by Kenya Wright
We’re overdue for sex. I can’t think of no better way to finish off this day.
“Stop it.” Amber laughed some more. “You’re tickling me.”
I paused in the doorway. My keys dangled in my hand. Hot rage coursed through my veins. My heart boomed in my ears.
“Oh my god!” She giggled. “You are so playful today.”
A man’s deep voice sounded. “Am I, Amby baby?”
“Yes,” Amber moaned.
“Come over here. I want more of you before it’s time for me to leave.”
I left the bags on the floor. The door remained open. Fisting my hands, I stomped toward the bedroom. All I could think of was violence. Pure bloodshed. Nothing could stop me. There would be no excuse and no getting out of this.
Noise no longer reached me. It was just my heart pumping brutal beats against my eardrums. My whole body vibrated with vicious revenge.
I was in the bedroom in seconds and on him after that. It appeared all that time in our home gym had helped. I yanked the man off the bed and slammed him on the floor.
“Kamal!” Amber screamed in horror.
The guy barely knew what was going on. Once he realized he was on the floor, he looked up and caught my punch to his jaw.
“Kamal! No!” Amber cried.
“In our bedroom?!” I roared and slammed my fist into his head again. “And with him?!”
Completely naked, he was small next to my size and in every way it counted. No muscle. No height. No cock to speak of. No arm reach. No skills for a fight. Just a skinny blonde guy with blue eyes.
How many times had I grown up in my private schools getting bullied by this same sort of guy? Even in college, the privileged white guys grouped together and yelled out ignorant shit. They called me brownie, chinki monkey, and curry muncher. I was South Asian—my parents coming from India and the racist names became more creative as I got older. Since our newly elected president was more racist than diplomatic, this year a few times people would glance my way and whisper, Taliban Terrorist.
And this guy hadn’t called me any of those names, but I beat him like he did.
“No! Please!” Amber tried to grab at my shoulders. “Oh my god! No! I. . .”
I didn’t stop punching him. Blood dripped from his nose. Some of it smeared on my fingers. It was in that crazy moment that I remembered I was in the middle of a pandemic and shouldn’t let his germs get on me.
“You piece of shit!” I kicked him in the side and stepped back.
It would be just my luck that I get the damn coronavirus from him.
I marched off to the bathroom.
“Arh,” the man whined on the ground.
Amber rushed after me. Terror rose in her voice. “Kamal, please let me explain.”
“You’re naked. What is there to explain?” I entered the bathroom, turned on the faucet, filled my palms with liquid soap, and washed my hands. “I want you out of here!”
“What? I. . .”
“Out! Get the fuck out of my condo! I should have never moved you in.” I rubbed my hands and focused on the blood spilling down into the sink. If I looked at her, I might want to kill her.
She’s not worth it. Calm down.
“Kamal, I can’t just leave. I-I don’t have anybody here in New York.”
I looked at her. “I don’t give a fuck. Find a hotel or—”
“How? I. . .I don’t have any money.”
“Get it from the guy you were just fucking.”
“I. . .” She watched me dry my hands off. “Kamal. . .just let me. . .What could I do? You weren't paying me any attention. You stopped having sex with me and—”
“Get the fuck out!” I stomped back to the bedroom, hoping the idiot was there and needing to kick someone. “Not paying you any attention? I work. I provide you with a place to live so you can sit on your ass and do nothing.”
“I—”
I walked around the sheet toppled bed. “Why aren’t you packing?”
“I have nowhere to go. You know I don’t.”
I searched for the idiot. He’d disappeared with his clothes but left one of his shoes. I turned to Amber.
She trembled in front of me. “I. . I know you hate me, Kamal. I-I don’t deserve your help, but—”
“You won’t get it.” I glared at her.
“Flights have been canceled from New York. How the hell am I going to get back to LA?”
“Not my problem.”
She wiped away more tears. “Just. . .could you just. . .”
“What?” I growled.
“Just give me a month, please. I can call my father and ask for help.” She shuddered in terror. “Please, don’t put me out on the streets while there’s this virus.”
Even after what she did, I hated to see her look so scared.
I turned away.
“Please, Kamal.” Her voice went low. “I’m. . .going to be stranded. . .or worse. . .I try and leave and maybe get infected and die.”
Fury fogged my head. I could barely think as I kept my back to her.
“Kamal, I know that you hate me now, but please don’t put me in harm’s way or—”
“Call the guy you were just fucking to help you.”
“He’s married, and after you beat him so bad he’ll be too scared to answer—”
“Again, not my problem.”
“J-just give me a month.”
“No. You’re fucking crazy, Amber.” I fisted my hands and then headed away. “I can’t even listen to your voice right now.”
“Wait, Kamal—”
“I have to get out of here.” I headed to the door. “If I don’t, I might—”
“P-please, I’m stuck in New York. I. . .I have nowhere to go or—”
“Just shut up for a minute.” I picked up the bags and laptop by the door.
“Okay. Not a month, but what about a week?” She jumped in front of me but kept her mouth closed.
She was still naked and not one inch of that body turned me on. Every part of me now despised her. The faster she was out of my sight the better.
What should I do?
I thought of my mother back in Los Angeles and even my sister Zora. Neither woman would do something as disgusting as cheat. If they did, I still would want them to be treated properly.
I glared at her. “One fucking week, Amber. After that, I don’t care where you go, but you have to be out of here. If you must live on the street, then it won’t be my problem. When I come back in seven days, you better be gone. If I see you or your stuff, when I return, the cops will be involved.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “W-where are you going?”
“Far from you.” I picked up my laptop and the rest of the bags, not willing to give her the wine or extra sandwich.
“Where will you sleep? We’re on lockdown.”
“I’m surprised you even know that. I figured you were sucking his little dick during the governor’s conference. Did you two watch it together in our fucking bed?!”
“Kamal, I need—”
“Don’t answer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“How long?”
She widened her eyes. “W-what?”
“How long have you been fucking him?”
She backed up. “Since February.”
From that response, I almost threw her out in the streets. Surely, she deserved no kindness.
No. I don’t need any bad karma right now.
Amber raised her shaking hands to her chest. “Kamal, could you just. . .stay. . .Let’s talk this through.”
“Talk?” A dark laugh left my lips. “Talk where? In the room that stinks of your sex with another man?”
“I could clean it up.”
“Nothing could clean it up. I may burn that damn bed.” I stormed off.
She hurried after me. “Wait. Please. Just stay the night. I’ll be worried. Where are you going?”
“At this point, I would rather be anywhere than ne
xt to you, even if that means possibly getting sick.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I mean that with every inch of my heart.” Thank God, the elevator opened without me pushing the button. It was like the universe knew I had to get away soon or things could turn horrible.
Holding the laptop and bags, I stepped on and faced her.
She covered her bare breasts. “Kamal—”
“Seven fucking days.”
The doors closed.
Adrenaline burned through me. Hours ago my biggest problem had been fear for a deadly virus. Now all I could think about was how my life had turned to ruin.
Idiot. How did I not figure it out? Fucking idiot.
My phone rang. I shouldn’t have answered, but I did. “Yes?”
Tyler’s voice boomed on the phone. “Yo, where you at? The whole state is about to go on lockdown. Let’s meet at the basketball court.”
“I can’t right now.”
Tyler grumbled, “Why not, man? Don’t make me go home to my wife.”
“I caught Amber cheating.”
“Oh shit! Fuck that. I’m coming over there. Let’s beat that motherfucker’s ass.”
“Too late. I already did.”
“Okay. So, what now?”
“I don’t know.” I frowned. “I’ll call you back.”
“Kamal—”
I hung up and headed to my car.
Chapter 1
Jade
Doomscrolling
This morning, I learned a new term called doomscrolling. It was when a person scrolled through their phone for the latest posts on social media, knowing that each one would deal with death, doom, and gloom.
Besides a funny meme or two, most posts talked about the coronavirus and sad news of deaths. If not that, then people argued about whether the pandemic was fake or not. Nervousness tightened my stomach. Endless angst plagued my mind.
Why am I doing this to myself? I said I would get off Facebook and here I go. . .
I read another post.
Oh my god! What’s that? A nurse in Kansas died. No!
I drowned in sadness.
Rest in peace. . .nurse. . .wait. What’s her name? Sylvia. Rest in peace, Sylvia.
My eyes watered. I shut off my phone.
Stop it. You didn’t even know her. Relax.
Feeling helpless and alone, I looked at the television screen.
You’re not by yourself. You’ve got a fur baby here. Things could be worse.
I gazed down at my best friend’s dog. She’d named him Ganesha, after a Hindu god with an elephant head. The god of beginnings. The remover of obstacles. The patron of arts and sciences. I liked to think furry Ganesha did his best to live up to the name. He was a Yorkshire Terrier—seven pounds of silky black and gold hair.
“The state is on lockdown, buddy.” I gazed down at him. “What are we going to do?”
Sleeping, Ganesha lounged under my feet, warming my toes and snuggling next to his favorite toy, Bebe. Surprisingly, Bebe was a pink stuffed kitten that he could not live without.
Zora bought Ganesha three years ago and had remained next to him 24-7. Pretending he was a service dog, she took him to work, inside the grocery store, at restaurants, and even in the movies. This week served as the first time Zora and Ganesha were separated. And it was only because Corey demanded that her fur-baby not be brought onto their honeymoon in the Maldives.
I volunteered to watch her baby for two weeks. Dog sitting hadn’t been a big deal. Although Zora’s one-bedroom apartment was small, it exuded luxury and had a balcony. She lived on the fourth floor. Zora worked as a Production Assistant for CNN. She had a decent salary and always stayed up on fashion. Therefore, her apartment resided in the place to be in NYC. It was located in Brooklyn and close to great restaurants. Trendy professionals—most in their 30s—headed back and forth, holding their lattes and yapping into their phones.
Zora should have been an interior designer. Her apartment boasted a stylish minimalist look with light eco accents such as wood, white marble, and soft textile. It was cozy and chic.
The living room opened onto a balcony, so it got a fair amount of sunlight. The kitchen made clever use of limited space with well-placed cabinets. The stone countertops and backsplash were classy, and the appliances were high-end. There wasn’t much room for a dining area. A small space held a two-person table a few feet from the couch. In the hallway, there was a small space with an in-unit washer and dryer.
She gave me the name and number of the building’s part-time super, just in case anything broke or clogged.
The bedroom was my favorite. I could also access the balcony from the bedroom, and it had a large closet, not that I brought many clothes. The adjacent bathroom held a tub with air jets which was great for easing down in a bubble bath with a good book and glass of wine. I’d done that last night, trying to get the stress of the coronavirus out of my head.
Zora provided a week metro pass and a map that showed I was barely three blocks from the F, G, and R trains at Fourth Avenue and Ninth Street. Unfortunately, due to the coronavirus craze, I didn’t visit any art museums and check out the NYC landmarks like the Statue of Liberty or Times Square. Now wasn’t the time to be a tourist. To get some sun, I read on the balcony.
Unlike me, Zora was organized and all-business. I liked being carefree and artsy. She relished in schedules. She’d left an exorbitant amount of instructions for Ganesha. The fur baby didn’t eat typical store brand dog food. She’d done meal prep. Several tiny containers held chopped goose and duck, lamb, and beef. Honestly, I had to admit that he ate better than me. And before giving Ganesha his food in a crystal bowl that had his name written in gold, I was to drizzle a little flaxseed oil on top so he could get his omega-3 fatty acids.
His toy, Bebe, was to be washed with hypoallergenic soap and left in a tub of cold water for an hour soaking on Sunday evening. On Monday morning, Ganesha jogged with his bestie Elizabeth—a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel that was owned by a guy named Oliver.
Between Tuesday and Friday, Ganesha met with his crew at 6 p.m. in the park. Zora drew a map to Prospect Park which was four long blocks away from the apartment. There, Ganesha hung out with his friends—a labradoodle named Spencer, a Bichon Frise called Madonna, and his bestie Elizabeth.
At least the dog sitting is keeping me busy.
I turned back to the television and frowned at the idiotic drama unfolding on the screen.
Crystal Waters slapped her daughter. “You may have slept with my husband, but now that he’s dead, you won’t get his money.”
Selene held her palm against her cheek. “Blake promised that he would leave it all to me.”
Crystal Waters laughed. “Silly girl. I’m sorry that I never taught you to get your promises in ink and not in sperm.”
Selene tried to slap her mother back.
Crystal caught it. “You bitch! You think you can come against me? I was plotting, while you were sleeping in my womb. Too bad I didn’t know the trifling whore you would become. I might’ve grabbed a knife and stabbed my stomach over and over.”
Groaning, I picked up the remote control and muted it.
Damn you, Zora.
My best friend had her tv programmed to record her favorite soap opera, the Beautiful and Deceitful. Too scared that she would miss an episode, she begged me to not change the channel for the hour of recording.
My phone rang.
Sighing, I picked my phone up and answered, “Hello.”
“Girl!” My friend Karen’s voice held annoyance. “These goddamn memes about Karens are so fucking annoying.”
I grinned. “I told you to not take them personally.”
“How can I not? It’s my damn name.”
“But, they’re not talking about you.”
On the internet, popular memes targeted the stereotypical middle-aged white woman calling them Karens. According to the internet, Karen always wanted to speak to the store�
��s manager to complain. Karen was entitled and usually wrong in her tattling. And most of all, Karen tended to be racist and hated any minority having fun.
My friend Karen complained, “I just saw three memes as I scrolled through my timeline. And they were posted by my supposed family members.”
“Ignore them.”
“I think they’re talking about me.”
“They’re not. It’s just a popular thing right now.”
“They better not be talking about me. I know where all their asses live.”
“Really? You’re going to beat up a cousin over a meme?”
“It’s not fair to label all Karens as annoying ass white women. I’m black and ride for my people.”
“Stop taking memes personally.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not subject to name profiling. How the hell did they pick my name anyway?”
“Mean Girls. The movie. Remember? Karen was a member of the Plastics.”
“Yeah. I remember. She was my favorite character. I loved her name.”
I shook my head.
My phone beeped on the other line. I checked the screen and sighed. “Karen, I have to talk to you later. My mom is calling.”
“Okay, but call me back. This guy asked me out and I’m scared he might have the virus. His ass was coughing on the phone. He said he has allergies. I don’t know.”
I laughed. “Girl, bye.”
“Talk to you later.”
I switched over. “Hey, Mom. How are you?”
“Finally, you answer,” my mother said. “We’ve been worried about you.”
“I know. I just wanted to call you back when I had some actual news.”
“California is going to close its borders soon. No one will be able to enter the state. We must get you back here.”
“California is doing what?” My voice screeched. “I didn’t see that on the news.”
“Well, they haven’t announced it yet.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Geneva said it.”
I rolled my eyes. “And where did Geneva hear that from?”
“Doesn’t matter. I can see California doing it. I want you back here immediately.”