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His cries begin to die down, turning into little grunts and whines. I reach into the fridge, find the bottle, and warm it up. Once it’s the right temperature, I place it to his lips, and with a few seconds of hesitation, he finally takes the bottle. I sit at the table and peer out into the night, the street light in front of our house the only light coming into the kitchen. Some neighbors still have their lights on. I look at the clock on the stove and see it’s nearing midnight.
Where do we go from here? I told Lana she needs therapy or we’re over. I threatened to take our son from her, standing my ground and fighting her for the first time in fifteen years of friendship. I don’t think she’s ready to go to therapy; she’s too stubborn, too in denial to admit she needs help. If that’s the case, then she and I are over. We can’t go on living like this and we know it.
I hear gurgling and look down to see Prince has almost finished the entire bottle. I let him have a few more sucks then grab his burping cloth. As I gently pat him on the back, he burps in my ear. I smile, but then something outside catches my eye, a quick movement. Squinting my eyes, I look toward the tree across the street to the house just diagonal to us and focus. I swear I saw something, but there is no more movement. Deciding my mind is playing tricks on me and I need some sleep, I go back to focusing on Prince. After a few burps, he starts to coo, making little noises, the kind that are nothing significant, but they feel monumental in his growth.
I move to the living room and place him in my lap, my knees bent and my feet on the coffee table. I play with his little hands then count each tiny toe on his fabric-covered feet, the material still not enough to showcase how small his toes are in my large, tattooed hands.
The light of my life sits in my lap, a small emblem of who I am. Such a small little man with the power to make me do anything to keep him happy and safe. I bond with my father. We have this deep connection. I always wondered what it would feel like to be in his shoes, and now I am. Being Princeton’s father is my greatest accomplishment. He’s an extension of me. When he hurts, I hurt with him. When he smiles, I feel that smile in my blood stream. That happiness makes me content. When he breathes, I match him breath-by-breath. It’s unique, a love I have never had before—except with his mama. Lana will always be my one real love, with or without her as mine.
The alpha in me is weakening, because I can’t fight anymore. The part in me that screams she is mine is now silenced. The dominant in me is giving up the restraints and handing them over to Lana on a platter, because the fight is dead. I never thought a day would come where she and I would be over. Damn.
“Your mama is my world, buddy, but I don’t know what to do anymore.” I gaze into his eyes, finding a getaway. Lana and I could never continue down this perilous road without the sure chance of completely destroying our son.
She and I are both emotional beings. To know her inside and out, the pains
and burdens she carries, is enervated—one drowns even in her silence. To know me is to be suffocated with my need to dominate and own all that is mine and never be the submissive. Lana and I are two butting forces, clashing head-on, and it drags everyone down. That is precisely why I know we cannot let our son witness this train wreck.
I won’t do it.
Princeton eyes me, mirroring me with his heavy orbs, ready for sleep. And I think if stopping time were possible at this very moment, I would do it. I would slow it down and hold off on the rising dawn that’s about to come with a whole new world of problems. Tomorrow may be the day Lana and I say goodbye as lovers.
Prince nods off, closing his eyes gently, and I stare at him for a few moments longer before I reluctantly tear myself away and take him to bed. I place him in his crib, double-check his camera monitor and confirm it’s turned on, and then I bow out, shutting the door until a small crack is left.
I think of tomorrow, and the faint sound of her words telling me with a chill to them, ‘It’s over, Kingston. I can’t do this anymore,’ repeats like a broken record in my mind. So standing behind the door that holds so much to lose, I revel in the gluttony for pain and selfishly take one last night holding her in my arms as my love. As a trophy of our friendship and a symbol of what once made me whole. Lana James was once the key to all things that made me Kingston.
Tiptoed steps carry me into the room, where her back faces me, the outline of her silhouetted hips and pointed shoulders breaking my heart. Physically, I feel a tight vice rip through the skin of my chest and grip hold of my aching heart. That is my life lying there asleep, her dainty pink toes a tangle as they lay on top of each other, the long, thin legs leading to her perfect round ass and her back curved and never ending. All the way up to the pouty lips and wispy brown hair on the pillow. Remembering her in this state, her asleep innocently but tortured and detached deep inside, I realize she’s something I have failed to protect.
I promised I would fight a battle for forever if it meant I got to keep her, but I lost that battle. I gave up. No longer strong enough to face the truth, nor sturdy enough to carry the burdens as my own. I begged her many times to leave her world on my shoulders, to weigh me down so she could be light and without any pain, but it didn’t work. Lana didn’t let me save her; she didn’t even let me be her hero.
I approach her, her image assaulting my eyes and making them wet the closer I get. Aching to touch her, I resist, dying to tell her I love her, but I mute myself. Instead, I go with blinding myself with the image of Lana one last time as mine. Never will I love again, not even if I could. She was it for me, the ultimate, and now I lost her. You cannot find a better treasure after you have touched pure gold.
I band my arm around her waist, bringing her petite, womanly, curved back to my stomach. The contrast of my huge, broad body keeping her wrapped in my arms is a picture worth a thousand words, but if people really knew the artist, they would see she is the one who holds us together, she is the dominant, and here I am the weak submissive.
Lana not only lost herself in the wreckage, but she destroyed me alongside her.
My head pounds as my eyes flutter open. The room is still dark, but I see the curtains have been drawn together and the light from the sun hides behind them, trying to get in. I feel like death, drained emotionally and physically. I remember falling asleep in Kingston’s arms, the last moment of feeling together. I dreamed of him all night. Called, screamed, begged for him in my nightmares. Watching his retreating back in my dreams sliced me open from the inside out, my heart falling out and dragging behind him as he went.
The words he said last night did this to me, but I don’t blame him, nor do I disagree with what he said. I have been a shell of myself, dragging us down, and had the roles been reversed, I would not be here right now. Jumping ship would have been my instinct, but I sit here obstructing our chance to move on, all selfish and without regard for the damage I am causing myself and my family.
I hold the cards, and now I know I have to fold and give in. I see my phone on the nightstand, the cold bed empty with only me in it. I reach for it to check the time. I see it’s nearing nine, which means Prince has probably already woken up. I don’t hear any noise, which has me in instantly worried. I slide out of bed and grab my robe, hoping and praying Kingston didn’t make good on his words just yet. He said he would take our son. What if he did? I open the door and instantly smell food, the grease of bacon waking me up and making my stomach growl.
Not a lick of alcohol is in my system, but I feel hung-over. Emotionally hung-over. I hear papers rustling, and my heart settles as I descend the stairs, following the noise. My hair is a wispy mess on my head, my body drowning in my nightie, my body frail from the weight loss, and my eyes are sure to be sunken in from the tears and constant restless sleep.
Rounding the corner at the bottom of our stairs, I step into the kitchen. My stomach flutters and my heart beats again as my eyes grow wet at the sight. Kingston sits reading the paper, dressed in only black sweats and his beloved RVCA backward snapback. He always puts that on, even when he’s lounging around the house and unready for the day. It’s him; it’s part of what makes him unique—what makes him mine. Next to him, in his little rocking chair with an attached musical mobile, the sounds of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” plays as Prince watches in wonderment, his little smile adorning his chubby face. When he makes a noise, Kings looks over at him and coos, lifting the his little foot to his mouth and blowing raspberries.
An urgency overtakes me, consumes me from the inside out to never lose this. Without words, he did more than what they could’ve in that simple moment with our child. The way his tattooed body touched the bare skin of our son, like a protector to the innocent, and the way he goes from alpha to the most generous, softhearted teddy bear to walk this earth, I snap.
“I’ll do it. I’ll go to therapy.” I rush out the words, bringing his attention to me. My presence shocks him at first before his features soften and he assesses me.
Last night, terrible things were said, and I’m sure he thought I was going to wake up pissed and ready to go to war, but I’m tired. I’m tired of being the victim, of living a life where I don’t even know who I am anymore.
The divine nature to save my family and keep the other part of my soul as mine outweighs that, completely shatters any other thing I may be feeling.
“What?” He eyes me over, the paper in his hand lowering as he puts it on the table with ease. I don’t know what else to say, afraid I may mess it up, so I repeat myself.
“I want to go to therapy. Please, don’t leave me,” I beg, unashamed.
“Lana, stop.” He puts his hand up, shutting me out as my eyes start to glaze over. The burn is still present from all the tears I cried last night.
