14. Squeak
A week later…
“It looks like I’m not the only man who knows your worth and how special you are,” the officer services attendant says, entering my office with a beautiful bouquet of light pink and cream roses.
A smile instantly upturns my lips, causing my disposition and face to brighten when I take the flowers from Chance.
“Flirting with the HR assistant in her office is nasty work, Chance,” I say, grinning.
“When the information spoken is factual, it can’t possibly be reduced to simple flirtation. Hopefully, whoever sent those isn’t trying to get out of trouble,” Chance says, smirking.
My gaze shifts from Chance to the envelope sticking out of the flowers, causing me to verify the sender.
I know the past week hasn’t been easy, but I just want you to know how much I appreciate you. Hopefully, these brighten your day and allow you to cut a nigga a little slack. Thanks for your patience, Squeak. I love you.
Deacon
Warmth surges through my body at the note from Deacon because I had a feeling the flowers were from him but didn’t want to assume. Seeing the three words of endearment at the end has my blood pressure rising and my nerves going haywire. I’m only in the getting to know my man stage of the relationship and trying to determine if his crazy will send me running for the hills. Deacon and I have only been a couple for a week, so how can he possibly feel like this about me?
This is wild, and this man can’t possibly love me. Can he?
“Damn, the man really must be in trouble because your face has gone from smiling to grimacing in a matter of seconds,” Chance says, reminding me of his presence.
“How long did it take you to tell your wife that you love her?” I ask, ignoring his statement because I’m curious whether Deacon is otherworldly.
“Four days after she chose me. I’m a sucker for love, and Kiesza has always been the woman for me.”
Lord, I forgot Chance married his childhood crush. He can’t possibly be the person I should ask this question.
“You’re biased,” I say, shifting my focus to the beautiful flowers sitting on the edge of my desk.
“Let me put you up on game, Janelle. Contrary to what women believe from the niggas unwilling to commit, it doesn’t take men long to know if they want a woman for a reason or a lifetime.”
The deadpan expression on Chance’s face, matching the unwavering gaze in his eyes, lets me know of the accuracy of his statement. My heart skips a beat at the thought that Deacon is possibly already deeply locked in with me.
Oh my God!
That man has been showing you his crazy without masking his behavior, all while telling you in his actions that he’s for you. You seeking confirmation from another man is crazy work.
Hearing Chance’s retreating steps, I look up to see him vacating my office without another word. Instead of analyzing Deacon’s words any further, I reposition the flowers. Hence, they’re not at risk of sliding off the desk. Once I’m satisfied with the new position, I pick up my phone and send Deacon a message.
Me:
Thank you for bringing a smile to my face.
As if he’s been waiting for my message, three dots pop up on the screen before I can close the thread. Holding my breath, I await Deacon’s reply, curiosity bubbling within me at what he’s going to say.
The Heathen:
Your smile is always my daily goal. I’m happy you got the flowers. Enjoy the rest of your day, Squeak.
Me:
You do the same. *winking emoji*
The Heathen:
By the way, no pressure for a return, but yeah…I love the fuck out of you.
Whoop, there it is. It wasn’t a fluke or mistake. Deacon loves you.
Without another word or objection, I close out of the thread, unable to comment, and my neck vein thumps wildly. Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I place my phone face down on the desk and return to what I’d been doing before Chance’s arrival.
An undetermined time later…
Biting my inner cheek, I ponder on how to send a rejection letter to a candidate who didn’t receive the open position they’d interviewed for because they were too qualified. It’s the wildest rejection letter I have done, and I’m never comfortable whenever I have to send one.
“All right, Ms. Popular, you must have that man in a mean chokehold because two deliveries in one day are boss lady moves,” Chance says, entering my office with a pink box with a white ribbon covering it. “Here you go. Your man got me feeling inadequate, so I need to go call my wife to express my love.”
Laughing at the dejected expression on Chance’s face as he places the box in my hand, while quickly leaving, I smile at Deacon’s kindness. Placing the box on the desk in front of me, I untie the bow before slowly removing the lid. My eyes instantly tighten, and a frown quickly replaces my smile at the contents inside. Sitting on a mound of dirt is a mini coffin with my name engraved, an hourglass with minimal sand, and a toy scythe. My eyes shift right to the note card taped to the dirt with a familiar calligraphy.
Now that you’ve gotten settled and adjusted in my city. I think it's high time for me to—never mind, these contents should tell you what’s coming.
Your Boogeyman
My heartbeat thrashes in my ears, and an unfamiliar, claustrophobic feeling invades me. My breathing becomes raspy, and I lose the ability to blink as my eyes remain stuck on the box. Tremors begin in my body, and I start sweating as time stands still.
“Oh God. Oh God,” I say repeatedly, clutching my chest from the intense pain. “Oh God,” I say with a broken sob despite my inability to shed any tears.
“Did you so—Janelle? Are you all right? What’s going o—oh my God. What in the world is this?”
While I can hear every word coming from the person speaking, I’m lost in a trance, preventing me from communicating. The blood pounds in my ears, my heart thuds in my chest, and my hands shake. My feet tingle, and my vision is disfigured like I’m looking through a fish-eye lens. I have to get out of here, but I’m stranded because Deacon didn’t let me drive.
“Oh God.” I cry.
“Janelle! I’m calling nine-one-one,” I hear in the distance of my mind.
My eyes feel glued in place while staring at the contents of the box, and the Boogeyman’s words saturate my mind. I can’t move or cry, and my thoughts begin spiraling.
He’s coming, and I’m gonna die like Chelsea. Why? I never told anyone, but he’s determined to kill me too. Oh God. Why? I just want to live. I want to live, God. I’m not ready to die. But the Boogeyman is coming. Nooo.
“Miss, can you tell us your name?” Someone says an unknown time later, but my vocal cords are frozen to the roof of my mouth, preventing me from speaking. “We’re gonna get her to the hospital because her blood pressure is extremely high.”
Someone is directing me somewhere I’m unable to determine before assisting me with sitting, and I begin involuntarily moving quickly.
“Call Ro-Robyn,” I whisper in a raw timbre.
“Oh my God. Are you okay, Janelle?” Tinker Belle rushes into the room with Deacon on her heels. Her eyebrows draw together, and fear flashes in her orbs when she runs to bed.
Unable to answer, my gaze shifts to Deacon due to the instantaneous shift in the atmosphere once he’s fully in the room. Deacon’s caramel skin appears flushed, and his hands clench and unclench with every step he takes toward me. Deacon’s eyes, if possible, are darker than usual and threatening violence, and the vein in his neck seems to be straining against his skin.
Oh shit, Deacon is about to lose his shit.
“Janelle.” Mom’s voice pierces the air, causing me to pull my gaze from Deacon to the entrance.
My parents quickly enter my room before stopping short when their eyes fall on Deacon. Deacon stands at the foot of my bed, looking like an impenetrable bodyguard.
“Young man, is there a reason you’re staring at my daughter like I need to give you a reason to be in this hospital?” Dad asks.
*beep, beep, beep*
The monitor on the right side of the bed begins blaring, causing me to close my eyes while attempting to regulate my heart rate.
“Looks like we have a house full. Hello, folks. My name is Dr. Wilson, and I’m one of the ER doctors here,” I hear, allowing me to open my eyes to see the doctor entering the room.
“Hey, Doctor. We’re Janelle’s parents. Why is my daughter here?” Mom asks the doctor, momentarily shifting the tension while everyone, including me, waits for the doctor to respond.
“Ms. Stephens was brought in because the paramedics stated that she was unresponsive and suffering from an extremely high blood pressure reading. It seems as if Ms. Stephens is alert now. However, I’m admitting Ms. Stephens for the night because her blood pressure hasn’t come down, which is concerning for someone her age,” Dr. Wilson says.
“High blood pressure?” Mom’s face twists and a frown appears.
“How in the world does a twenty-eight-year-old woman come into the hospital for blood pressure issues that didn’t exist before?” Dad asks, looking between Dr. Wilson and me.
My body temperature rises at the reminder of what led me to this present predicament, and the monitor blares again. My pulse races wildly, and I close my eyes, praying for the ability to hide.
“While I’m unsure what’s causing Ms. Stephen’s current issues, I also can’t allow her to go home like this either,” Dr. Wilson says.
Feeling hands on my covered feet, I open my eyes to see Deacon staring intently with varying expressions flashing in his orbs. The comfort of his touch allows me to exhale the air consuming my lungs while settling my spirit simultaneously.
“Chill, I got you,” Deacon mouths, and I nod wordlessly.