“Yes. I want to help people. I want to open my own clinics. And I will too.”
“Si. You will, chica.”
“And one day you’re going to come and speak out about your recovery, but tell them I helped you, not Italian.”
I chuckled. “I will. But you no like Italian?”
“No… He’s annoying. I mean, he cute and all, but I got a whole rapper. What I’ma do with Italian? I mean, he ain’t broke or nothing, and be calling himself buying me stuff, but he just my friends’ lil’ cousin. Plus, he seems like he would be too obsessed if I ever gave him a try. I’m straight. I like my space.”
“But I thought you wanted to be in your boyfriend’s skin?”
“And do. But he’s Flexerrrrr. It’s a difference.”
Riiiing Riiiing
“Here. Take this.”
I finally lifted my body from the ground, almost feeling lighter after that talk. Mahzeyah’s pink manicured hand withgold bracelets was through the slot. When she opened her hand, it revealed a pill.
“This is another ibuprofen. They are for my cramps, but since my mama put me on birth control, I don’t need them as much.”
“It’s okay…” I was eager to feel better, and the last pill had made me feel almost normal, but I didn’t think it was a good idea after the robot said I could swap one addiction for another.
Riiing Riiiing
“Take it, Solana. It’s nothing but strong Tylenol. You can’t get addicted… Do you feel… full?”
“Yes.” My eyes were on the singular pill as if it were my beacon of hope.
“That’s the weight of the craving. The weight of the guilt from wanting to indulge. If you want to feel weightless, take this. I’ll be back later. This is my mom calling.”
She turned her hand over, dropping the pill before the slot closed. I got on my hands and knees, crawling toward the pill. Once I was hovering over it, I scooped it in my hand and tossed it back. Grabbing the half-full bottle of water, I swallowed it down and tossed the now-empty plastic aside. Having the urge to pee, I crawled into the bathroom, each movement sending shockwaves of pain through my limbs.
Pushing the door open with my left palm, I paused before I could make it to the toilet. My body was tired, and I knew if I didn’t feel so worn down, I would actually feel the pain in my knees from crawling around. My pee would have to wait until I gathered myself before attempting to lift my body from the floor. Resting my head on my forearms for a second, I looked back up to see if there was a bottle of water near me and within arm’s reach. The journal was there, as if waiting for me to get back. Forgetting about the water, I scooped it up into my hands and opened it.
I needed a distraction while waiting to see if the pill worked.
I’ve hadbad days with my family. Awful ones. But today was downright horrific. I’m so ashamed. And what makes matters worse is the one thing that brought on the chain of events is the one thing that I’ve just done before writing today.
“So you’re telling me no?”
Unable to stand on my feet after hitting a bump, I was leaning on the counter while Shannon washed dishes. While she was doing house chores, she was perfectly made-up in an olive green dress that flared at the calves and stiletto pumps. The wives always had to look put together, but heels weren’t required. Shannon loved her pumps; that was the first thing I noticed about her. Watching the way her hair bounced against her neck as she scrubbed the dishes, my cock grew stiff in my slacks. I needed my wife now, and I didn’t care if it was in the middle of the day.
She set the clean dish on the drying rack with too much force, causing it to clank against the other wet dishes. Foamy suds covered the latex gloves she was wearing, which were also ironically green.
“I’m telling you hell no. You better not fucking touch me, Sandro!”
This was where I should have stopped. I should have stopped and gone into my office, but I was high. High out of my mind, and my wife’s rejection stung.
“I cannot touch you, but you fuck Niccoli. You fuck Benito. You fuck?—”
“I don’t fuck any of them. I am raped! I am raped by them! I am raped by them because my husband tricked me into a life that I never wanted! So, no, I have enough white men jumping in and out of my pussy. I’m not in the mood for another.”
“Why?”
Tossing the dish back into the sink, I watched as the water dripped down the cabinet. Shannon gripped the ledge of thesink and dropped her head. Her sharp and bare shoulders looked good enough to suck on. It had been a minute since I tasted my wife, and despite the sinful things her body had gone through, she always tasted so heavenly.
“Why, Sandro?” She lifted her head and looked at me. There weren’t tears in her eyes, no, Shannon was too strong of a woman, so she barely cried. But there was defeat in them. Still, the drugs had me seeing what I wanted, and that was a wife who was not willing to please her husband when she’d done the very thing for my family.
