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Two days after he told me he loved me, I woke up and felt something on my left ring finger. It was early, and it took a minute for me to focus my eyes, but when I did, they took in the brilliant, gorgeous, mammoth emerald cut diamond. The band was gold and beautiful.
My eyes fell on his side of the bed to find it empty. Flipping over, I found him sitting on the floor staring at me, a familiar dynamic from our not-so-distant past.
“What is this?” I asked, my eyes wide.
“A ring,” he replied, his voice flat.
“Ray, I know it’s a damn ring. I meant, why? What does it mean?”
“Why it’s gotta mean something?”
“Nigga, why’d you put this on my hand?!”
He grinned. “Because we engaged now.”
“So…this is how you propose?”
“I ain’t proposing shit. You gon’ marry me. That’s it.”
I stared at him, he stared back, and I nodded. “Okay,” I agreed, “When?”
The thing about all of this, as twisted as it was, was that I’d wanted it so badly from Marlon, dreamed of it, but never attained it. No true commitment, no choosing me over all else. No…adoration. I mean, did he love me? Yes, I believed he did, and I loved him, but this thing with the killer? This passion? This insanity? It was just…magical. Maybe I was insane or stupid, even naïve, but it felt as right as it did wrong, a perfect balance. Did I know Ray, like truly know him after four months of literal captivity? Probably not. Did I know enough? Yes. I knew how I felt with him. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. He’d had every opportunity to and hadn’t harmed a hair on my head. Had he manhandled me? Yes, but hell, I liked it, and I especially liked how he routinely demolished my pussy.
Oh, I LOVED that shit.
And I loved him. That, I was sure of. No matter how nonsensical or strange or twisted this love we shared was, it was still love. Real, deep, earth-shattering love.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Hi
Hey, Lil. I just wanted to drop a line to check on you. I’m still shocked about this new guy you’re with. He seems like a criminal, a street thug. Has he been in prison? I would’ve called but that guy looks like the type who would monitor your phone. I never thought you were into guys like that. I talked to Felice about it, and she thinks it’s a phase and that you’ll see the light and come home. I miss you desperately. I love you, Lil, and I believe we belong together. Like I told Felice, I’ll wait forever if that’s how long it takes for you to come back to me. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. I only wanted to do right by Felice as her husband, but my heart belongs to you and always will.
Love,
Marlon
PS: I know I said I could deal with us being friends but it’s not true. I need more. I need you.
I stared at the screen of my computer as I sat in my office. This was one of the things that erroneously irked me when Marlon and I were together, his friendship with his wife, Felice. Okay, I got it, they’d known each other for eons and were amiable. He talked to her often to check on her health, but it felt weird that he discussed us with her. It made me severely uncomfortable, and although I relayed this to him, he swore I was tripping, that his heart belonged to me. Even if I believed him, even if I totally convinced myself that he was mine—mind, body, and all—I couldn’t forget that his allegiance was to her above everyone else, including me. That was what ended us. Now I had my killer, and I wasn’t trading him in to return to an unwanted threesome sans the fun.
HELL no.
16
Lilith had me locked in.
I couldn’t think of anything but her, couldn’t keep my hands off her, and it was fucking with my concentration. So, yeah…Memphis was right. I really hated to admit that shit, but it was the truth. I wasn’t going to admit it to Memphis’s hostile ass, though. I was just going to see this shit through, multitask. So, while Lilith was at work in her new office, I decided to trust her a little by setting myself up a workspace in the storage room where I could make calls and stuff. I didn’t like it, but I needed the privacy to coordinate shit. Plus, I had spyware on all her devices and a hidden camera in the office. I wasn’t going to miss a damn thing, like that little begging-ass email from her Wendell Pierce head-ass ex. She didn’t reply, which was good, but instead of doing what I needed to be doing, I was fighting not to make this nigga extinct. The nerve of this fool to write her a got damn love letter after finding out she’d moved on and my crazy ass was her man! Did this asshole WANT to die? If so, I’d gladly oblige him. The planet didn’t need another tax preparer anyway. This shit had me so heated that I left the storeroom and stomped my ass to her office, flinging the door open and staring at her.
“Shit,” she muttered. “I did not send a response. All I did was read the email. I just deleted it.”
“But you read it. What you trying to hear this nigga say?” I asked, stepping into the room and slamming the door shut behind me.
“Ray, the store is open and?—”
I moved to her desk, leaning over it, and bringing my face inches from hers. “Do I look like I give even an embryonic fuck about that?”
