Ashlee blamed herself for falling in love with Darius. Believing she was different. Special. And Darius would protect her, never disrespect her. Ashlee should’ve spared herself countless heartaches and left when she’d discovered the truth about Ciara. One day, Ciara had showed up unannounced at their front door at nine o’clock in the morning.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Opening the door, Ashlee had asked, “Ciara? Is that you? Why are you knocking on our door so hard?”
Ciara bypassed her and entered the house. “Why are you here?”
“I live here. Well, at least until I find a place. But Darius isn’t here. I don’t know where he is.”
Ciara said, “Don’t lie to me,” then stormed into Darius’s bedroom and froze. Ashlee watched in amazement too.
“Ow, baby mama’s cumming,” a woman’s voice muffled from underneath a pillowcase. The woman’s hands pulled Darius’s face closer to her pussy, and then she rotated her hips on his lips. As Ciara and Ashlee watched, Darius’s face rose from between two chocolate thighs. His mouth looked like he’d been lapping in a bowl of milk.
Wiping his mouth with the sheet, Darius said, “What the hell are you doing coming to my house?”
On a return visit, Ciara threatened to kill Darius. Now Ashlee understood why: A woman’s heart was a terrible thing to break.
Lifting her arm, Ashlee hurled the metal weight toward the mirror. “Ouch! Fuck! Oh my God!” Ashlee yelled, limping. “I think I broke my toe!”
The edge of the dumbbell had landed on her little toe. Removing her shoe, Ashlee wiggled all her toes. If she had the courage, she’d pull the stake out of her bleeding heart and return the favor to Darius. Ashlee would one day kill Darius. No, she wouldn’t. She loved him too much. Her only true desire was for Darius to love her back. Was that too much to ask for?
“Owwww! Shit!” she cried, hopping on one foot, gown in one hand, shoe in the other.
Despite her heartbreak, the positive side was that Ashlee still had a chance to convince Darius not to marry Fancy. Ignoring the pain, Ashlee limped to Darius’s room and rolled around in his lush king-size bed, ruffling the rich purple velvet duvet. Darius loved big things. Twelve hundred square feet, larger than most peoples’ entire home, covered his whorish bedroom, complete with a stripper’s stage, dance pole, sex swing, and moonlit ceiling engulfed with simulated stars.
Leaving the bed ruffled, Ashlee slowly opened the top dresser drawers. They were all filled with expensive imported lingerie sets: peach, pink, orange, banana, candy-apple red, plum.
“How dare he move her into my space!” Ashlee yanked and ripped until all the frilly dainty items were shredded, and then she politely tucked them back in the drawers, closing each one tight. Peeping in the bottom drawer, she saw a pink leather strap with flaming red embroidery that read Pussy Whip.
“I bet,” Ashlee said, retreating to what used to be her room. Her chin dropped as she gasped, “Wow.” Everything was exactly as she’d left it. Lime-green comforter, with matching pillows, and satin sheets. Removing her other shoe, Ashlee eased under the covers, careful not to tangle the train on her gown or smash her throbbing toe.
“Oh, shit.” Ashlee jumped from the bed, hiked up her dress, then swiftly ran toward the door. Looking back, she yelled, “Goddammit!” watching her train hook the bedpost.
Wham!
Her face smashed against the floor. “Huuuhh.” Ashlee sat in the hallway for a moment questioning her intentions. Maybe this was a sign for her to forget about Darius.
“No way.” Ashlee stood, ripped her train from the bedpost. Beads fell to the floor. A patch of satiny material remained between the wood and the carpet. Barefoot, Ashlee dashed outside and parked the SUV one block away, grateful that little Darius was quiet. His eyes were open wide. “Here, sit in your car seat. Is that better? Daddy’ll be home soon,” Ashlee whispered, placing the blanket beside his head. “And when he gets home, Mommy’ll come and get you right away. Okay?” she said, kissing him.
Her baby was sniffling, his mouth gapped open. Ashlee had seen that look before. That facial expression meant there was a matter of seconds before the sniffing would end and the wailing would begin. Remotely locking the doors, racing downhill, Ashlee tripped, rolled into a snowball, entangling herself in the train, thankful and sorry that the palm tree stopped her. “Shit!” Tussling with the satin, finally she freed herself, then hurried inside, locking herself in her bedroom.
She hadn’t even broken the stupid mirror and she’d already started having bad luck. Glancing at her image, she saw her hair scattered about her head. A few stems and twigs intertwined in it. Her face was flushed with dirt on her left cheek. Ashlee nodded. “I look pretty tough.”
Was she tough enough to move in? Darius’s house was huge. If it weren’t for the baby, she could live there without Darius knowing. Maybe she would. Nah, staying wasn’t a good idea, but coming back was.
Ashlee removed the gown, threw it across the bed, went to the closet, and eased into a size 5 of her stretch-to-fit jeans. Scanning the neat cotton blouses, Ashlee shook her head. “No more prim and proper. I like this rough and rugged look. And no more being nice. Nice women always get fucked.” Anally.
Marching back into Darius’s room, Ashlee put on one of his wife-beaters, tied a do-rag over her head, and put on one of Darius’s button-up shirts but didn’t button it up. The shirt hung below her knees. Staring at the ruffled comforter, Ashlee smiled, removed her soiled white lace panties, slid them underneath the sheets toward the middle of the bed, pulled up the covers, and deviously smiled.
“Where in the hell is he? He said he was close.”
Restless, Ashlee circled the living room, then preset the radio alarm on it highest volume to go off at six in the morning, which was only a few hours away. She programmed the television for six thirty. Just enough time for them to go back to bed and get cozy. Still bored, Ashlee stumbled to Darius’s kitchen. Her toe ached again.
“Toughen up,” Ashlee grunted, inspecting the contents inside the refrigerator. Juice, juice, and more juice: cranberry, aloe vera, Noni. “What’s Fancy calling herself doing? Her ass is trying to turn my man into a vegan with all this crap. Darius doesn’t like all this stuff.”
The juice reminded Ashlee of what she’d almost forgot. Retrieving her purse from the exercise room, she returned to the kitchen, filled a glass with orange juice, downed two of the prescribed pills in her purse, then poured out all the beverages, placing the empty containers back in the refrigerator.
How could she forget to take her meds when that was the one thing that kept her sane? But the side effects often drove her insane. Lethargy. Memory loss. Severe mood swings.
Picking up a bottle of veggie tablets, Ashlee said, “CKLS. What’s that?”
Slamming the refrigerator, she considered refilling the bottles with poison. What could she use? Ashlee searched below the kitchen sink.
“Let’s see, bleach, ammonia, detergent. All of this stinks and probably would only make them sick to their stomachs. That was if they’d even take a swig. I know what, I could scare the hell out of them when they walk in all happy.”
A smirk emerged while Ashlee’s eyes widened. She went back to Darius’s bedroom, continuing into his bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, shook all the headache tablets into the toilet, and flushed. Ashlee removed the aspirin-looking abortion tablets she’d stolen from her doctor’s office on her last visit when he said, “Ms. Anderson, I’ll be right