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We enter the dining room that opens onto a kitchen. Half of my attention is on listening to her deflection while the other half searches for a glass to fill with water. After making sure she drinks two glasses, I take her upstairs to her bedroom.
Her nightgown rests on the bed among a sea of anime plushies. I hand it to her and send her to the bathroom with instructions while I line up the stuffed toys on her window seat.
From behind the closed door, her forlorn voice reaches me. “Will you tuck me in?”
Images of her silky brown skin enrobed in the satiny garment I shoved into her hands has me swallowing the lump in my throat. Kenya has the ability to test my resolve like none other and I can’t afford for her to accuse me of breaking the little trust we’ve established.
“Please?” Her plea eradicates any resistance I may have had.
“Okay, my little lamb. I’ll stick around long enough to tuck you in, but then I’m leaving.”
Silence greets my response, but I shrug away my suspicions, turn down the bed, and sit in wait. By the time the toilet flushes, I’m a heated mass of need. My body is primed and on alert. The door opens and my breath catches. Kenya doesn’t disappoint. She fills out her nightgown like a dream.
I sit spellbound as she floats toward me. I know I’m probably imagining how graceful she is because she hasn’t sobered in the short time since entering the bathroom. My observation is irrelevant. She is a one-of-a-kind masterpiece in cream lingerie that hugs all her curves. I clench my hands into fists as I fight the urge to touch her and rub the satiny fabric against my face.
Her glasses are slightly askew. The lenses magnify her brown eyes. I gently pry the glasses off her face and stop to admire her. I don’t know how long we stay there, me sitting on the bed while she stands between my legs, staring at each other. It feels like an eternity of sweet torture. She parts her lips and I can smell the minty mouthwash she uses as small puffs of air hit my face. Her mouth, a constant distraction, draws me closer. I lean up toward her, forgetting my resolve from earlier.
“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” She asks, jarring me back to my senses.
I swallow my shame and use her glasses as a distraction by placing them on her nightstand. I hope the diversion will restore my composure before I respond to her request. Although no is on the tip of my tongue, what escapes is a soft, “Sure.”
She smiles then crawls over me to get to the other side of the bed. I try not to focus on the soft flesh pressing into mine. Or her sweet almond scent. As she settles beneath the sheets, I go to stand up, only for her to pull me off balance when she grabs my hand. I fall onto the bed beside her. Her hold on my hand is surprisingly strong, but not stronger than me.
“I just realized something,” she says, hugging my hand to her breasts.
I freeze. If I admit to enjoying where she holds me hostage, does that make me a pervert? I should free myself right now and ignore my slowing blood flow or how much I want to relish this sensation.
“You know way more about me and my family than I do about you. Don’t you think you should rectify that?” Kenya curls her body towards me. Everything about her is an invitation to touch; the dramatic slash of her eyebrows, the rounded tip of her nose, her insanely kissable lips, and her silky round cheeks.
“What do you want to know?” With my free hand, I succumb to temptation and caress her soft cheek.
“Were you mischievous as a child? Studious? What’s your family like?” She cuddles closer until only a hair’s breadth separates us. “Honestly, I get more curious about you the more I spend time with you. Tell me anything.”
My heart thuds with excitement at her admission while I debate what to divulge. After a few seconds, I decide to hell with it. I’m keeping so much about my current life from her, the least I can do is tell her about my youth.
“You know how some parents support their kids despite not completely understanding them? Or how families go through a major growth journey because a situation they’re unprepared for challenges everything they were raised to believe, but because they love their children so much, they embark on that journey?”
“Yeah, there was a time my grandmothers and I had to figure things out because our personalities are so different. It was never easy, but they respected my input, regardless of how old I was. At least in everything except my romantic entanglements.”
“I’m happy they were what you needed when you needed them. Unfortunately, no one in my family ever got the memo. I was a curious kid who poked at things that fit a little too well into boxes. I guess you could say, I’ve never liked boxes.”
To this day I don’t like neatly packaged justifications, which is probably why I’m having a hard time getting over the difference of opinion I have with my bandmates. To top it off, Khadijah siding with everyone against me felt like the biggest betrayal. She’s been the one constant in my life who always had my back.
“What did they do to you?” Concern darkens Kenyas whiskey-gold eyes.
I try to smile but the sadness furrowing her brow tells me I’ve failed. She stumbles out of bed to the window seat and selects a Kuma Kuma bear. When she returns he holds the animal between us.
“In case you need something softer to hug.”
I pull her into my arms and rest my chin on top of her head. “You’re plenty soft enough fro me.”
After a few seconds she pokes my arm, reminding me I haven’t said everything. “Where was I? Oh, yes. My parents used to lock me in the basement. It was cold, unfurnished, and neglected. Pretty much how I was whenever they put me there. Until I apologized for challenging their authority and my unnatural irreverence toward my parents, they denied me all but a daily serving of water.”
“That’s horrible.” Kenya leans on her elbow. Fire glows within the depths of her irises. “Who are these people? I’ll gather Glamma and G-mama. Together we’ll make your parents wish they treated you better.”
Her unequivocal defense helps to ease some of the pain I continue to carry with me. “Easy there. I haven’t spoken to them since I ran away from home at fourteen.”
“Fourteen!” she says, horrified by my experience. “How did you survive on the streets? Please tell me someone took you in.”
