Even Sinners Have Souls TOO

by Joy, E. n.

  "It's a short story," he corrected her with his eyes shut. "I'm almost done with it," he added. "I got about thirty more pages to write," he moaned when she started kneading his shoulders. "No explicit sex scenes, no bad words. It's a challenge."

  "I read the guidelines in that email you printed out. So, it's sort of a religious theme?"

  He nodded.

  "What if your story is good?" Vincent looked at her like she was crazy. "I mean. . .what if your readers want you to start writing more of that kind of stuff?"

  Vincent thought for a minute. "Shouldn't I be versatile?"

  "Yes, I suppose, but didn't you once tell me that you would only write about things you believed in? For example, I know you will never write a gang related novel because you don't understand their mind-set. You haven't lived that life. So, how can you write about something religious based if you. . .you know. . .aren't really into religion?"

  "Have you read what I've written so far, by any chance?"

  Micki was known, whenever she had a minute, to open Vincent's latest work on his computer and read it.

  "No. For some reason I want to wait until you're completely done with this one," she replied.

  "So, how do you know I'm not writing about something I believe in?"

  "Well, I've never seen or heard you say a prayer or go to church. So what, if any, form of religion do you believe in, baby?" After a brief moment of silence, he tilted his head back into Micki's lap without giving her a reply. "I asked you a question, Vincent." She looked directly into his brown eyes.

  "It doesn't bother you that I don't pray or go to church?"

  She looked away. Releasing a deep sigh, she gave a, "no." It wasn't like she went to church. She prayed sometimes, but it wasn't a daily habit like real Christians do. Religion wasn't something she was big on. Micki had always been taught not to get into religious or political discussions.

  "You know what?" she said as if she suddenly remembered something. "We were suppose to finish our conversation from this morning." She stood up.

  "We both forgot, so chill. I made up my mind anyway."

  "Which is it?"

  "Go ahead and tell the world about us."

  She squealed, bouncing up and down. "Thank you, Vincent! I love you so much, and now the whole world will know too."

  "I love you too, Micki." In the back of his mind, he was disappointed behind Micki not caring about his lack of religion. He could say the same things about her that she said about him. Vincent believed in God, but he didn't know God. He believed in a heaven as well as a hell, but that was about the extent of it.

  As Micki basked in excitement, Vincent looked at the woman he loved. He'd go to the ends of the earth for her. He'd die for her and protect her against anything that might try to come up against her, but that was only physically. What about her soul? How could he even think about protecting her soul when the fate of his own soul was in question?

  Chapter Four

  Monday mornings were becoming a routine for Vincent. Micki forced him out of bed at eight o'clock in the morning and had him fed and sitting in front of his computer by nine twenty a.m. He had a ton of emails from his supporters that needed to be answered. By eleven-thirty, he left his computer to feed his dogs. By noon, he was ready for The Room, which was the name he had given to his personal writing area. Every author had their very own vibe to turn on their creative writing switch. It was kind of like how Christian's have their prayer closets. Vincent's space was personal to him.

  The window remained covered with black Venetian blinds. The bare walls were painted a dull sand color. On the left side of the room was a cheap desk covered with a cup full of pens, a two and a half inch stack of blank writing paper, a flip dictionary and two regular dictionaries. There was no chair, no computer and no phone. Vincent always wrote his first draft in long hand. On the carpeted floor was a single mattress covered with two sheets.

  Lying down on his stomach, Vincent would write on the wooden board at the left corner of the mattress. He found much comfort in doing this. He explained to Micki how he had written his books in prison while laying his mattress on the floor. He never had a sore back or neck to interrupt his flow. Micki knew not to disturb him when he was in the The Room. Since The Room had a bathroom, Vincent didn't have to come out until he was good and ready. Micki knew when Vincent was emotionally attached to a story; The Room became his prison.

  The longest Vincent had held himself incarcerated in The Room had been four days straight. Micki had cooked his meals and left the food at the door. It excited her in an odd way when he was deep into his writing. He did it without any physical contact with Micki and she never fussed. She knew it was his life and his passion; a part of him that she loved.

  Inside The Room, Vincent picked up his pen and briefly closed his eyes. He pushed the real world from his mind while pulling in the life of his characters that awaited movement through his pen. His mind released reality and gripped fiction. He opened his eyes and began to write-straight from his spirit-things he never knew was there.

  Meanwhile, in the living room, Micki was stretched out on the sofa watching television. Within reach was a glass of rum and coke. Rex, the smallest of the two dogs, was in the corner asleep under the huge aquarium. It was now 8:38 p.m. and Vincent was still in The Room. If he wasn't out by nine p.m., she was going to heat up a plate of spaghetti for him and set it outside the door.

  She finished her rum and coke, and then closed her eyes, counting to twenty. She felt the urge to go and lock herself in the bathroom and do what she often did sometimes lately. This was the only thing she did in secret behind Vincent's back. She would always go into the bathroom feeling stressed or miserable, but come out feeling rejuvenated.

  Right now, something was heavy on her mind; she didn't know if an escape to the bathroom would do the trick this time. Tears slowly began filling her eyes as she stood up, sobbing softly. Without thinking, she headed straight to where she knew was off limits.

  Micki burst through the door of The Room crying, startling Vincent, who was deep into his writing. He was unable to come to his feet before she crashed into him. Rex and Rocky D stood at the door with their legs stiff. Even the two dogs understood that The Room was off limits.

  Vincent managed to stand Micki up and escort her back into the living room so they could talk. It took a few minutes for Vincent to calm her down, and for the third time he asked her what was wrong.

  Through tears, Micki looked up at him. "Vincent," she sobbed, clinging to him. "What. . .what's wrong with me? Why won't you marry me? Why won't you make an honest woman out of me; like Aaron is doing with Celisha?"

  Vincent was thrown off guard. He wondered if Celisha had been pushing her religious beliefs on Micki. But that wasn't Celisha's style. But if not, then why all of a sudden was Micki trippin'? Maybe for the same reasons he'd all of a sudden been trippin', too, inside. Only Micki was no longer able to hide her thoughts.

  Without answering Micki's question, Vincent told her to go get dressed. From his tone and demeanor, she knew it was best to just do as he asked. So, twenty minutes later, she was sitting beside him in the passenger side of his car, cruising down Douglas Road.

  Mary J. Blige's song, "We Ride", filled the car. Vincent hadn't spoken a word since they had gotten in the car. Micki didn't have the slightest idea where the two were heading. When Vincent reached the East-West Expressway, he merged into the thick traffic, heading east. He later exited off the Expressway and hit I-95 North. To his left was the flat landscape of Miami. Tiny lights were stretched out as far as the eye could see. Miami at night was always a special sight to him. When he crossed into Broward County, he turned the music off, then reached for Micki's hand. She held his hand with both of her hands.

  "The sun isn't out, Micki. You can take those crazy looking stunna shades off."

  She removed the shades, tossing them carelessly over her shoulder. She had a gloomy look on her still beautiful face. "Are you mad
at me for disturbing you while you were writing?"

  "Of course not." He switched lanes then accelerated pass a tow truck. "I'm not thinking about my writing right now. My story will be there when I get back. Let's talk about us."

  She squeezed his hand while looking into his face. There was no doubt in her mind; she was in love. "Okay," she replied.

  "Let me start by saying that nothing is wrong with you. You asked me that, along with why I wouldn't marry you, if I'm correct." He glanced at her.

  She nodded, blinking away tears.

  "Micki, it's like this, baby. When I did those ten years in prison, I forced myself to do it alone. I had a little mantra that I drilled into my mind, which found a way to my heart. I told myself I couldn't deal with matters of my heart behind bars. When I became an author, I met a few women that wanted to cross that line; the line of being a supporter to being my woman." He released a deep sigh. "I was lonely, Micki. I hated when Valentine's Day rolled around because I never had that special someone to share it with. I held back from this one woman I met through my books. I just couldn't open up. My reasons were selfish and childish now that I look back on it. I was afraid that I would get hurt. Afraid that another man would be with the woman I loved while I was behind bars. I held faith in a woman staying true to me." Vincent squeezed Micki's hand. "Micki, in my books I control the life of my characters. They come alive inside of me. In my writing, my world, I can create the faithful girlfriend, the perfect wife, and the perfect life. Hardships are even under my control. Will you think less of me when I can admit that I'm afraid of reality? I can't control life in reality. I can't create or control your mind. Micki, not that I want to, but it. . .it's hard for me."

  "Baby," Micki said, wiping her eyes, "you are a very special man in my life, and I love everything about you. No, I would never think less of you for what you just told me. Life with me will not be perfect, Vincent. We'll have our bad days and our good days. You got to face that. We're not perfect, but what I feel for you is not fiction. I'm in love with you." She wiped her eyes again. "Life is what we make of it. And you can control reality. I've been faithful to you because I love you. Love isn't built on control. It's built on trust. I said what I said about you marrying me because it's been on my mind. I need to know how much you really love me. I want to be a bigger part of your life. More than a girlfriend. I want to be with you forever."

  Vincent held no doubt in Micki's words. He knew her well enough to understand where she was coming from. She said what she had in her heart. He was more than happy with her. Not once had he dwelled on second thoughts of allowing her to move in with him.

  "Micki?" Vincent's tone was soft.

  "Yes, baby?"

  "I will only get one run at this life, and you know what?"

  "What?" she said while squeezing his hand gently and rubbing it with her thumb.

  "I want to spend it with you," he smiled. "Micki, will you be my wife?"

  Without hesitation, she replied, "Yes! Yes, baby, I'll marry you." She exploded with joy and fresh tears. She squeezed him so tight and held him for what seemed like forever.

  Once Micki finally released Vincent from her love grip he looked at her. "What do we do now?" he inquired.

  She leaned across the leather console and kissed him. "Shut up and drive," she giggled. "We've got some wedding ring shopping to do."

  Chapter Five

  "Celisha," Micki said into her cell phone. "Guess what?"

  Celisha took a guess. She figured that Micki was happy about being able to go public with her relationship with Vincent, especially after the last conversation she had with him about it. But Micki was quick to tell her how wrong she was.

  Micki took a deep breath before saying, "Celisha, Vincent asked me to marry him last night and I said, yes."

  "Really? That's fantastic, Micki. You must let Aaron and I take you two out to celebrate. This is a special moment and calls for a celebration. I'm so happy for you, girl."

  "Thanks. I'm sure Vincent will accept your offer when we get back."

  "Get back?" Celisha was confused. "If you two love birds done went and eloped without me, I will be so mad."

  "No, we haven't eloped." Micki giggled. "We're in Orlando at the MGM studios. We drove up here on a spur of the moment thing. This is like our private celebration. I'm having the time of my life and I've never been more happy with Vincent. Instead of going back to the house last night, after shopping for rings, we went shopping for clothes too and decided to get a hotel and spend the night . The next morning, we woke up and decided to have a little fun."

  Celisha could hear the excitement in Micki's voice while at the same time her voice began to break.

  "Don't start crying on me, Micki. I can hear it in your voice. Where is the lucky man?"

  "I'm not gon' cry," Micki assured her before clearing her throat and gaining her composure. "Vincent is gone on that ride where that jaws thing jumps out. It looked too real to me, so I passed on that one."

  Celisha laughed. "Girl, you are something else. But look, what time are you two expecting to be back?"

  "We should be back home by eight tonight, if not earlier. We can't stay too long or Rex and Rocky D will destroy the place." They hadn't thought to let the dogs out before they left. "I don't know how I'll act when he slides an engagement ring on my finger." Her voice began to quiver again. "We went looking last night, but not too many places were open."

  "Keep it together, girl. Now, do me a favor and try to keep your stomach empty for tonight. I'll see if I can pull a few strings to get us a table at the Tantra Restaurant.

  Micki, I'm really happy for you, and I mean it."

  "Thank you, Celisha. You've been such a true friend since day one." Micki wiped her eyes. "I never knew being in love would feel this good."

  "It only gets better," Celisha told her. "It only gets better."

  Micki was on the phone the entire trip back to Coral Gables. Spreading the news about her engagement to Vincent was a special moment to her. As for Vincent, he made only a few calls. His longest was with Celisha. His friends greatly outnumbered his family members that he called. They only included his cousin Erica, and his aunt, Diane. He was estranged from the rest of his family since getting locked up. Although nobody had hollered for him when he was down, the minute they saw his name on the Essence Magazine bestseller's list, they started claiming him as their peoples. Vincent was straight on that.

  "Vincent, I've been thinking about something," Micki said. "Now that we're engaged, and about to do this thing under God's eyes, I think we should abstain from sex until our honeymoon."

  Vincent looked at her, only to see that she was serious. "Fine," he said as the Welcome to West Palm Beach sign came into view. "We'll get married tomorrow."

  "I'm serious," she pouted.

  "Okay. It's April. How long do you want to put the wedding off?"

  She leaned over, rubbing his hard bicep as he drove with one hand. "I don't know yet. How long has Celisha been engaged to Aaron?"

  "Going on a year, I think. That's too long. Micki, I hope you-"

  "Uh uh," she interrupted. "I wouldn't even dream of stringing our engagement on that long. Baby, I've never done anything like this before, so let's just enjoy it, okay? There's no need for us to make this stressful."

  "I second that idea." He leaned over to give her a quick peck on her lips.

  "What about us abstaining from sex? Will it be an issue?"

  "Nope," he replied truthfully. "What I feel for you isn't built on sex. I know we are two freaks," he smiled, "but straight up, I love you for your mind. . .and your behind."

  "Aww," she smiled. "My man, the romantic freak."

  She slid her hand up his arm to play with his ear.

  "You know that's my spot, baby." "Ooops." She stopped.

  Changing the subject, Vincent asked, "What did your family down in Buenos Aires say?" He checked his speed, then switched on the radar cruise control.

  "They w
ere all elated. Everyone said how happy my mother would have been if she were still alive." Micki suddenly lost the glow that had been prevalent on her face. Vincent reached for her hand in a comforting gesture.

  Before Micki had moved in with Vincent, she told him about her mother being killed in a car crash. Micki was thirteen at the time. A year later, she left Argentina to stay with her brother, Sierra, in the United States. Sierra was a Master Sergeant in the U.S. Marines, a soon to be brother-in-law that Vincent looked forward to bonding with.

  "Did you reach your father?" Vincent asked.

  "No. I have to try again later." She leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes. "Turn on some music." Micki hit the recline button on the side of her seat and relaxed.

  Seconds later, they were riding down I-95 South with BBD, "When Will I See You Smile Again" flowing through the speakers. This was another quality she loved about her future husband. His taste in music was unrivaled. Later on that night, Micki stood in front of the mirror in a satin, royal blue, chiffon dress. She had her hair piled up on top of her head with a few strands hanging. This hairstyle showed off her flawless neck that sported a thin, diamond choker. She knew she was filling out the Oscar De La Renta dress like nobody's business. She was spraying on Rosamor perfume when Vincent walked into the bedroom.

  "Micki, you look good!" He walked toward her.

  "I'm your woman; of course I look good," she smiled. He stood behind her, softly rubbing her hips. "Why did you have the bathroom door locked when you took a shower? I told you about doing that. What if you slip and fall or something?"

  Vincent's inquiry had caught her off guard. She'd meant to unlock the door after she finished doing what she had to do, but obviously she had forgotten. "Baby, relax. I guess I locked it by mistake," she lied. "Take that shirt off, 'cause it's so not related to those slacks." She pointed to his slacks. "Put on that dark brown Salvatore Ferragamo shirt I got you from New York. And you're wearing your glasses too. I hate seeing you squint to see things far off." She turned to face him. "You should just go on and have laser surgery to correct your vision."