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“Nah, you good. Do you.”
I drop my shades back down over my eyes, then lean back allowing the sun to bake into my skin.
Where was I? Oh, right…my life. I know at some point I gotta get back to the States, back to my life. I now not only have my label to run, I’ve inherited Marika’s publishing house. Yeah, I held shares in the company, but it was her baby. One I’ll die trying to keep alive. For her.
Right now, thinking about that shit makes my heart ache. Since Marika’s death—nah, murder, I’ve left the radio station. Although I enjoyed kicking it live on the radio, that night—with my whole world unraveling for all to hear—crushed me. The love and support from my million-plus listeners and from around the globe has been real heartfelt, but still too overwhelming. I’m not ready to hit the airwaves, maybe never.
“Is this your first time on Margarita Island?” the silky voice says, floating over to me.
I turn my head in her direction. “Nah. My second time.”
Her gaze slides from my face to my chest, then down to my abs, before lowering to my dick. Her tongue glides over her lips.
“Are you here alone?”
“Yeah,” I say, staring at those beautiful milk wagons of hers. My mind starts wandering, imagining sucking her nipples into my mouth, and gently grazing my teeth over them. And a part of me feels guilty for lusting. “You?”
“No. With my husband and another couple.”
“Oh, aiight.” I reach for my drink, and take two long sips, swallowing back my dirty thoughts. I haven’t fucked in six months. Haven’t had the desire, or the energy to. Fuck, I haven’t even sucked my own dick, or jacked off. And the last time I tried it, my shit went limp.
This whole shit has left me impotent. Turned me into one big-ass noodle-dick muhfucka.
“I don’t mean to be straightforward,” Beautiful says. “But…”
I don’t wanna straight up ig her. But all I wanna do is bake under the sun and be alone in my thoughts. I inhale. Then slowly turn my head back in her direction. I exhale. “Speak ya mind.”
“You have a beautiful body, and are exceptionally well-endowed. How many inches is that beautiful piece of man meat?”
“Thirteen, hard.” Yeah, when the muhfucka could get hard.
She gasps, sliding a hand along the column of her neck, then over her breast.
“Where are you from?” she wants to know.
Why the fuck I didn’t I bring my iPad and earphones?
I tell her New York. She tells me she’s originally from Atlanta, but has lived in Germany with her husband—who’s British, for the past five years.
“Oh, aiight.”
I take another sip of my drink, then set the glass back down. I feel the alcohol slowly heating my insides. It’s been a minute since I’ve tossed back a drink. With all that’s popped off, I was afraid I’d end up becoming a full-fledged drunk if I’d taken to the bottle like I’d wanted and drank my sorrows away.
I choke back my emotions, turning my head so that this beauty eyeing me doesn’t see that I’m on the verge of tears. It’s so fuckin’ hard to live life knowing the one you thought you’d spend the rest of your life living, loving and enjoying it with is gone.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, gasping for air, feeling as if I’m being suffocated, as if the life is being sucked out of me.
Then there are times when I get so overwhelmed with grief that I break down and start crying, balling like a fuckin’ baby, because I’m fuckin’ hurting. Other times, I’m consumed with guilt. Replaying that night over and over in my head. Blaming myself for Marika’s death. Wondering if there was something I could have done, or said—or maybe something I did or said that I shouldn’t have—that would have saved her life.
Sixteen years, gone! I wish those bullets would have been for me, then I wouldn’t be here suffering in loneliness and filled with so much pain. Why’d she have to leave me here on this earth without the love of my life?
Marika fuckin’ loved me. All of me. Every fuckin’ stretch of my naked flaws, she loved, and accepted…unconditionally. And she allowed me to be me. No judgment. No ridicule. She simply got it. She understood the kind of man I am.
We had no secrets.
We were able to express ourselves freely. Explore our sexualities openly. She delighted in keeping the heat turned up in the sheets. There were no inhibitions. That shit didn’t exist for us.
Now what?
