Page 69 of Certified to Handle You 3

The gates opened before we even got all the way to ‘em. The mansion came into view with lights low in the front and a few upstairs windows glowin’. Everything looked still like kids had finally stopped fightin’ sleep and grown folks decided the house had done enough for one day.

I sat here lookin’ at it for a second after the car stopped, and that foreign feelin’ hit me before I even opened the door.

That was crazy as hell to me. A man shouldn’t feel like a visitor walkin’ into his own shit.

When I stepped inside, I stood here for a second and let the door close behind me while the quiet of the mansion settled around my shoulders.

Everything smelled clean at first. Floor polish, linen spray, that expensive shit Pluto had somebody puttin’ through the vents and whatever candle she had burned earlier in the day all blended together like the house had already washed the day off.

Then I caught somethin’ softer underneath it. It was somethin’ warm and familiar that made my hand tighten around the handle of my bag before I could stop it.

Sha’Nelle’s scent was faint, but it was still there, sittin’ in the air like she had walked through the hallways and left a piece of herself behind for me to run into.

That warm perfume she wore, mixed with hair products and skin oil, slid through the hallway like she had just walked through it a few minutes before me.

My chest pulled in on itself, and I hated how quick my body knew her. I kept walkin’ anyway, pullin’ my bags behind me while my eyes moved over the quiet rooms. Nothin’ was out of place. Not a purse on the couch, slides by the wall or the sound of her laughin’ soft with Pluto in the kitchen. It was just the smell of where she had been and the space she left behind.

I made myself keep goin’…

The hallway felt longer than usual. Every few steps, her scent came back stronger, then faded, then came back again. It was in the guest side, near the sittin’ room and somewhere close to the stairs.

I wondered if she had walked around this house cryin’. I wondered if she had slept good in that room or if she had laid there callin’ me until her eyes burned. I wondered too much, and that was why I stopped that shit quick. Wonderin’ was dangerous ‘cause it made room for softness, and softness was exactly how I kept lettin’ that woman get back in.

I told myself if I kept ignorin’ her long enough, the pull would die down.

That sounded smart when I said it in my head. It sounded grown or like somethin’ a nigga with sense would do after givin’ too much of himself away. But my body ain’t care about sense when I walked past a doorway and caught her scent so clear that I almost stopped.

I ain’t stop though. I kept movin’ ‘cause that was the only thing I had been good at lately. Eventually, somethin’ had to shake loose. Eventually, she had to get out my system, even if my system was actin’ like it wanted to fight me to keep her there.

When I got to my room, I pushed the door open and walked inside.

For a second, I just looked around. Everything was exactly how I left it, but it ain’t feel the same. My bed was made. My sneakers sat lined up clean in the closet. My watches was where I kept ’em. My recliner was angled toward the TV and the remote was on the side table. My cologne bottles, chains, and lil’ shit I kept around the dresser sat untouched. Nothin’ about the room had changed, but I had been gone long enough for it to feel like the room had been waitin’ on me to stop actin’ stupid.

I set my bags down by the dresser and took my time unpackin’. I moved around quiet ‘cause I knew everybody else was probably sleep. I ain’t want Pluto comin’ out askin’ if I was good. I ain’t want Pressure walkin’ in with a glass and that look he got when he knew too much. I ain’t wanna talk. I just wanted to be back under a roof I trusted, around walls I knew, with my guns where I kept ’em and my chair where it was supposed to be.

The hotel had been clean. It had been expensive too, but it wasn’t home.

After I unpacked, I grabbed a towel and went to the bathroom. I turned the shower on hot and stood under it longer than I planned. Water ran over my head, down my neck and across my shoulders while I braced one hand on the wall. For almost two weeks, every shower had been in a bathroom that smelled like hotel soap and bleach. This one smelled like my wash, my steam and my space. That should’ve been simple, but it hit me heavier than I expected.

I washed slow, gettin’ the day off me. I scrubbed my arms, chest, back, legs and the back of my neck until my skin felt clean and my head felt a lil’ clearer.

My mind still tried to drift, but I kept pullin’ it back to shit I could control.

When I got out, I wrapped the towel around my waist and wiped the mirror with my hand. My eyes looked tired as fuck. I ain’t look broken, and I ain’t plan to start, but I looked like a nigga who had been sleepin’ with one eye open in a room that wasn’t his.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face good, and stood here for a second while water dripped from my hairline down my temple. Then I opened the drawer, grabbed my durag, and tied it on smooth, pullin’ the tails tight before tucking’ ‘em.

By the time I walked back in my room, the house had settled even deeper.

I pulled on some briefs and a pair of black sweats.

I walked to my recliner, sat down, and grabbed the remote. The leather felt familiar under me, and my whole body eased into it before I could act like it ain’t mean nothin’.

I turned the TV on and found a game, even though I ain’t care who was playin’. I just needed noise. I lowered the volume a lil’ and leaned back, lettin’ my head rest against the chair.

Her scent was still in the house…

Even in my room, where she ain’t been, I could smell the idea of her from the hallway every time the air moved. It made no damn sense, and maybe that was my mind fuckin’ with me, but I smelled her anyway.