When He Cheatin' and You Still Love Him

by Cachet

  Now my blood is boiling, because this bitch done took it too far. Who knows what the damage is to my damn eye. Even though it’s hurting like hell, my first thought is to attack Terry once again. I want him to hurt as bad, if not more than I am, because all of this shit is his fault. Had he not been on the phone with some hoe, this wouldn’t even be an issue. Or better yet, had he stayed his ass in bed with me, I wouldn’t even have had to go looking through his phone. Now because he wanted to be sneaky as fuck, I’m in my living room buck naked and fighting with a throbbing eye.

  I’d be lying right now if I said that my feelings weren’t hurt, because they are. Although this isn’t the first time that I’ve caught Terry in the act of cheating, after the last time, he promised me that he was done with that nonsense, which is something he says every time he gets caught. I guess I’m the fool for actually believing him time and time again, because every time—and I do mean every time—he gets caught up talking to yet another bitch. To keep it one hundred, I can live with the fact that he talks to other girls. I don’t like it, but I know how Terry is. What breaks my heart is the fact that he doesn’t respect me enough to at least play the shit off. Take today for instance, I caught him talking on the phone. Now he can lie all the hell he wants, but I know for a fact that it was some trick by the name of Brittany on the other end of that line. So for him to hop up and get dressed, knowing that I’ve already peeped game was a slap in my face. It was like he didn’t give a damn if I knew he was heading to get some pussy.

  That’s a part of the game that I don’t think I will ever understand. No, I’m not a man, but if I were I probably wouldn’t even cheat. If I did I would never make my girl feel like she has to compete with the next bitch. No matter what I did on the side or who I did it with, she would always know that she came first in my life. I would keep all that shit out of her face and do my dirt on the low. Terry can’t seem to do that. He fucks up constantly, and every time he does, I find out sooner or later. Sometimes I wonder if he even tries to hide his infidelities. He doesn’t have to try tonight, because I’m already hip to his plans. What he doesn’t know is that he’s about to feel my wrath tonight. If he decides to still go see the bitch after I’m done, he can go ahead, but he’s going to be looking at her through black eyes.

  “Damn baby, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  A look of worry and sympathy shows on Terry’s face, and he walks over to me with his hands extended. I guess he’s trying to see if my eye is okay. I use the fact that he’s off guard to hit his ass with a two piece. I give everything I got as I swing with all my might. One of my punches hits him in the eye, and the other connects with his nose. I’m shocked when blood starts to spew from his face, and slowly begins to drip down his t-shirt. We’ve fought before where I’ve hit him, but never have I hit him hard enough to produce blood. Instantly a feeling of satisfaction takes over me. I’m in this bitch feeling like Floyd Mayweather right now as I bounce from side to side while throwing punches; each one connecting.

  The look of remorse Terry recently wore is replaced with an angry frown. He lunges at me and together we fall backwards onto the couch. His body covers mines, and he’s so heavy that it makes it hard for me to move. As best as I can, I lift my legs and kick my feet trying to get him off of me, but it’s no use. One of my feet connects with the tender place between his legs. Terry grunts before raising his hand and swiftly bringing it down across the face.

  Slap

  My head bounces off of the couch cushion, and my left cheek starts to sting right away from the blow. Still on my back, I continue to try to get him off of me, but it’s hard because he’s using all of his body weight to hold me down. Upon seeing the blood slowly drip from his nose, I turn my head from side to side, to keep it from landing on my face. I love Terry and all, but I don’t want his blood anywhere near me; especially now that I know that he’s back cheating again. Soon I realize that his dripping blood is the least of my worries, because only seconds later I feel Terry’s hands wrap around my neck. It’s at that instant that I start to panic.

  “Get the fuck off of me!” I scream frightfully, while clawing at his hands.

  I’m in full fight mode now, because this isn’t the first instance where he’s choked me, and after the last time—when he didn’t let up until I passed out—I’m truly afraid of the outcome.

  “Nah, you were a bad ass a minute ago,” he barks, while applying more pressure to my neck. “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?”

  “Aggghhhh,” I gag, while holding onto his wrists and trying to free my neck from his grasp.

  Little by little my airway is cut off, until I can’t even catch my breath. I’m now lightheaded. Slowly the fighter in me diminishes, and I give up on this losing battle. The grip that I had on his wrists weakens. My eyes flutter and begin to roll into the back of my head. When I catch a glimpse of Terry’s face, I see that it’s contorted in an evil scowl. He looks like he’s in another world right now, and I can tell that he has no plans on letting up, even though by now I’m sure that all the color has drained from my face. No, he’s dead set on shutting me up. I can’t believe that this is it. I’m about to die naked on my couch over a stupid ass phone call.

  “Mommy!” I faintly hear from upstairs. “Mommy, are you okay?”

  The sound of Kendrick calling me brings Terry back to reality, and I couldn’t be happier. He removes his hands from my neck, and hops off me quickly. I bolt in an upright position and place my hands where his just were. A coughing fit takes over my body as I attempt to catch my breath. As I cough and choke Terry disappears into the kitchen. He doesn’t even bother to turn around and check to see if I’m okay.

  Inconsiderate bastard.

  “I’m alright baby,” I assure my son when I’m finally able to speak. “Go back to sleep Kendrick,” Cough “Mommy,” Cough “will be up in a minute.”

  “Are you…are you sure you’re okay?” Kendrick asks. There’s hesitation evident in his voice. “I heard you,” he pauses for a moment, “you were down there screaming.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I clear my throat, “Just give mommy a minute baby, okay?”

  “Okay,” he replies.

  Still holding my neck, I stand up from the couch. A few more coughs escape my throat, and I rub my neck a few more times before I bend to pick up my discarded towel. As I rewrap it around my body, I glance over my shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. Terry is still inside, probably cleaning up his nose. I don’t even bother to go in there with him because the way I’m feeling we’d more than likely end up fighting again, and with all those kitchen knives within reach, I’m liable to stick his muthafucking ass in the stomach or some shit and I don’t want that; especially now that I know my son is awake. I decide to deal with Terry’s bullshit later, as I head upstairs to check on my baby as promised.

  Chapter 3

  Terry

  I swear Shanair gone fuck around and make me catch a case behind the fuck shit she be doing! I told her stupid ass not to touch my fucking phone, but being Shanair of course, she had to play bad ass. Why the hell couldn’t she just leave well enough alone? I told her I wasn’t with the bullshit tonight, but nah, she just had to bring her ass down the stairs and start acting a fucking fool. I wasn’t bothering anybody, sitting on the couch on my phone. Well I was, but she wouldn’t have known that had she’d just stayed her ass in bed, and not came downstairs to play Inspector Gadget; but hey, like I said, that’s just the type of shit she does.

  With Shanair that’s always the issue between us. She has to be in the know with anything that concerns me. It doesn’t matter what is going on or what I’m doing, in her mind it almost always involves me being with a bitch. I don’t care what the situation may be, a bitch is surely involved, whether that’s actually the case or not. We could be lying in the bed and I so happen to sneeze. She’ll turn her nose up and hit me with, “Some bitch must have gotten you sick, huh?” If I come home and tell her to put my f
ood in the microwave, because for whatever reason I’m not hungry, her response is, “Humph, that bitch must have fed you before she sent you home.” That ain’t even all. I could be tired as hell from doing whatever it was that I was doing that day, and because I’m not in the mood to fuck—like sometimes men are—she’ll instantly cop an attitude, talking about, “You must have been in some other pussy, because you ain’t ever been that tired before.” I’m telling you, everything connects to me and another bitch, and the shit is starting to get on my damn nerves.

  Now I’mma keep it all the way gutta and not sit here and play like I’m the perfect man, because I’m not. In all actuality I’m far from it. I admit that I step out with other bitches from time to time, but that’s something that niggas do. I stray every blue moon and get caught fucking different hoes, but to be honest, it’s not nearly as much as Shanair believes I do. She convinces herself that whenever I’m away from her it means that I’m in some new pussy, and that’s not the case at all. Sometimes I actually do be busy doing other shit.

  These things prevent me from coming home on time, or even answering her calls right away. I’ll use my job as an example. I’m a club promoter and many nights I have to be right in the mix. Why wouldn’t I? It’s my hard earned money that I’ve invested into this shit, so you damn right I’m going be in attendance to make sure that everything is running smoothly, because if I don’t, who will? Because of me being a part of the ‘night life’, I’m constantly surrounded by women, and Shanair doesn’t like that shit at all.

  Well let me be clear, it’s not just because I’m at the clubs with other women, it’s more because of the fact that I’m there and Shanair can’t be there to keep an eye on me. If she could be glued to my hip every night, she would be with no problem, but because of Kendrick she has to stay home and be mommy. That upsets her at times because it keeps her from keeping track of my movements like she used to before. Back in the beginning of our relationship, Shanair was with me every step of the way. I’m talking about every single party or event that I threw, she was there. She was even in attendance on the days when she had to work, and it was all able to be done because Kendrick practically lived with Shanair’s mother. Since her mom got sick and now resides in a nursing home, Shanair can’t do any of those things anymore and now she’s basically stuck in the house.

  Now I love Kendrick just as much as I love my own three kids, but at the same time Shanair was the one who lay down and got pregnant with him, so she can only be so mad. Staying home and being a mother comes with the territory. Now I’m not sure if she thought that her mother was going to raise her child while she partied and lived the free life, or what, but whatever her thoughts were, she knew what the ‘mommy role’ was before she signed up for the job. I don’t know maybe she didn’t, because for the first year and a half of us dating, Kendrick was barely around. I mean, I barely saw the little dude. It was basically like I was in a relationship with a woman who didn’t even have a kid; he was gone just that much. I guess now Shanair realizes that she has to step up, because she doesn’t have that help any more. Like I said, I got three kids of my own, but with them living with their mommas, I have the freedom of going where I want, when I want; and right now I’m ready to get the fuck out of this house.

  Inside the half bath off the kitchen, I use some wet tissue to wipe at my nose once more before turning off the water. I still can’t believe that Shanair busted my shit. I’m sure that made her little ass feel like she really did something because that hasn’t happened before. Still giving myself a once over, I examine a few of the scratches that are visible on my face and neck, before turning out the light and exiting the bathroom. As I make my way through the dining room and into the living room, I grab my jacket off the arm of the couch.

  Thank God Shanair is still upstairs with Kendrick, because if she wasn’t, I know that there would be no way in hell that she would just allow me to walk out of the door without a fight. That would only lead to me putting my hands on her again, and right now as heated as I am, I know I’d really hurt her. If Kendrick wouldn’t have called her name, I’m almost afraid to think about just how that fight would have turned out. Little dude doesn’t know it, but he more than likely saved his mother’s life. I hate to admit it, but it’s the truth.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking, and that’s that I’m a bitch because I put my hands on females. That’s not the case. I’m far from the abusive type. I know I have my issues, but beating up on women is not one of them. No, I have to be provoked, and that’s exactly what Shanair does. She keeps picking until she triggers something in me that I can’t contain. Then when I lash out, she cries and plays the blame game, pretending as if she is the victim in the whole thing. Over the years I’ve gotten a lot better with my anger issues, but like I said, sometimes I slip up. I don’t start my day knowing that I’m going to hit Shanair, the shit just happens. She already knows how I am, so when she runs up on me playing tough, she must be expecting to be put in her place, because why else would she do it? Apparently she likes being slapped, choked and hemmed up; if she didn’t, she wouldn’t try so hard to piss me off. You know just like I do that it’s hard as hell trying to remain calm when you have someone pushing buttons that only they know how to do. So, because of this, I may smack Shanair around or choke the shit the outta her, but never enough to really cause substantial harm; at least not yet anyway.

  As I head to the door, I glance down and see that my shirt has a few speckles of blood on it. Still not believing that she had me leaking, I shake my head and make a mental note to change it as soon as I get to my car. I’m sure Shanair is probably still on a warpath, so I’ll be damned if I go upstairs to the bedroom to grab a new one. That would be me just asking for a fight. It’s cool though because I always keep a few extra pairs of clothes in the trunk for ‘just in case’ moments, and this is one of them. I throw a few quick glances over my shoulder as I damn near tip toe to the door, trying to leave as quietly as possible, all while making sure that Shanair isn’t coming. With the door now open, I twist the lock on the knob and close it as softly as I can behind me. While hitting the trunk release on my key pad, I speed walk to the back of the car and grab my bag before climbing inside the driver’s seat.

  Once inside, I glance up at Kendrick’s bedroom window to see if the light is on. When all I see is darkness, I bring the engine of my car to life and throw the gear in reverse backing out of the driveway quickly, in fear that Shanair is possibly on her way outside to try to stop me from leaving. I know I sound like a scary ass nigga right now because I’m running, but I’d rather run than end up locked the fuck up. Trust me when I tell you that Shanair is really something special; meaning crazy as hell. I love my baby with all my heart, but her ass has a few screws loose. In fact, the last time we had an issue like this, I went to pull out of the driveway and her ole crazy ass leaped on the hood of the car trying to stop me from leaving.

  I was not only pissed but also embarrassed that she was doing the damn most. I don’t give a damn what was going on, jumping on the hood of a moving car was just a bit more than extreme. Either way, I had no plans on allowing her to dictate when and where I could go, so I drove her screaming ass all the way to the end of the subdivision. At the gate, I jumped out the car, snatched her up by the back of her shirt and drug her off my shit. Even then she continued to cry out, while acting a fool to the point that the neighbors came out; some of them even hollering about calling the police. That wasn’t just a threat, because them boys showed up only a few minutes later. It was by the grace of God that I wasn’t arrested that day. I’m thankful that it was almost shift change, because they let me go on about my business. I don’t even want to take that chance right now, so to avoid that I’m hauling ass; call me what you want.

  Twenty minutes later, I pull up at an upscale apartment complex. After killing the engine, I turn on the interior lights and dig through my bag in search of a shirt to put on. Once I find one, I remove the bloody
one and slip the clean one over my head before climbing out. As I make my way toward the building, I toss the bloody shirt into a nearby trash can, because I know that I’ll never wear it again. My phone vibrates, and I already know without a doubt that it’s Shanair calling to argue, but I’m not in the mood for anymore drama tonight. I wait until it stops ringing to power it off. She’s just going to have to be mad. I’ll deal with whatever she throws my way in the morning.

  “Who is it?” I hear from the other side of the door once I knock.

  “Terry,” I respond.

  The locks disengage, and moments later the door opens. When I step inside, she pushes it closed and locks it behind me.

  “Heyyyyy,” she turns and squeals, before jumping into my arms. Her legs wrap tightly around my waist, and she plants soft kisses all over my face. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Damn,” I moan, feeling the heat radiate from between her thighs. “I’ve missed—” she interrupts me with a kiss on the lips, “you too Brit.”

  Brit, whose real name is Brittany is a chick that I met a few months ago at a club. She and her home girls where on break from school, and had come down to party at the biggest club in the city, and I just so happened to be throwing a party there. As soon as I spotted her pretty ass, I already knew I had to have her. She was beautiful, young, and by the bright smile on her face, she looked like she enjoyed life. Shorty was bad. I’m not bullshitting, she was just that fine. Since I’m a sucker for red bones, she was the perfect fit for me, so I watched her for a while.

  From across the room, Brittany looked slightly taller than me with her heels on, so I figured she was about five-nine without them; which again was perfect for me. I stood to the side and watched her in the middle of the dance floor, winding her hips to a Jamaican cut that was blasting from the speakers. The creamed colored pants she wore clung to her lower body as if they were tailor made just for her. As she turned around, I lusted at the fact that they fit snuggly around her ass cheeks, and showcased that sexy ass gap between her thick thighs. Even with the lights dimmed, I could tell that she was either wearing a thong or no panties at all, and that thought alone made my dick hard.