Although I decided earlier not to hit him up, the love in me feels bad for playing the phone games with him just because I feel like being resentful. Maybe it’s an emergency! Maybe he needs me. Oh, my gosh, what was I thinking!? I begin to panic.
“How stupid can you be, Mya, your man is calling you and you sleep and a not giving a fuck about him mood. What if …” I say to myself. Scrolling down my call log, clicking on Shame’s name, I decide to call him back just to see if he is straight. I’m not sure if he was anticipating my call, or was like fuck it, on to the next. After pacing back and forth in my bedroom, I plop down on my bed just so my body can be ready for whatever news awaits me on the other end. For some reason my nerves are on the edge, unsure of how our conversation would go. Lately, we’ve been clashing, ending on a bad note.
I glance over at the clock on my nightstand. It’s two in the morning, and Shame called me six hours ago. I already know what his attitude gone be. Or just maybe, if he isn’t picking up, then he is with his baby mama or some other female.
I hear Shame say hello. He surprised me by answering on the second ring, which is strange. The nigga was up and even answered the phone at two in the morning; something that I wasn’t expecting.
Clearing my throat, I don’t know if I should play the nonchalant role, the bitch with an attitude, or the “baby, come over” role. Without deciding, I quickly say hello.
“What’s up, Mya. I called you six hours ago and you actin’ like you can’t call me back. Damn, it’s like dat? Any otha time you would have.”
“Shame, don’t start. I was busy.”
“Busy doing what, Yemya? Six hours later you want to call me? I guess you free now, huh? Six hours later,” he sarcastically says.
“No, Shame, I was taking a nap,” I say. Damn, am I whining? Trying to plead my case for not calling him back? How can I tell him that I was being revengeful and wasn’t going to hit his ass up. Not today, not tomorrow, and I’m not sure if I ever was.
“Aight, Mya. You was takin’ a nap?” He laughs in disbelief. “Anyway, Mike told me what you said. You said you didn’t want to be with no mo?”
“Shame, this has been on my mind for a while. Yeah, I told him that I wasn’t feeling us anymore. But it was a thought …”
“You wasn’t feeling us? What you mean by dat?”
“Shame, don’t act brand new,” I say. Now I am starting to get pissed. All the feelings are starting to fall out the door—all of them. One minute I’m begging this nigga for his love and the next I’m not so sure if I ever want it. “All these rumors going around about you sleeping with yo baby mama. You and your two-timing attitude, Shame. Do not act fucking brand new with me. I’m not with it. I don’t have time for it. I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. I just can’t, Shame. I can’t deal.”
“Dat’s da point, Mya! Rumors. You gone let shit like dis break us up?”
“How many times am I going to have to deal with ‘just rumors,’ Shame? How many? I mean, damn, I hear them so much, I can’t help but to believe that they are true. Not only that, but Tammy say that Kiara told her that y’all be fuckin’ off. Is there any truth to that?”
“Mannnnnnn.”
I just want some reassurance, I’m not the nagging type, but if some dirt gets kicked up off the ground, best believe I’m going to bring it up in the conversation. “Man what, Shame? All this ‘man’ shit ain’t getting us nowhere. I want some answers.”
“Mya, you know Kiara is my baby mama. She is jealous of you. Jealous of us. I go see her, I treat her nice … yeah I do all dat. Only because she is carrying my seed; the bitch is evil, Yemya. She threatened that I won’t be able to see my child. So what you expect a nigga to do?”
“Shame if only you would talk to me.”
“I told you what was up, Yemya! I told you. I hear shit about different niggas you talk to. But I know what type of girl you are, so fuck what they say. It goes through one ear and out the other. I thought we had cleared that shit up about Jennifer. She’s only a friend, what happened between her and I was was only a mistake. Before I met you. he is a friend, Mya. We fucked one damn time! All these other hoes don’t matter!”
“Shame—”
“You know what, you right. You do need time to yourself. Obliviously I keep dragging you in bullshit. And …” Shame says, sighing into the phone, “I just need time to myself. If breaking up is something you want, then you got it, Mya” Then he hung up.
With the phone still pressed to my ear, I am literally knocked on my ass while still sitting down. Did this nigga just break up with me? Is he the one really waving his white flag, calling in the troops? What did I just do? This moment is the one that I hate the most—we broke up over nonsense. I am fed up and so is he. But who was in the wrong? Did his baby mama win this battle by stirring up lies to benefit herself? Or was Shame really cheating? I don’t even have the urge to cry. I’m still baffled by what just fucking happened.
Now that I have come to this bridge I wonder how I should cross it. Should I take Shame’s breakup as the end? No me, no him … nada zilch, nothing. Or should I just wait it out and think that he was just talking and was a little upset. Then again, maybe he was right. Here I am, tripping over rumors, tripping over shit that I have allowed our relationship to come to an end.
“What the fuck was I thinking?” I say to myself as I plop back on my pillows. Love can be so unpredictable, you wonder how do relationships continue to build growth and become strong when it continues to be so unstable? I mean, what excuse can I give Shame? What heart that’s already broken can break any more? Can a woman who’s scorned love anymore or cry anymore after being invisibly beaten by false love, false hope, and continuous lies? After you’ve been through so much, what else is there to expect? What else is there to do when all has been done? When love has felled you once again.
Slowly, I reach for the cord beside my pillow and place my phone back on its charger. So much is running through my mind … for some reason, it’s confusion and guilt.
16
“We live and we learn”
Logging on to Facebook days later after Shame and my official break up, I am finally accepting the fact that it’s over and we are really through. In a way, it brings some sort of peace, but at the same time, some lost too. I did my usual routine … replied back to any missed comments, checked out my friends’ pages, and wrote on their walls. All the while of my being nosey, I received a couple of inbox messages. One was from Shame.
Shame Dennis:
lil dee say sumn bout i was s’pose 2 have called u a hoe. wuss dat about? i mean really dat ain’t even sumn i would say n I don’t even know y u would think i said dat junk. u kno we betta den dat real shit, dat shit crazy, i swear, but i ain’t neva said no mess like dat about u n i ain’t neva say ne thang bad about u period. dats my word!
After reading the inbox message, I can’t do nothing but smirk. Yeah, Dee told me that Shame was pissed about us breaking up and was going around disrespecting me by throwing salt on my name. At first I was in fact beyond pissed. But then, I thought about it and said to myself that the nigga just was mad about us. Hell, I know that I don’t fuck off and act whorish, so why should I give a damn about what someone else thinks? Shame can think whatever for all I care.
Yemya Smith:
Look Shame I’m not even going to worry about it even if you did or didn’t say shit about me. The situation is petty! Like I told my n law people talk, people lie. People have shit to say about everything and throw salt on whoever name. If you did talk shit about me out of revenge Shame it just shows what type of nigga you are.
After reading over my message, I quickly press send. I don’t want to hear any other explanation about the he-say-she-say shit. What was said or wasn’t said didn’t need to be explained. Besides, hearing Shame plead his case was a nonfactor. Thinking about Shame and how he felt wasn’t going to do nothing but hold me back from facing my demons. Of course, I have to let the shit go
. Crazy as it is, I keep mentally telling myself that. Although physically my heart says otherwise, I have to realize that I need to push those heartfelt feelings to the back because as of now they are irrelevant.
I stand in front of my bed; my bed of many nights of love making, many nights of fallen tears, many nights that I lay awake drifting into thoughts of confusion, thoughts of what use to be. The many nights that I was alone and Shame was nowhere to be found; there were no phone calls and many broken promises. As I stand here contemplating on what I once believed to be love, I question the cause and effects of our relationship. Plopping down on my bed, I sit comfortably against my pillows while pulling my journal from underneath it.
I can now only imagine the steps of my life that I have taken. The chances on my love, my heart, that I have grown to realize have been taken for granted. They say that once you take a risk on love, you’re risking yourself, your heart, and your feelings. How can I explain the love and hate that I have for Shame? How can I cope with the negatives of our relationship and still strive and search for what I think is the positive outcome of us. Yet, he still don’t get it—or is it me not wanting to comprehend to the reality that our love wasn’t love at all. Only for it to be a mere altercation between feelings and lust.
Love, Yemya
Closing my journal, I run my hands across the smooth burgundy leather. Some way, somehow, I just have to get myself back together and get my heart away from being tied up with Shame. I mean, it’s to the point that my thoughts are about him, about us. In which I’m trying to remove myself from something that I no longer want to be a part of. Part of me wants to log on to my computer and see if Shame responded back to my message. The love that I think that I have for him has grown tougher to the point that I am no longer weak. Though part of me doesn’t want to push him away, what is really going on? Why am I so indecisive when it comes to him after all that he has put me through. Why?
My phone rings, bringing me back to reality.
“Hey, girl, what you up to?” Brooke asks cheerfully.
“Girl, nothing, just got home from work not too long ago. Now I am sitting here sulking.” I sigh.
“Sulking? Bitch, for what?”
“Shame had the nerve to message me on Facebook. No, the nigga didn’t call—hell, he didn’t even work up the nerve to shoot me a damn text. But send a message through Facebook bitch about some rumor that has been said about him calling me out of my name. I’m not the one who contacted him for talking shit about me, but he has the nerve to confront me. As much as I try to get through this damn situation with him, it’s always something that’s trying to bite me in my damn ass,” I huff.
I must admit that I have tried to let Shame’s confrontation go, but it angered me even more. How can I keep continuing to let him get under my skin? Does love make you feel like you’re unable to control how the person you love affects you?
“Girl,” Brooke says, “I don’t know what you are going to do about that Mr. Shame, honey. And let’s not talk about Greg.”
“How about let’s not talk about either of them. I just can’t deal. Shame is a headache as it is.” I sigh.
“Well, do you want me to come over? We can chill, eat ice cream, listen to love songs, and whine over having a broken heart, or we can get out and get our acts together because I can’t deal. Greg ass has pushed me to my damn limit,” Brook states.
“Yeah, you right, I don’t need to be moping over Shame,” I quickly say.
What good is he to me? What has he done for me to make me feel like I am worth something in this world? I thought we were supposed to be that un-denying love. I guess not—that’s the confusing part about it. Then there are my friends who watched my relationship with Shame turn into turmoil. But what can they do for me? I can only do for myself and that’s to give my mind the strength not to let this petty shit with Shame take over my character.
As I listen to Brooke explain to me about Greg’s cheating habits, I picture our future in the back of my mind. Am I’m going to always settle for less than what I deserve? Is wanting love that bad makes you more of a woman when you put up with it and degrade yourself? How can you call it love if you have only experienced what’s bad, and only rarely to what is good?
“So, girl, he threw a damn battery at me and it hit me in my damn eye,” Brooke exclaims.
“He threw what?”
“A battery. We were arguing and—”
“And he threw a damn battery at you? Purposely hitting you in your face?”
“He didn’t try to. We were arguing—”
“I don’t care! No man is not going to throw nothing. If he do pick up something to throw it, that means he’s intentionally trying to hit you with that shit, Brooke.” I am beyond mad. Brooke is my girl, she’s like a little sister, but sometimes I swear she can be so naïve. Her boyfriend had the nerve to throw a battery at her hitting her in the eye, and she wants to make excuses for a nigga. Hell to the naw. “Brooke, sweetie, he threw the damn battery at you! On purpose at that!”
“I know, girl. I just don’t know. I don’t understand I don’t—”
“You don’t what? Brooke, you just have to realize your situation; a man who throws something at you can turn into something worse. Do you want that for yourself?” I question. “I’ll be damned if Shame throws something at me, let alone puts his hands on me. It would not be the end of it . So what did you do after he threw it?” I ask. I am curious to know if she stood her ground or not. If it was me, I’d be all over Greg’s ass. That’s for sure.
Brooke is quiet for a minute before she answers, “The shit caught me off guard and hit me so hard that the pain from the impact made me cry. I wasn’t him to throw it at me.”
“And you should have had a reflex to jump on his ass like a mad and crazy woman,” I say. I can’t do much but shake my head. What’s up with us women and these men that we fall in love with? Love isn’t supposed to feel like this. Here I am going through a love and hate relationship with Shame. Now Brooke is on the other end of my phone tripping off her nigga from throwing a battery at her eye. “What size battery was it?” I ask as I switched the phone to the opposite ear.
“Girl, it was a triple A battery.”
“A triple A battery? Girl, that lil shit. I don’t care how bad that shit hurt; a nigga gone feel my rage after that! Fuck that!” I exclaim.
Brooke laughs. “You so crazy” she says with a slight giggle. “That shit hurt the hell out of my eye, Mya, I can’t even see out my shit.”
“Bitch, that’s why God blessed you with two,” I laugh. “I can’t believe you sat there and cried, letting a nigga get away with hurting you though, girl. You can never show a man that you are weak when it comes to shit like that. Then he can really take advantage of you. That’s when he really has control,” I say.
“Yeah, you right,” Brooke says with sigh. “I just love him so much that it hurts.”
“Tell me about it. Shame and I have officially broken up and I’m sitting here questioning our relationship. I love him too, enough to let this shit with him go. I’m over it, just not over him. So I understand how you feel. But I won’t let his ass throw no damn battery at me!” I laugh.
17
“Wish that I can press rewind to take away the pain.”
I don’t know what has gotten into me. I haven’t heard from Shame and chose not to answer any phone calls or reply back to any text messages. I can’t say that the vibe I am feeling is depression. I am far from depressed, just deep in thought. I know a lot of females have teary, sleepless nights after a break up. I can understand why. As women, we tend to get hooked on something to the point where we feel as if we can’t live without a certain someone. I am upset at Shame, upset about us, upset that our relationship has come to an end. But, I can cope with the situation. As far as me hating the fact that we ended the way we did and the shit that has been said, I’m slowly coming to terms to understanding why. Shame has been bouncing back and forth for th
e past five months between me and his baby mama. I guess that is why I gave up the decision to abort my baby, something I have yet to tell Shame and I’m not sure if I ever will.
I know I can get a bitchy attitude. Give me reason to have one and trust my actions will speak louder than words. Although I feel bad about accusing Shame, it just makes me feel better to know that I am hurting without him and that he isn’t around to see my pain. Love in some shape, form, or fashion can hurt like hell. Depending on how hard you love. It took for us to break up for me to even realize that as much as I loved Shame, I wasn’t in love with him. As much as I am mad, cursing him out, and putting him out, it has helped me hold up my walls of resentment, causing me to gain more strength. As much as I don’t want to blame Shame about us breaking up, I have come to terms that I don’t want to let him go, to let us go. I love him just that much to where it’s killing me in some way. I tried so hard to let things go between Shame and I. I even relied on mutual attention from other niggas.
While lying in my bed contemplating, I hear my front door open and shut. Who could be? I hear a set of keys being put on a nearby table. “Mya!” a voice trails throughout my apartment. It’s my sister Kenya. I wonder what the hell she wants? Turning over, I cover my head with my pillow, closing my eyes as if I were sleep. “Mya,” she says again. “I know yo ass is in here, heifer!” she says. She’s turning the doorknob to my bedroom. “Mya! Get your ass up!” Kenya says as she walk into my bedroom, pulling the sheets from over my body. “Get up, Mya. Everyone been trying to get in touch with you! Even your mama thinks something has happened to you,” Kenya says as she continues to agitate me.
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