Chapter 9 Emani
There was a pride she held in being who she was and overcoming all she had.
The black and pink letters she wore across her chest meant something.
Not what she had to do to get the letters, no, what she had to do to prove to herself that she was more than the labels put on her.
Azul Heart, abandoned, abused, mislabeled.
Being able to finesse her way into OSU, tap into her creativity, love as hard as she did and graduate meant that everything she left behind couldn’t hold her in a box.
And if she couldn’t fit in that one, she damn sure wasn’t made to fit in Malik’s.
“Oh girl I forgot you had moves like that,” Kimmy, Emani’s back gushed as they joined in a circle.
Lena, the designated sorority bartender handed, out their pink punch and giggled. “I didn’t. All that ass she be throwing and shaking on my TV. I’m happily reminded. So tell us, what’s the tea, how is it being you?”
“Being me is crazy,” Emani laughed through her statement. “I want to hear about y’all. The kids, the businesses, the men.”
Lena scoffed. “Two bad ass kids and a pending divorce. This week with y’all is my escape. Living through your glamorous life is going to give me some confidence.”
Lena had always had the bright dream to be married with a husband who provided everything for her while she stayed at home, soak up his wealth and raised his children.
College was just the grounds to meet said husband.
The man she was divorcing, Daniel Jones.
Emerald City Eagles quarterback and serial cheater.
How she assumed the man would be faithful when he cheated all throughout college was beyond Emani.
It wasn’t until Daniel was caught up in a very public scandal that Lena finally said enough was enough.
“You always had the confidence, you just need to tap back into you,” Emani spoke ignoring the constantly annoying buzzing of her phone in the designer fanny pack she wore. “You get to start over fresh, turn that shit. Make him feel that shit.”
Lena grinned. “I just might do that.”
Kimmi took this moment to speak up. “I want to know how it is being engaged to Malik Kilpatrick. You always kept you a fine baller. Jahlil, Tyriq, and Malik. You got the Mount Rushmore of fine niggas. Tell us your secret.”
Emani laughed it off. Jahlil was a sore spot she couldn’t fully allow to heal because for seven years she hadn’t forgotten and the thoughts of him picked at the scab.
Tyriq, she wished him well in hell where he could burn forever for what he’d done to her and so many other women.
Malik…Malik was the reward for disparity in her weakness.
If she didn’t figure her shit out now, she’d end up hating the sound of his name and she would be responsible for it.
Emani shrugged. “There’s no secret, really. Men like real energy. Just be you. But be careful, some men like the idea of you but not really you.”
A sobering statement. One that made it extremely difficult to ignore the back-to-back calls. “I can promise this is himmm.”
“Oh girl, go talk to your mannn,” Kimmi hummed.
Lena added. “He’s calling to make sure her fine ass is still his. I know that’s right, E, make that nigga bark.”
Emani played her role, smiled and laughed at that statement before wandering off to answer it. “Yes, Malik.”
“You answer now? I’ve been calling you for thirty minutes. Where the fuck are you?”
“Who are you talking to?” she snipped before catching herself and realizing there were a host of cameras.
Instead of arguing, she hung up and tried to reset.
A moment that was short lived because Jahlil was closing in on her.
The mix of his presence engulfing her like it always did and the residual frustration from her fiancée; she wasn’t in the mood to handle both.
And she wasn’t going to ruin anyone’s fun because of her soured state.
The timbre of his voice quaked parts of her that she let go untouched for years. Just like at her botched engagement party, the rumble of his baritone began to pick at the loosely sowed seams of who she was now.
“How long are you going to act like you don’t know me?” he asked, handing her water as if it were a peace offering.
Emani being quick-witted, looked up at him wanting to let it all out but this wasn’t the forum for her to cuss him out, let another reply come out of her mouth. One she hoped to zap this and allow her an escape. “As long as it takes me to forget.”
She watched the fuse of his thick brows and those obsidian eyes squint.
The thick lashes he had making them almost disappear underneath the brim of his hat and the dim lighting.
Damn he was fine. Finer than he was seven years ago.
He was a boy coming into his manhood then.
Now, he was all man. Emani had to get away from him.
How dare her pussy throb at a time like this. Her fault again.
“Forget?” he questioned. “I haven’t forgotten about you, E.”
“Yeah, I know because I can’t stop forgetting to forget you,” she thought. Her phone was ringing again reminding her, she had, foolishly, committed herself to another. Abandoning her thoughts, she said, “You’re married right?”
That was for her. She had to remember how he claimed he was coming back and instead left her on read and got with someone else. Someone so far from who she was. His comment was a checkmate to her anger.
“Divorced, actually. That shit was never supposed to work.”
Shit.
She nodded slowly. This was so much easier when she lived in a world where he wasn’t available. “Sorry to hear that. I should get going.”
She looked back down at her phone, hating that Malik wouldn’t just leave her alone like he’d done every year before when he took his mother on this trip. Jahlil’s words pulled her back.
“Need me to walk with you?”
Emani snapped her eyes up at him. “The days of me needing you are long gone, Jahlil. Please make this week easy for all of us and just leave me alone.”
Her feet quickened away from him and she answered the phone. “What, Malik?”
“Don’t hang up on me. You need to get that shit together. What’s all the fuckin’ noise?” he barked. “You’re there to perform, why the fuck are you shaking your ass around that muhfucka?”
“Again,” Emani huffed, aggravation melting into anger and knocking at the door of her trauma. “Who the fuck you talkin’ to, nigga?”
“My wife!” Malik shouted back.
“I’m not your wife yet. Don’t talk to me like that. I didn’t do shit to you. Aren’t you in Eastover with your mother? Why are you bothering me?”
“Because there are videos of my woman shaking her ass all around that nigga. Let’s not even talk about these photos. You stupid, Mani?”
“Excuse me?” Emani asked in disbelief, a dry laugh grabbing her throat in a vice grip. “What did you say? Repeat that.”
“I asked if you stupid. You know what this looks like?”
“Does it look like you staying out all night? Sneaking around, whispering in closets, going off on me because some nigga I used to know came back into town?” Emani argued, ready to jump through the phone and put her hands on him. “Tell me if it does?”
“Emani,” Malik gritted before sighing. “This ain’t that.”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
“Keep that nigga from around you,” Malik finalized. “Before this turns into something else.”
“You’d do good keeping your demands at a minimum, Malik.
Enjoy the beach,” she returned, hanging up and stomping up the steps to the JoyBed.
Unzipping her fanny pack, she dug through the minimal contents to find the key Carson was supposed to give her.
She found nothing but the suede lining of her bag, a hair tie and a tube of lip plumping lip gloss. “Damn it, Carson.”
She leaned against the railing, tapping her favorites to call Carson.
The kickback was live, prompting her to call him back-to-back while watching the carefree college students dance in the street, laugh and live in the moment.
She remembered when she was that girl to a certain extent. They were kids with a kid.
She laughed softly at the thought of Andrew hopping through the street behind his brother.
“You good?” Jahlil’s voice came out in a flood of concern, like she locked it into her mind and couldn’t erase it. It froze her.
“I-I need Carson,” she stated. “He has the key.”
“I’ll bring it,” Jahlil assured. Emani could hear him moving around. “You safe?”
“No. I’ll come back and get it from him,” Emani opposed. He couldn’t be close to her. He couldn’t drench her space with his scent. “I’m fine, Jahlil. I don’t need you to-”
“Ay, C,” Jahlil shouted over the noise. “Shit, my bad.”
Noise ushered in the call dropping.
Emani groaned, dropping her head. “Great. Just great.”
She sat on the bench and pushed the blonde tresses of the wig she wore out of her face. She went back to watching the people enjoy themselves and let the stir of memories, feelings, and traumas tighten the grip around her.
“Not right now,” she hissed. “I don’t have time for the tears.”
The nights of fighting with Malik she tried to shake off were putting her back on the floor of her aunt’s living room.
Donnée curled on the couch in tears, Emani on the floor trying to play it tough.
Fact of the matter, a grown man accusing two teenage girls of trying to seduce him wasn’t anything to be tough about.
It was bullshit. The fact her aunt believed him and called them every whore in the book was disgusting.
Life on the streets with the Azul Hearts was easier than living there.
A plan was made that night. They’d get out of that house and never look back. They did.
Emani swiped a tear and breathed through it. “Come on, stop. Please stop.”
“You still talking to yourself after all these years?” Jahlil’s voice graced her ears like a sour fruit to her tongue and a warm blanket around her body.
Her body snapped back into what it was trained to do, perform. “You got the key?”
“Yeah,” he said, dangling it in the air before moving toward the door to unlock it for her.
“I’ll take those. Thanks.” She walked past him, taking them from his massive hand and quickly withdrawing before she could feel that jolt. Too late.
“You want me to stay?”
“The answer is no but you’re going to do what you want,” she sassed.
“Glad you know. D is probably going to be out all night.”
Emani refused to look at him in the bright light of the foyer as she climbed the stairs. “I can stay by myself. I told you I don’t need you.”
He grunted. “A seven year old lie, E. You’ll always need me.”
“Jahlil, don’t piss me off, okay?” Emani snapped, shooting him a heated glare. She found his arrogant smirk. The need to smother it with her straddling his face buzzed through her. “I can’t stand your ass. Lock the door when you leave.”
Jahlil muttered something else she refused to make out. It was late and this was going to be the first night she slept without Malik and his bullshit. At least she thought she was going to sleep. The tears were back and sleep never came.