9. Santa Barbara #2
Although his face had gone pale, a ghost of the past haunting him, I’d do the honors.
I wanted to haunt and torment him for all those years he left me.
This little girl. “I don’t wanna hear about that, or the accolades.
” I circled the island and sat on the marble surface in front of him.
So close that I could breathe in his intoxicating cologne.
Still, I wanted to stir up his mind, as much as his presence did my own.
He scooted back on the high stool. My leg did an arch as if instead of cotton pajamas, I wore my favorite pair of stilettos, and maybe nothing else.
As my legs draped over his shoulders, I leaned forward, dominating the space between us.
I could practically hear his heart pounding against his chest. I moved closer, stroked his hair, then gripped the hair at the back of his neck, while my forehead kissed his. Boss move . “Nor do I want to hear about the service stripes on your, what is it called? The uniform that turns heads?”
“Dress uniform,” he said, mouth a snarl. While the tension between us could start a forest fire if only he would touch me and stop arguing with me, he did not, which left me confused.
Did I crave this man? Should I flee him? Or was my goal to alter his existence, making every breath that passed through his beautiful lips a source of torment? All because he’d left me.
When Jamie spoke, I had my answer. “Look at you, JorJor. You don’t know whether you want to bite my head off or take me to bed.
Money allowed the men you encountered in the world to play God.
That was not me. I may not be the same scared little boy who vowed that we would leave that basement together?—”
“You broke your vow!”
“I did!” He slapped a hand to his massive chest. “I admit that. That’s on me. Years of your still being in captivity, I own that, Jordyn. So, if you need time to forgive me, that’s understandable. Just don’t think I haven’t been in your sho?—”
Since I didn’t want to hear him try to create a connection between us, I cut in. “Okay, so we agree that I need time?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You just resurrected your walls, Jordyn. Can we talk about the past?”
I shook my head.
After giving me an are-you-for-real look, Jamie nodded. He grabbed my calf resting on his shoulder, lifted it, and pushed himself up from the chair. I stood too .
While he was in the position to glare down his nose, to make me feel small, he didn’t. Compassion bled from his tone. “We never see ourselves fairly.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jamie glanced at my hands. Fingers balled. Nails dug in too tight. I’d drawn blood on occasion after having a new mani. What a restless habit.
“Stop hurting yourself. Stop hurting the man who?—”
“The man who what?”
“Wants to see the best of you.”
“Sure. This is the best of me.” I slapped my lovely cakes and strutted out of the kitchen.
“Come back,” Jamie called after me, rooted in the same spot. “Mark my words, we’ll take the long way or the shorter way around it. I’m going to remind you of the right way to visualize yourself. As the amazing, resilient, strong, Black woman you are.”
A scoff burst from my lips. Resilient ? What was he talking about? Showing resilience didn’t mean being insensitive or heartless toward your rescuer. A part of me wished to embrace our younger selves. Then what?
Start over. I wanted a new beginning before Jamie evicted me because of my attitude, and I ended up like the woman I had shared In-N-Out burgers with earlier.
But forgiveness? That ship had sailed with all the hands that groped, choked, slapped, and owned me. I was halfway to the staircase when Jamie added, “And stop digging your palms into your hands before I make you stop.”
“That a threat?” I shot over my shoulder.
“If you hurt yourself, yes!”
Luckily, Rebel rushed up to my side, so I didn’t have to fish for a comeback.
Her head tilted. “Who is your allegiance to, girl? I can’t associate with any more females like Monique or the others.
So, choose.” When Rebel glanced toward Jamie, I shooed her away.
She followed me upstairs, toenails clicking on the marble.
“Jordyn!” Jamie shouted my name from the bottom step.
I turned around, leaning a hip against the railing, arms folded.
“Look, I spent $539—on essentials. Clothes, underwear, lotions. Your shoes are in the bag. I just thought you’d have good shampoo …
” My voice trailed off. His hair regimen didn’t matter.
“The receipts are inside of the briefcase. On the back, you’ll see my signature with IOUs. ”
“I don’t want an IOU! Jordyn, ever since I met you, ever since I made the promise that my clan would save you?—”
“If you came a day after, five years ago, heck, a year ago, I might forgive you. But I can’t, Jamie. So, kick me out on the street. Whatever. I refuse to make you my white savior.”
“I’m not that either, Jordyn. I’m?—”
“Who are you?” Who am I ?
“I’m your friend, JorJor. Your friend.”
“First of all, don’t call me that. My name is Jordyn.
Jordy for those who know me.” Only I made the list. “Stop this JorJor cutesy mess.” It stripped me of my identity.
From sexy to sweet little sister. Was sexy my identity, though?
I shook the thought from my head, bare feet pounding my way up the steps, and told myself that I wouldn’t be Jamie’s little project.
And that was how I went to sleep one whole day into freedom.