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My heart was pounding. My pulse was racing. My mind was on maximum overload. I screamed. I cried, I shot dirty looks, but none of it stopped him from saying these things to me. He was right; I wanted to die . . . I wanted to die and take him with me, so he would stop claiming he has some sort of relationship with my husband.
The things he was saying to me . . . the allegations of a marriage? With Eric? Where did that even come from? Who orchestrated this? I had to know before I exploded in my skin, but he wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of telling me what I needed to hear. He just kept going on and on about him and my husband. He wouldn’t stop—it seems as if he would never stop. He brought up one claim after the other to help support his bullshit.
At this point, I just need to reach Eric. I need him to come home and get me away from this person since he won’t leave. I’m under enough stress without having to deal with this ridiculous, sissy punk.
Once this is all over, we’re moving out of this house, out of this city, out of this state! I wanted to be far away from a place where some random stranger would show up on a wife’s doorstep and make such claims.
I don’t know what to think as this person stands here, claiming he is married to my husband. How absurd is that? Eric is my husband!
I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t stop crying long enough. Maybe I don’t know everything there is to know about Eric, but I do know he’s not gay. If he was, why would he want me? What could I do for a man that wants a man? Absolutely nothing! Even if Eric wanted a man, which he doesn’t, he wouldn’t want Courtney Byrd. Eric would never date inside his race. He told me so. He said he wasn’t attracted to black women, so I’m pretty sure that goes for black men, too.
I just wanted to know what would make this creature come here and say these things to me? If no one sent him here, then why was he here? Why did he pick my door? Why did he pick my husband? I had nothing. No answers, just this . . . this man standing here trying to convince me of something that just wasn’t true. The good news is I wasn’t falling for any of it, and I refuse to amuse this stalker any longer.
I sniffled as the last tear rolled down my face. The words that I allowed to fill my ear gates simply were not factual, and I’ve had enough. I didn’t want to cry anymore; I wasn’t even furious at this Courtney person standing inches away from me any longer. Being the wife of someone like my husband, this kind of irritation was bound to happen sooner than later. I didn’t think it would be taken quite this far, though.
Eric is a gorgeous man. He’s a wealthy dentist in a big city. He’s well-known. He’s affluent. He’s sexy. He’s everything any woman—and apparently some men—would want, so of course, they’re going to be a few strays that follow him home, white or black, and obviously, male or female.
“I’ve heard enough!” I was done with this conversation. We had nothing more to discuss. It amazes me that I’ve entertained him this long.
I didn’t have to hear anymore because I already knew Courtney’s real story, and I told him so; seconds after I figured him out. He seemed offended as I read him like a book. I didn’t care. It was his own fault. How dare he come into my home and say these things to me? He deserved what I was giving him, and then some.
I attacked his character along with his sexuality. I threw blow after blow toward him. I even tossed in a few you people just for effect. I hear gays hate that with a passion, so I’ll say it a few more dozen times just to piss him off even more. I’ll make his filthy black-ass pay for coming here today, and once my husband finds out exactly who Courtney Byrd is, he’ll pick up where I left off.
Now he was screaming and throwing his arms in the air, probably doped up on opioids and weed. That wouldn’t be out of the norm for those people. Now I am pulling the race card.
“Here, Katie . . . I’ll prove it to you. I’m not lying!”
As he headed to the door shouting something about licenses-plates, I headed for the phone. I wasn’t calling the police department . . . uh-huh . . . I’m calling Eric. He needs to come home right now!
As I held my phone in my hand, ready to dial my husband’s number, it started to ring. The caller ID indicated it was Eric calling, so I immediately pressed talk.
“Eric, honey, where are you?”
I could hardly make out what his low-toned voice was saying under all the static on the line. “Eric . . . can you hear me?” We suffered a lousy connection. “Eric? Honey, are you there?” I spoke loud enough for Courtney to hear me. “Eric, we have a bad connection.”
Suddenly, the static stopped. The line was now crystal clear. I could hear my husband perfectly.
“Eric, you need to come home right now. We have a big problem.”
“Meet me at home.” That was Eric’s deep voice humming on the other end of the phone.
“Meet you at home?” I’m confused. I’m at home.
“Meet me at my other home—Courtney will lead the way.”
“Eric, what-what are you talking about? Courtney will lead the way where?”
I turned and looked at Courtney standing near the door with his cell phone in his hand. He wasn’t shouting anymore; his arms lie calmly down by his sides. He was looking at me as if he was waiting for my call to end.
I didn’t have to ask him who the caller was on his phone that caused his skin to turn pale beige. I knew it was Eric because Courtney’s expression was just . . . like . . . mine.