Chapter 5 #3
Between Pat not being able to keep his hands off me when he was in town, ending our time together with a heated exchange, and wedding prep, I’d barely gotten any graphic work done.
So, in that regard, I was glad for the alone time.
I sat at my desk with my laptop open after wrapping up a Zoom meeting with a client, during which I presented a few new logo concepts for their brand revision I’d whipped up less than twenty-four hours before our scheduled meeting.
It was the last big project I planned to take on before my wedding.
I was in full work mode—refining my designs based on their feedback, updating my project tracker, and finalizing the suite of wedding signage I’d designed myself.
Not to mention texting back and forth with the florist about the new floral arrangement design for the ceremony, tracking the latest RSVPs online, and emailing the DJ the confirmed setlist.
By the time I came up for air, it was already half past two in the afternoon.
My stomach growled accordingly, signaling that I needed to take a quick lunch break or risk passing out from starvation.
Luckily, I had some leftover shrimp tempura rolls in the fridge from the night before and didn’t have to venture out of my apartment for lunch.
As soon as I returned to my home office with my sushi, I saw a missed call and voicemail from Pat.
I clicked the voicemail icon, opened his message, then pressed the speaker and play icons with my thumb.
I expected to hear him tell me he was about to board another flight, but instead, there was nothing on the other end—only muffled movements that I could barely make out as if he’d butt-dialed me.
I listened anyway, narrowing my eyes as if that would make me hear clearer. That was when I heard everything.
The heavy breathing.
The kissing.
The woman moaning, cussing, and calling on God’s name all in the same breath.
The transcription sealed the deal, making out every fucking illicit word.
Instantly, my heart tried to beat its way through my ribcage as I inhaled a stuttery breath.
I dropped the phone and the sushi to the ground before cupping my hand over my mouth.
The gallop in my heart was so fast that I had to grab onto the edge of my desk for stability.
My eyes misted over with tears as I reached down to pick up the phone.
As if I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t crazy, I replayed it three more times, edging myself closer and closer to the fucking deep end every time.
I stood there, listening and rereading the transcription repeatedly as a painful flame burned inside my chest. I never knew rock bottom had a fucking basement until that moment.
I felt like I’d taken two bullets straight to the chest and didn’t know which one fucked me up more: hearing my fiancé cheating on me in real time with some random ho before our wedding, or reading the dirty talk with the bitch he was fucking as if I was knee-deep in a smut novel.
On God, if I had the power to snatch his black ass out of the sky, I would’ve.
There I was, thinking things in our relationship were good.
That we were working together to build a solid foundation.
That we were on our way to our happily ever after.
That the ring on my finger meant he’d be loyal like man’s best friend—but time and time again, he’d only proven himself to be a dog-ass nigga.
Iron bands tightened across my chest as rage coursed through my veins. After stopping my hand from shaking, I called him. No answer. Next, I sent him the voicemail he’d sent me. When five minutes passed without a response, I called again, and it went straight to voicemail.
“You’ve reached Patrick Maxwell. I’m more than likely flying the friendly skies from coast to coast and can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
*Beep*
I scoffed. Of course, he was more than likely twenty thousand feet in the fuckin’ air.
It was probably for the best. If I had the opportunity to pull up on him face-to-face, I couldn’t be held liable for what I might say or do.
It didn’t matter how good I looked in orange or stripes.
I had to give just enough fucks to keep my cute ass out of jail.
Pat was a Libra, which meant he was a known flirt even when he said he was “just being nice.” It was one of the things that irritated me most about being with him.
That and the fact that he avoided confrontation like it was the fucking plague.
Deep down, I knew his ass wouldn’t answer.
Had he actually picked up the phone, he would’ve tried his best to smooth shit over, and I wasn’t trying to hear his bullshit excuses.
After the first incident, I thought I could fix his broken pieces, but the more I tried to fix him, the more he seemed to shatter me.
Up and leaving him when I knew his grandfather’s condition, would be selfish, right?
But I couldn’t act like the thought hadn’t danced past my mind a couple of times after hearing that voicemail.
I thought things would change for the better once we got married, but with each passing day, I was reminded more and more not to get too comfortable with anything or anyone, even if I loved them.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
I knew for a fact you couldn’t always trust what you saw or what you were told.
I needed to start protecting my heart and my peace like he protected his phone whenever he was in town.
Erica Mena was right: You couldn’t trust no niggas, especially the ones you slept with.
For mid-afternoon, it was dark out. Not pitch black, but dark enough due to the overcast. The rain shower splattered heavy droplets against my windshield as I drove.
By the time I made it to Liv’s apartment, I still hadn’t managed to calm myself down enough to stop my heart from pitter-pattering against my ribcage.
I flipped down the visor to look at my reflection.
I looked exactly how I felt. Maybe even worse.
My face and eyes were puffy from crying, my brows seemed to be permanently downturned in a scowl, and my posture was stooped.
I sniffled before wiping my nose and rubbing the heel of my palm against my chest.
I was a pocket full of goddamn sunshine earlier, and now my soul was darker than Wednesday fuckin’ Addams’s.
I hated yelling. I hated coming outside myself and getting out of character.
I hated fucking arguing. I hated being mad and feeling my heartbeat all off-kilter.
I hated everything that made me negative and dark and empty inside.
Because once I brought out my shadow side, putting it back in the box was next to impossible.
Fiancé or not, dead to me was the worst place a mothafucka wanted to be.
I still hadn’t heard back from Pat. I didn’t know how I wanted to handle him.
I held back from leaving a nasty voicemail or sending a long-winded text riddled with misspellings, until I had all the facts.
I was the type to hold onto shit and then randomly hit a nigga like a RICO charge.
I was a lover girl at heart, and only medium ghetto.
As a Capricorn, I kept shit classy 70 percent of the time, but the other 30 percent of me didn’t have a problem shakin’ a table or two and showing a mothafucka I was my father’s child.
I finally dragged my body out of the car and walked up to Liv’s apartment door.
My fist knocked three times. I hadn’t even bothered to call or send her the voice message.
I wanted to see her reaction in person. Liv was the only person I felt like I could really trust. She was the one who took care of my name whenever I wasn’t in the room, and the only one who could keep my ass from doing something that would get me sent to jail.
All the air left my lungs when the door opened. Oak stood on the other side, shirtless, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and socks with a diamond chain around his neck that looked as icy as a hockey puck. Fuck. In my haste, I’d forgotten he was staying with Liv while his house was being built.
“Sup?”
Suddenly, my mouth went dry, and my body froze up momentarily. Unsure of where to put my eyes, my unsettled gaze wandered from the top of the doorframe down to the wet shoes on my feet.
“Oh, er, um, is Liv here?” I asked, stuttering and shit.
Seeing him shirtless had my insides coiled up like a tornado.
“No. She’s still at work. Why you lookin’ so mean and sad at the same time?”
My brows furrowed as I smacked my lips. I damn sure wasn’t in the mood to be questioned. “Nigga, because I am,” I snapped.
Until further notice, all niggas were on thin ice around me.
His thick brows creased, and somehow, he managed to look even more handsome. “Yo’ lil ass better pop, lock, and drop that mothafuckin attitude before I make yo’ ass wait outside in the rain,” he growled, blocking the door so that I couldn’t enter.
“Move, Oak. This ain’t even your apartment!”
“It’s mine while I’m payin’ rent. So, yo’ mean ass can either kill the attitude, or get comfortable standing out there.”
The look on his face told me there’d be no arguing with his tall, strict, fine, chocolate ass.
I huffed. “Fine. I’m sorry,” I apologized, knowing my mouth and my attitude combined were like a double homicide waiting to happen when I was feeling a way. “I feel like I’m losing my mind but chillin’ at the same time. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.”
He peered down at me. “What’s wrong with you? And where’s your ring at? I thought you had a nigga.”
I rolled my eyes before looking down at my empty ring finger. I’d taken the ring off at my apartment and refused to put it back on until I heard from Pat. “I thought I did too.”
“Problems in paradise?”
“Something like that.”