17
It's Saturday, so it's laundromat day. Before I headed to the park to see Sister Aaliyah, I tossed my laundry bag in the bed of my pickup truck. Now the clean laundry bag sits folded on the passenger seat beside me.
A beautiful melodic hymn plays on the radio, and I sing along, still feeling a little fakeness in my heart. I have to get it through my head that God is pleased I'm getting back on track.
I go through the usual routine: loading my clothes into three washing machines that are luckily right next to each other. Then I sit at one of the tables in the laundromat, the same one where I sat near Erica before I really knew her.
I glance over at the chair where she had sat, then shake my head and pull up a card game on my phone. I paid for this one so no weird ads pop up.
Every app in the store now is either paid for or free but tricks you, blast you with ads or hit you with a paywall before you even start.
This one came highly recommended, though. It's a strange mix of Uno and Chess, but all in cards.
You build "territories" on a grid by playing numbered cards from your hand, capture opponents' pieces by flanking them with higher values or special combo plays, and the goal is to control the center while managing a draw pile that refills like a chess clock, run out of moves and you lose momentum fast. It's strategic but quick.
Music drifts from the laundromat speakers.
A handful of people are scattered around: some scrolling on their phones, one woman quietly reading a book in the corner, and two women chatting across from each other while their young kids sit nearby in car seats, occasionally babbling or kicking their legs.
Then a song comes on the radio, a rock song, a very rude one. My eyes open wide, my heart beats fast as I slowly glare toward the speakers in the ceiling corner, almost like I could set fire to the lyrics with my stare.
" I'll beat you, deceive you.
Nice to meet you.
Deep inside you.
Down your throat spew,
slit and choke you,
before I SMOKE YOU!"
The lead singer's soulful voice rises higher and higher, gradually getting louder as the lyrics turn more lewd and horrible. The percussion drums build to match, as if backing up the ugly imagery the words are painting. My heart beats in time with the sickening drum beat.
My jaw tightens as my index and middle finger tap in quick succession on the table in sick, burgeoning anger that fuels my rising respiration.
I notice an old woman staring at me, probably because she has nothing else to do.
The words get blanked out on the radio, but it doesn't matter.
Why are they playing this specific song?
Why?
I can't stay in here!
It's disgusting!!!!
Grabbing my things, I hurry out of the laundromat, head to my truck, and shut the door.
Instantly, relief washes over me as silence surrounds me. Putting on some Christian music, I take a deep breath in and out, then close my eyes to calm down.
My phone pings. It's a text from Aaliyah.
A picture of a very pretty flower with the caption: "have a great day."
That's so sweet of her. That actually helped.
Swiping out of Sister Aaliyah's contact, I see my recent contacts list. Erica's name is there.
How is she doing?
The guilt returns, not just for disappointing God, but for leaving her alone like that.
Right now I'm feeling okay, but… it doesn't mean I have to go over and be in her presence, but… is she feeling much better? She seemed a little better yesterday, but she looked sad when I left.
She wanted me to stay.
My right hand twitches, my tongue steadily tracing the underside of my top lip as my vision goes out of focus…
Her vagina…
Touching it…
So soft… so wet…
Erica… wet for me… horny for me… her clitoris throbbing against my fingers as she came… the sounds she made… the way she says my name… her hand around me…
…
…
What am I doing?
I shake my head and close my eyes tight.
It felt so good.
No.
No.
That's not what I'm doing. I'm not going back there. What's important is just knowing if she's okay.
Should I call her?
I'm going to call her just to see if she's okay.
My heart slams against my chest as the phone rings.
Once.
Twice.
Then it keeps ringing.
No one picks up.
Is she avoiding me?
Part of me wants to call again, but in case she's still sleeping, I send a text instead, my fingers shaking.
Me: Hey. I hope you're feeling better. I'm sorry you were sick. If you need anything please call me.
I send it.
Wait, that sounds too needy.
Me: Or text me.
Me: If you're up to it.
I stare at the phone, sitting in my truck, waiting for the "read" indicator.
Nothing.
Maybe she's still sleeping.
What if she's too tired to answer?
Maybe I should just get her something.
Yeah, I should do that.
Because she's still sick and… she just had a fever.
It's not sexual, there's nothing like that going on. It's just… would that be okay, Father?
Just to pick up something for her? I can't just leave her like that. I mean, I had to get out at the time to fix my spirit and get out of the way of sin, but that's because…
It's because she was…
She…
It was a different situation because she didn't have her panties on and…
Her soft pretty vagina.
The red fuzz on it.
"NO! STOP!" I yell out in my truck, hoping nobody hears me.
The girl is sick and all I'm doing is helping her. That's all.
I go back inside the laundromat. After about half an hour, I fold my clothes, rushing more than usual, then stuff the last of them into the clean laundry bag. With my hand shaking and my body full of anxiety, I head to the grocery store, blasting Christian music, happy with the justification.
All I'm going to do is pick up some stuff to make her feel comfortable.
I won't stay.
I won't touch her.
I won't do any of that.
I'm just looking out for someone who needs help, the same I've done with so many people.
I didn't have inappropriate sexual relations with them , though.
But you know what?
"Father, I thank You because at least I didn't have sex with her.
Yes, I know what I did was still very immoral and I'm so sorry, and I know You've forgiven me, but I'm asking You again to forgive me.
But I thank You for at least giving me the least bit of willpower to not have sex with her. Because I know that…"
I don't want to say it out loud. God can hear my thoughts anyway. So He must know that I wanted to have sex with her. And I know deep down inside she would let me. If yesterday I rolled over on top of her and stuck my penis inside her she…
No…
I need to clean my mind.