedroom, I started to dial him back, but then a text message chimed in.
My heart,
Just wanted to let you know I’m in your town. Stopped by your place to surprise you, but Bill refused to grant me access. Did you take me off the Access list? I’ve always had the green light in every area of your life, my heart. What’s up with the blockage now?
Anyway, there’s something *important* I want to talk to you about.
Maybe we could go out for dinner later?
Call me,
xox
Phew. Well that’s a drip of sweat I can wipe away, thanks to Bill. A surprise visit was definitely not something that would’ve played out well this morning. Wait, who took Zane off the list anyway? I shook my head, knowing all too well who did. I’d never even thought about removing Zane from the Access list in order to prevent any unexpected pop-ups at my door while Lovello was here. And that was rather negligent of me, too, seeing that Lovello basically lived here. So at this point, I was glad Lovello had been playing the nosy and controlling boyfriend and removed Zane’s name from my Access list.
Heading back to the bedroom, I smiled at the sight of my sleeping angel. The pristine white sheets were draped across his lower half, one leg bent and the other straight, while his upper body rose and fell with each even breath, every muscle relaxed and abased. His inky-dark hair was a major mess on his head, while his long, dark lashes fanned his cheeks, and days old facial hair shadowed his face. The man’s beauty was so ethereal, it was sometimes hard to believe he was a mortal.
I padded to the bathroom, had a quick cold shower, then threw on my robe and navigated down to the kitchen to whip up some breakfast. Of course, Lovello’s jacket from the night before was tossed across the kitchen island, and his pants along with his necktie were pooled at the foot of a bar stool. The guy seemed to think that kitchens were made for undressing. I couldn’t help smiling, though, realizing just how much I’d missed the litter-bug.
Snatching up his pants and necktie off the floor, I draped them over the crook of my arm, then dragged his jacket from the kitchen island. But as I did that, his wristwatch, cellphone and wallet fell to the ground, due to my ignorance that they’d been under the jacket. Awkwardly, I stooped down to retrieve the fallen bearings, making a mental note to plug his lifeless cellphone on the charger. His wallet flipped open as I picked it up, causing most of its loose contents to tumble out. And among the lot of inconsequential things, I spied a pack of condoms — well, one actually, because two of the condoms had already been utilized.
Two, for sure, had been used.
On someone.
At some time.
But when? Had it been there before we started dating, or after? This sure as hell wasn’t the first time I dropped his wallet. But then, maybe it had just never fallen in a way that would spill its contents. Who remembers, anyway?
I could, one: be rational and resist jumping to conclusions. The half-used packet could’ve been there before he met me. Or two: go bat-shit crazy and fire up an argument, throwing around accusations that he’d been cheating. And lying …
In light of the fact that we’d scarcely made up from a break-up mere hours ago, I decided to go with Option One and returned the contents from whence they came.
“Jesus, what time is it? Can’t believe I skipped devotion,” I heard a groggy Lovello mumble as he dragged himself into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “How come my alarm didn’t go off?”
Bundling his paraphernalia in one hand, I used my other hand to wave his cellphone with a smile that, I instantly noticed, was taking much more effort than it should. “Battery’s dead. I’ll plug it on the charger for you.”
An unidentifiable pain pumped through the arteries of my heart when I peered up at him. And at that moment, I realized that I couldn’t go through with Option One … because I didn’t trust him. I didn’t trust that he’d never cheated on me, and I didn’t trust that he truly wasn’t sleeping with Nicole.
The alcohol had died from my system, and sensibility had begun flowing through my brain cells again. The reason he gave last night for his insensitive acts over the past couple of days was implausible. This was Lovello Sex-Incarnate Nelson. Why on earth would he have an ‘insecurity panic’, thinking that I might be bored with him? Women don’t get ‘bored’ with men like him. And he was cocky enough to know that.
Suddenly, I felt like I was suffocating and gasping for air to breathe. I needed to be away from him for a while. Needed some time to think.
Making sure that my face revealed nothing, I mumbled that I had to go get ready and started out of the kitchen.
“Wait, so no breakfast? I’ve been longing for some of your banana fritters all week. And Rosa’s no damn good at it. Can’t you just make some before you go?” he whined.
“Maybe tomorrow, babe. I really gotta go. Tish called and there’s this … problem. Tomorrow. I promise,” I lied, ignoring the distrustful gleam in his eyes as I rushed off to the bedroom before he could say anything else.
It was no secret, we didn’t trust each other. It was a knot in our relationship that we could never seem to untie.
In record time, I donned black gym shorts, a white tube top, and purple Skechers sneakers, along with a purple hoodie tossed over my shoulder. My fingers had scarcely touched the knob of the front door as I made to leave the house, when I felt my body being yanked back in mid-air.
“You’re not leaving here dressed like that,” Lovello stated in an icy tone as he carried me back to the bedroom.
Struggling to free myself from his arms, I yelled, “Just who the hell do you think you are? My father?”
Lovello ignored me, marching straight into the bedroom and tossing me onto the bed like a rag doll. He slammed the door, leaned back against it and folded his arms across his chest, glaring at me. “Change. I told you yesterday that those guys were all screwing you in their minds. You will not dress like this anymore. Change.“
Scrambling off the bed, I grabbed up my bag that had fallen when he tossed me, and walked up to him. “You will not dictate to me what I can or cannot wear. I own a gym. A gym. People don’t wear clothes there unless they’re obese or hideously awkward. Now move outta my way!”
Lovello’s expression was implacable. Zero tolerance. “Change. Now. Axia.”
Mimicking him, I dropped my bag and folded my arms across my chest. “Or. What?”
Before I knew what hit me, he had me up against the door, my hands manacled above my head. Shitting hell, the man’s faster than a cheetah. “Or else, I’ll throw you up against this door…” He used his free hand to drag down my shorts and panties, “and show you just how hard those perverts are screwing you in their heads.”
In a sudden second, two fingers plunged inside me.
“Ah!” I cried out.
“You see, Axia,” Lovello whispered, as he moved his fingers in and out of me. “They’re not romancing you in their heads. They’re fucking you. Hard. Like this…” He began ramming his fingers in and out. Fast and hard. And harder. And harder … making me howl in ecstasy. “And nobody’s supposed to do anything to you but me. Not even in their minds.” He withdrew his fingers and dragged them over my bud, lubricating it with my sprouting juices. I was dripping wet, and I shivered as a shrill of pleasure sprinted through me.
He plunged his fingers back inside me and began striking me again, circling my bud with his thumb. My legs trembled as an uncontrollable orgasm neared me. “Nobody’s to make you come but me, Axia.”
With that, he pressed the pad of his thumb down on my bud. Hard. And I busted into a million smithereens. Coming so hard that my body was literally convulsing as waves of orgasm hit me over and over again.
Lovello held me in his arms when I collapsed against him. He brushed away the strands of hair that had escaped onto my face and planted a soft kiss on my forehead. “Change, beauts.”
I didn’t argue this time, and obediently did as I was told. Fo
r it was taking every ounce of strength in me not to caterwaul over the fact that I, unfairly so, probably, wasn’t the only woman to whom he was giving such glorious orgasms.
Around three in the afternoon, as I was leaving my spinning class, slaking my thirst from my water bottle, I received a phone call from my best friend who’d so callously neglected me the night before.
“Well, well,” I answered on the second ring. “Didn’t think you guys even remembered I exist — apart from Tish’s calling in sick, which I know she’s really not.”
“I’m sorry, Axia. Last night was just … wow,” Trudy breathed down the line. I almost gagged. “Anyway, did you get my email?”
“Well, because you’ve snagged my assistant, I’ve had my hands full today. So, no, I’m yet to check my emails,” I bit out. Tish better not make this a habit. I’m like a headless chicken without her.
“I’ve forwarded you an email since noon. It’s important. Go check your inbox. Now,” Trudy ordered, and promptly hung up.
What was her problem now? I thought, as I reached the second floor and started up the last flight of stairs to my office.
“Hey, Axia!”
I spun around to see Cody’s head poked out from a boxing room down the hall.
“We’re betting on some boxing matches down here. Wanna wage in?”
As fun as that sounded, and as tempting as it was to join, I declined and continued up the stairs. My declining was fueled by the knowledge that a certain person would be displeased about my lounging with the guys. Why did I even care what he thought? I had no idea.
That’s what I did for entertainment. Challenges and competitions and anything athletic that involves me sweating. There aren’t many women who’re crazy about the things that I’m crazy about. Trudy’s a lazy cheater when it comes to fitness, so that’s why my fun lies with the guys. It’s how we ‘chill’ after hours of overworking our muscles to teach classes and train people. We weren’t alcohol drinkers or chain-smokers, so our way of cooling down was different. Yet I was declining, fearing that a certain Pretty Boy might pop up, sans warning, and start blowing fire through his ears — even though this time I was fully dressed in yoga pants and T-shirt. Oh how I hated being this fully clothed in the gym. Too many clothes tend to make me hot and miserable.
I plodded into my office, slunk down behind my desk and brought life to the computer. Navigating to my email inbox, I exhausted a sigh at the gobs of unread mails. Ugh. Deciding to leave them for Tish to deal with, I sifted for Trudy’s email and stumbled upon one from Lovello that was sent two hours ago.
Beauts,
Important family dinner tonight at eight.
Select an option of the dresses I’ve attached below. Pretty Please :)
There’s something I want to talk to you about, so come straight to my place after work so we can do that as we get dressed.
Love,
Love.
What’s with everyone using the word ‘important’ today? Must be Important Saturday.
Attached were three photos of cocktail dresses. The first was a one-shoulder fuchsia-pink, above-the-knee dress, with an attached sheer skirting at the back that flowed down to the ankles. Cute. Just not for me.
The second was a short, strapless, black velvet dress. It, too, had a mermaid tailing at the back, though black and white. That one was a wow factor, but way too fashion-runway for me. It was definitely a dress that Miss Polish and Shine Nicole would wear. Was he trying to get me to dress like her? I quickly dismissed that stupid thought.
The third was a dark red, knee-length satin dress. Simplistic, with nothing but a deep sweetheart neckline. Its subtlety made it perfect for me. Making my choice, I sent an email with the words, “Red-Satin”. Not even bothering to make an argument about him telling me there’s a dinner party instead of asking, and also making it his duty to pick out dresses for me. As that was his way of forcing me to wear the damn fripperies. I resumed sifting for Trudy’s email, then got a reply from Lovello:
If I’d bet a billion bucks on that dress, I would’ve won.
Predictable much?
See you later.
Love,
Love.
I didn’t reply. Because I wasn’t really feeling him at the moment. Can you love someone with every fiber of your being and dislike them at the same time? Ever since I found that half-used condom packet this morning, a distrustful spirit had descended upon me. You know that unexplainable dark feeling that overcomes you out of the blue, and you just know something’s eerie? Yeah, I’d been needled directly in the wrist vein with that feeling all day. Try as I did, my brain just wouldn’t allow me to believe that the packet had always been there, or that he wasn’t cheating. My brain folded its arms and pointed its nose to the sky, vehemently shaking its head, refusing to let me believe that Lovello loved me. Maybe I was having one of those ‘insecurity panics’? Or maybe I was just right.
Finally locating Trudy’s email, I opened it.
Be sure there’s a chair beneath that big, round ass of yours before you open the attachments.
Call me as soon as you’re done.
A sudden rush of panic bolted beneath my epidermis. What was it? Did I want to know? Was it something bad? Something good? I slunk back in my chair, deciding against opening the attachments. But caved in mere minutes later and, with shaky fingers, opened them.
They were pictures. Pictures of Nicole and Lovello in what looked like a jewelry store. Her hand looped through his as they both peered down through a glass casing. Apart from her hand being looped through his, I didn’t see anything bizarre or inappropriate. So I continued to click through. There was one where Nicole had her hand held out as Lovello slid a ring onto her finger. Okay, so they were jewelry shopping together. And the big deal is what exactly? He did say she was scarce on companions since she’d moved back, I ratiocinated.
Scrolling on, the next picture showed an obscure gesture of Nicole either licking Lovello’s neck or whispering in his ear. The angle where the pictures were taken from was a bit distanced, as if the photographer was hiding and zooming in. A picture is worth a thousand words, I convinced myself, and things may not be as they seem. I wasn’t that gullible. I was sure he’d have a plausible explanation.
It was when I clicked to the next photo, however, that I realized what the photographer was zooming in on. Nicole was wearing an ivory shawl over her dress, but it had, somehow, slipped off her shoulders and gathered at her elbows, revealing them …
The bite marks.
My heart ricocheted in my chest, and I flopped back in my chair like a deflated balloon, refusing to view anymore of the photos. Why was my heart pounding so fast? Why did I feel like I was suffocating? Why did I feel like I needed to piss and shit at the same time? Why was my stomach rumbling as if I just drank a glass of spoiled milk? Why did I feel like I was falling out of my body and spiraling down a bottomless pit? Why didn’t anything feel real? Why was I shocked? Shouldn’t I have expected this?
I’d known it. Was positive that he was sleeping with her. I’d taken precautions and had frozen my heart in place so that when this time came around, I’d be prepared and wouldn’t feel even a hint of pain. But last night, I’d stupidly made myself vulnerable with alcohol. That’s why I don’t drink. That’s why I don’t drink. That’s why I don’t fucking drink!
Alcohol puts you out of control of your feelings and actions. It basically puppets you. The burning heat of the alcohol had melted the protective ice from around my heart last night. Consequently, I’d bought into every lying word that Lovello spewed. My vulnerable self had bought into it, taken down my guard, and welcomed the lying piece of shit back into my heart again. Like the idiot I was. I didn’t deserve to be called a woman. I didn’t deserve to have my name printed on a commodity as tough, intimidating and formidable as a gun. I didn’t deserve the name Blacksille. For all Blacksilles were strong, sensible beings. I was a mouth-running, weak-ass bitch who got what she deserved. Never at al
l was I strong. Never. A fraud, that’s what I’d always been. A fucking fraud.
Trying to control my trembling hands, I picked up my phone and dialed Trudy. The second she answered, I blurted, “Where the hell did you get those?”
“Carla. She emailed me them this morning, claiming she wanted you to know what’s in your milk,” Trudy apprised me. “But I don’t believe for a second that she gives a shit about you. I’m thinking she and Nicole planned this, to rub it in your face that Nelson’s screwing her.”
“Oh” was all I could manage. What else was there to say?
Nicole had a right to be so calm yet cocky last night. After all, it was her quiet way of showing me that Lovello was always hers and never mine. She didn’t need to be all up in my face spitting venomous words or clawing my skin to prove it. To prove that, just like that, she could leave him, come back, and bowl away whomever he was with. Because he was hers.
“You okay, Axia?” Trudy asked, concern coloring her voice. “What’re you going to do? Because I know that ‘break-up’ you told me about last night wasn’t really official.”
“What am I to do, Trudy, but move on with my life?” I answered simply. “He made his choice. There’s nothing I can do about that. Found a pack of condoms in his wallet this morning, you know. Two used. Figures.”
“Ah, so there was a ‘make up’ session last night, eh?”
“Yeah. He was at my house when I got home. But that’s shit now…”
“I dunno what to say, Axia. I know for sure that he’s loony about you but … maybe Nicole’s trying to frame him.”
Despite myself, I laughed. “Oh, sure. She just sunk her teeth into her own flesh like a desperate psycho-bitch. You’ve seen that woman in all her pomp and cockiness, Trudy. And you know, as well as I know, that to pass her off as a desperate ex would only be to soothe our own disappointment.”