by Lori Johnson
“That was a long time ago,” he said. “Anyway, it’s not the same. But wait, ‘holed up in the monastery’? That sounds like some shit my mother would say. Is that what you two were gabbing about in the kitchen the other night? All of my past, failed love affairs?” Javiel turned and started applying paint to the canvas again.
All his past love affairs? Aliesha wondered just how many there’d been. Rather than ask, she threw up her hands. “Okay, fine. I do. I do still have feelings for him.”
Javiel spun around. The anger reddening, prickling, and contorting the area between his chin and forehead made it looked as though he’d been stomped in the face a couple of times by someone wearing a pair of cleats. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” he shouted. “You’re telling me, you’ve been hooking up with this guy since we started seeing one another?”
“If you’re asking if I’ve been sleeping with him, the answer is no. Of course not.”
“I’m saying, ’cause if he’s the guy you wanna be with, I don’t even know why you wasted your time or mine by coming here tonight.”
“I’m here, Javiel, because I want to try and fix this. But apparently, you don’t.” She turned and started toward the door.
“Aliesha, Aliesha, wait!” he called out. When she finally stopped a foot or so from the threshold, he said, “Look, baby, I’m sorry. I just wish you would have come clean about all of this before now.”
She walked back and said, “Javiel, I promise you, Kenneth is not a threat to us.” She moved closer and slid her hand along the contours of his slumped shoulders. “There’s no reason for you to be jealous or concerned with the possibility of me ever going back to him.”
“Okay,” he said, while still looking and sounding anything but convinced.
“No, baby, it’s not okay,” she said. She dragged herself over to the drop-cloth-covered sofa and flopped down with a sigh. “So here’s the deal—the thing with me and Kenneth ended on a really bad note. He hurt me, not just emotionally—physically, too, one night in Vegas.”
“I don’t understand,” Javiel said. “Are you saying he hit you?”
“Worse,” she said. “We were making love one night when he tried to cut off my supply of oxygen.”
Javiel tossed his brush aside, stood up, and said, “My God, Aliesha, are you saying this man tried to kill you?!”
Aliesha settled back against the couch and closed her eyes before reliving the details of the tragic night that had taken place nearly two years ago and left her with wounds that still had yet to heal.
CHAPTER 13
She’d accompanied Kenneth to Vegas, where he’d participated in a work-related seminar for his job as a portfolio manager. It hadn’t been the first time she’d traveled with him. In the days prior to their becoming lovers, they’d spent a weekend together in Atlanta where they’d visited some of the historic civil rights sites, dined at a number of nice restaurants, and relaxed by the luxurious five-star hotel’s poolside, while still opting to retire to their separate suites at night. Aliesha still had fond memories of the brief stay that had drawn them closer as a couple.
Had they spent the majority of their free time in Vegas the way they had in Atlanta—with each other and engaged in activities that barely warranted so much as a PG-13 rating—things just might have turned out differently. But Vegas had been another story, one filled with bright lights, plenty of fast-paced action, and a surprise ending laced in horror.
In some ways, the series of events reminded Aliesha of a bad movie remake of either Frankenstein or The Fly. She’d watched for hours as Kenneth had drank, gambled, and traded off-color jokes with his business associates, while slowly turning into someone she didn’t recognize or particularly care for. Rather than share any of her disgruntlement and risk being labeled a party pooper, at a little past midnight, she’d kissed him on the cheek and said, “’Night, sweetie. I’m going back to the room.”
He’d said, “Hey, I’m right in the middle of a hand, babe. Give me a minute or two and I’ll go up with you.”
“No, don’t let me spoil your fun,” she’d said. “I’ll be fine.”
Instead of leaving well enough alone, Kenneth had insisted that one of his young cohorts see Aliesha safely to back to their room. Her assigned escort, a young, dapper, proper-talking brother who went by the nickname “Skip” and who’d been eyeballing Aliesha on the sly all night, commented on the elevator ride up that he would have never guessed her to be “Kenneth’s type.”
“His type? And what might that be?” she’d asked, hoping things weren’t going where she thought they might.
“Well, you know,” Skip had said. “With him being a former athlete and all, I figured you’d be a young, blond, cheerleader type.”
Aliesha had glared at him and said, “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Skip had shrugged and said, “I mean, either that or one of those gorgeous Latina babes you see dropping it like it’s hot in all of the rap videos.”
Uncertain of just how much of the nonsense spewing from Skip was truly his own and how much of it stemmed from the countless rounds of drinks he and the other fellas in his and Kenneth’s party had consumed, Aliesha had decided to cut him some slack. But on arriving at the door to her room, Skip had shown his ass again when, on leaning against the doorjamb and leering at her, he’d said, “So, exactly how much do you charge, if you don’t mind me asking?”
For a moment, she’d been so stunned she’d just stared at him with her mouth ajar. “Okay, let me get this straight. Did you just proposition me? Seriously, you think I’m some kind of a call girl? And after basically telling me that I’m not young, attractive, or hot enough to be with someone like Kenneth, you still want to have sex with me?”
Skip had grinned and said, “Well, yeah. I mean, it’s not like Kenneth ever has to know. Plus, I’m perfectly willing to give you double whatever he’s paying.”
“Double?” Aliesha had said with a smile while reaching into her purse and pulling out both her key card and her phone. “Well, Skip, let me school you on a little something,” she’d said on opening the door and stepping inside. “Not in a million years would you ever be able to afford my pussy or my time.” She’d flipped open her phone, pressed a button and placed it against her ear. “Furthermore, I just dialed Kenneth. And if you’re still here when he picks up, I’m gonna start screaming. So, if you want me to forget we ever had this conversation, I’d advise you to get the hell away from my door.”
A suddenly sober Skip had backed away with his hands raised, like a perp who’d just been apprehended but who was still on the lookout for the first opportunity to flee.
Aliesha might have told Kenneth about the incident later that same evening had he not stumbled into their room a few hours after Skip’s departure and seemingly even drunker. “I lost all of my money and I need consoling,” is what he’d told her on falling down beside her and drawing her against him.
When she’d tried wriggling away from the moist grasp of his clammy hands and the sour stench circling from his clothing and his breath, he’d pulled her back. “What? You don’t want to console me?” he said.
She’d rolled over, kissed him on the forehead, and said, “I’d love to, but why not wait until tomorrow when you’re sober and can remember more of it?”
He’d pulled up her nightshirt and seized her breasts. “I don’t need to remember it,” he’d said, while fondling her in a way that was a lot rougher than she generally enjoyed.
She’d brushed off his hands only to have him peer back at her with a hurt expression. “What’s wrong, baby? You’re not upset that I didn’t come back to the room with you—are you?”
“Of course not,” she said.
“So, console me, why dontcha?” he’d said, doing her the small favor of wiping his face clean of the excess sweat and slobber before leaning over and pressing his face against her chest.
“Okay, okay,” she said, going against what she knew to be her better judgme
nt.
Given her knowledge that Kenneth was in the habit of using either a massage oil or a water-based substance on himself when he watched his skin flicks and in hopes of adequately preparing for, if not putting off, an experience she knew had all the makings of a long and unenjoyable one, she said, “Okay, babe, but listen, did you by any chance bring any lubricant?”
“Yeah, give me a second,” he said.
Please, take all the damn time you need, is what she felt like telling him. While she waited for him to finish undressing and listened to him root around in his bag, she prayed he’d lose his erection and decide it wasn’t worth the effort of trying to get it up again. But when he’d returned to the bed without a tube or a vial, and with his proudly towering, naked member covered in enough lubricant to fry a whole package of chicken wings, she quietly resigned herself to the awfulness of her fate.
In hopes of slowing him down, she caressed his face, massaged his shoulders, and kissed him tenderly on the lips. For a minute or so he’d lain back and let her direct most of the action. But the moment she’d moved her lips to his chest and a hand between his thighs, he’d groaned then whispered, “Roll over. I want it from the back.”
It wasn’t like they’d never assumed such a position, but something about the way he’d said it had immediately caused her whole body to grow stiff and tense. She’d pulled away and said, “Only if you promise to take your time and remember to be gentle.”
He’d laughed and said, “You act like I don’t know what I’m doing. Just because I’ve had a few drinks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to make love to you.”
“I’m just saying, Kenneth, if you fool around back there and end up someplace you shouldn’t, neither one of us is liable to be very happy.”
“Aliesha, have I ever hurt you before?” he’d said. He’d drawn himself up in the bed. “I’ve always made you feel good, haven’t I?” He’d thrown back the sheets, risen up on his knees, and extended his hand to her. “Now stop talking and come over here and finish consoling me.”
She’d reluctantly scooted toward him on the mattress. On reaching him, she’d taken his hand and pulled herself up on her knees. She’d stared into his handsome face and allowed her thighs to settle against his.
He’d smiled and rubbed the small of her back before drawing her into a tighter embrace. “Do you trust me?” he’d asked.
“Of course I do,” she’d said, turning her head away from the overpowering stench of the liquor on his breath. Even though her enthusiasm for what lay ahead was probably about where Miss Celie’s had been on all those nights in The Color Purple when she’d been forced to lay up under Mister and wait on him to hurry up and finish “doing his business,” Aliesha had turned and maneuvered her legs between his, but rather than lean forward on all fours, a position she despised, she’d inched backward and pressed her behind against him.
He’d cupped her breasts, in a manner that was much gentler than before, and pressed his lips to her shoulder. For a few brief seconds she’d all but forgotten about his extreme state of intoxication and actually felt a twinge of pleasure. She’d been reveling in the moment and pondering what she could do to extend it, when she’d heard him say, “I love you, Aliesha. I’ve never loved any woman more. You know that, don’t you?”
She didn’t, actually. It was the first time he’d ever used the “L” word in conjunction with what he felt for her. Why then and why there of all places? He’d “never loved any woman more,” is what he’d said. She’d wondered then and after if that included his wife. And had any of it really counted for jack given his condition and altered state of consciousness.
On settling into a semiseated position and with his bent knees on either side of her, Kenneth had moved his hands to her hips and drawn her toward him. She’d ridden against him, felt him arch his back, and listened to him groan. She might have secretly smiled and taken pride in her ability to work him into a frenzy had she not wanted the act to be over and done with.
After a few minutes of praying he’d come sooner rather than later, she realized that despite his drunkenness, he was deliberately holding off on his climax until she reached hers. Typically she appreciated his chivalry and consideration, but not on that particular night. In hopes of speeding things along, she decided to do something she’d never felt compelled to do before with Kenneth—fake it.
She quickened her pace and slipped into a breathy pant to which he immediately responded with a “Is that good, baby? Are you almost there?”
She’d answered him with her best-forced moan, but to her surprise rather than rev up the action, like he usually did at that point, he’d stopped and pulled out. On moving one hand to her shoulder and the other over the curve of her pelvis and down between her legs, he’d said, “You like that, don’t you?”
Umm, that would be a no, is what she’d had half a mind to tell him. Instead, she’d squirmed and kicked up the volume on yet another contrived moan. And right about then is when it had happened. The hand on her shoulder suddenly fell away and the next thing she knew, her neck was caught in a viselike squeeze between Kenneth’s muscular bicep and forearm.
“Relax, baby,” he said as she struggled against him. “This is supposed to enhance your pleasure.”
Enhance her pleasure?! Was he kidding? Had he lost his ever-loving mind, she thought as she’d felt the pressure against her windpipe increase.
“Kenneth, stop, you’re hurting me,” she’d managed to whimper as she’d grown lightheaded and the darkened room had swung into a slow spin.
Then it had struck her: This drunken fool is gonna accidentally kill me trying to duplicate some sick and twisted shit he saw in one of his nasty-ass skin flicks.
Driven by fear and the overwhelming will to survive, she’d stopping struggling, dropped her forehead, and let her body fall limp. But as soon as she’d felt his grasp loosen, she’d fastened her mouth against his arm and bitten down as hard as she could.
He’d released her with a deafening howl. “Dammit, Aliesha! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
She’d swiveled around and slapped him hard, twice, before leaping off the bed and out of his reach. “Me?!” she sputtered. “You damn near break my neck and I’m the one with the problem?!”
He looked stunned. “Baby, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I must have done something wrong. Come back to bed and let me make it up to you.” He reached for her.
“No, it’s done, Kenneth. It’s done,” she’d repeated as she grabbed up her discarded clothing, covered herself, and started backing away.
“No, wait,” he’d said, sounding on the verge of tears. “I can make it right, Babygirl. I can.”
When he’d looked as if he were about to climb out of bed and come after her, she’d flung a couple of pillows at him. “No, Kenneth, it’s done. It’s over. And there’s nothing you could ever do to make it right again.”
With that, she’d fled into the bathroom, locked the door behind her, stepped into the shower, and on turning on the water, cried until she couldn’t cry anymore. The last time she could remember having wept that long and that hard was at her father’s funeral.
CHAPTER 14
Aliesha thrust her hands into the hot, sudsy water filling the kitchen sink. She could have easily placed all of the dirty plates, pans, cups, glasses, and utensils into Javiel’s dishwasher and made short work of it all. But manually washing dishes had always been one of her favorite chores. The submersion, the cleansing, the rinse, the quiet roaming of her thoughts throughout the task, she typically found it all incredibly therapeutic.
She’d barely started on the first dish when Javiel tapped her on the butt with his rolled-up newspaper. He kissed her neck and said, “I’m glad we made up.”
She turned and dabbed a finger covered with soapsuds onto his nose. “After your performance last night, I am, too. Maybe we ought to fight more often.”
His lips sought hers. A kiss, reminiscent of those they’d exchanged between th
e darkened walls of his studio, followed—one full of hunger, surrender, and snatches of Coltrane’s “Afro Blue.” If only they could discover the secret to wrapping themselves in the silky cover of such moments and making them last, perhaps then her discontent for who and what Javiel wasn’t would finally wither and fade away.
“You do know I’d never hurt you like that,” Javiel said after she’d finished sharing the horrible details of her trip to Vegas, a tale that had ended with her leaving for the airport while a nude and inebriated Kenneth lay passed out across the bed. Once upon a time she would have sworn on her mother’s Bible and daddy’s grave to Kenneth’s inability to hurt her in such a manner. But experience had taught her differently.
Near the end of their kiss by the kitchen sink, Javiel slid his hand beneath the shirt she’d borrowed from him and caressed the length of one of her bare, lean thighs. “You sure you don’t have any problems with my plans for this weekend?” he whispered into her ear. “I could try to break away early or else stop by your place late sometime Saturday night, if you’d like.”
His uncle Rafael, Jesus’s father, was on his way into town and in his honor, an all-guy weekend had been planned. On Friday night they’d scheduled dinner and drinks at the same sports bar where Aliesha had spent more hours than she cared to remember, picking over cold fries while praying she wouldn’t topple over from boredom. On Saturday, their plans included driving out to a lake and spending the day fishing.
“No, don’t worry about me. Just enjoy yourself,” Aliesha said.
He gave her a parting peck on the lips. “Okay, I’m gonna go take a shower.”
As he started up the stairs that led out of the kitchen, the phone rang. “Would you get that for me, babe?” he called out.
Wondering who might possibly be calling Javiel’s place so early in the morning, she picked up and said, “Hello?”
“Ah, yes . . . Aliesha?” a woman’s voice said. “This is Julia, Javiel’s mother.”