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Dr. Dangerfield cleared her throat. “LaQuandra, can you tell me how Isaiah not being intimate with you makes you feel?”
LaQuandra blinked. Why was this bitch making the session about her? LaQuandra this. LaQuandra that. The bitch had yet to confront Isaiah’s ass on his bullshit and it was getting on her last damn nerve.
She shot the therapist a scathing look. “Excuse you?”
Dr. Dangerfield ignored the attitude, and rephrased her question. “Can you please put into words how Isaiah moving out of the marital bed has made you feel?”
“Like I’m not shit,” she hissed. “Like I’m some fucking sidepiece he fucke
d at will, then discarded once he’d had enough. I feel like he’s more in love with that ghetto-trash bitch than he is with me. He treats me like I’m his problem. And not that bitch. She has been nothing but trouble from the moment he slid his goddamn dick in her. Not once has he ever checked that bitch anytime she said some slick shit about me. Not once. But the minute I call her out of her name, he’s quick to remind me that that bitch is his son’s mother and that I need to respect her.” She sucked her teeth. “Fuck that. I’m his wife. Not that whore! And she needs to respect me. The woman who puts up with all of his shit!”
Isaiah bit his bottom lip, letting the truth of LaQuandra’s words slice into his guilt. She was right. He hadn’t really stood by her, or checked Cassandra’s ass whenever she disrespected his wife, which was usually any chance she could.
“That EBT-having, Section-8 bitch calls my home and talks down to me, like she’s some boss-bitch, when all she is . . .” LaQuandra paused and shook her head. She felt the beginnings of a pounding headache pushing its way to the front of her head.
“LaQuandra,” Dr. Dangerfield said gently. “I see how upsetting it is for you every time you mention Isaiah’s child’s mother. Why is that?”
LaQuandra momentarily closed her eyes in an attempt to compose herself. When she reopened them, her pupils appeared wide and full of disdain.
“I hate—” She drew in a breath. “I hate that woman. And I hate the fact that Isaiah lets her disrespect me and does nothing about it.”
Truth was, she was jealous. But she would never openly admit that.
Dr. Dangerfield could see Isaiah’s body tense, his muscles tightening as if he were a caged animal, searching for an escape.
He was drained. And he had a splitting headache. He wasn’t built for all this back-and-forth shit. He wanted this session over, so he could get back to the villa, slip into his swim trunks and take a long swim.
“Isaiah, what are you hearing your wife saying to you at this moment?” Dr. Dangerfield asked him as she observed his aloof demeanor.
LaQuandra speared Isaiah with an impatient glare when he didn’t answer right away. “See this is the shit I’m talking about, Isaiah. You never fucking listen to shit I have to say.”
“I heard you, damn.”
“But, motherfucker, are you listening to me?!”
He started to say no, then stopped himself. “Of course I’m listening. Fuck,” he added, as he stretched his long legs out and ran his palms over the top of his head.
Dr. Dangerfield decided to intervene. “LaQuandra, please try to refrain from name-calling.”
LaQuandra rolled her eyes. She’d had enough of this uppity black bitch. “I’ll call him what the hell I want. I have a right to after all the shit he’s put me through. I’m his wife, so if I want to call him a motherfucker, then that’s what the hell I’ll call him. Because, quite frankly, that’s exactly what the fuck he is. A. Mother. Fucker.”
Well, all right then.
Honestly, Dr. Dangerfield hadn’t expected any other response. LaQuandra might have held a college degree, but she was still just as ghetto as she claimed Isaiah’s child’s mother was as far as she was concerned. No amount of education was going to ever change that, no matter how proper she tried to present herself. Somehow, some way, the ghetto part of who she was would eventually find a way to rear its ugly head.
“What your wife is saying, Isaiah,” Dr. Dangerfield simply said, thoughtfully, “is that she misses you. Her husband, her life partner; the man she committed herself to. And she’s frightened. She’s afraid that the two of you are growing apart, and that she is losing you. She feels alone in this marriage. She’s married to you, but feeling single and that in itself can be very frightening.”
LaQuandra felt herself becoming overwhelmed with emotions. But she wasn’t about to give this motherfucker the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart.
“I hate you, Isaiah. Do you hear me? I fucking hate your black ass.”
It was a boldfaced lie. But still she said it. She couldn’t hate him. She wanted to. Oh, God, how she wanted to. But she loved him too much and that hurt her the most.
Loving him.
Isaiah said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I don’t want to hurt you, LaQuandra. But . . .” He trailed off as he measured his words. “I . . .”
LaQuandra shook her head, unwilling to hear him out. “But you don’t want to keep me either, do you?”
