For a late October afternoon in Atlanta, it is a beautiful Sunday Funday in the city. It’s warm enough for me to wear scandals and a maxi dress, but with a breeze that teases me to bring a jacket. Our normal ladies' brunch today is at a new location on Milwaukee Ave., a small, but busy bistro nestled between the Rundown Record store and the Grand Ole Towne Theatre, which I previously visited on several occasions with my ex. Thoughts of those wasted memories rumble through my head down to my stomach—nausea hits hard and fast.
"Wow, Sam, it’s really like. . .like a hole in the wall, but with coffee. When did they open this?" Gina was right. I chose this place on purpose. We are all familiar with the area since Mari and Kofi lived in the building next door years ago. Hole in the walls are known to be gems of the city and I knew this one wouldn’t disappoint. Dilapidated bricks only entice my imagination for the deliciousness inside.
Gina, Mari and I meet weekly to shoot the shit, pat our weaves and cry rivers about any and everything that has happened the week before. It’s our sister session that we have tried to keep in place over the years; fifteen years to be exact. From freshman year in college to adulthood dramatics. Our bunch is the only time when our families or jobs can’t keep us away from each other.
They’re my sisters—blood not needed—and every time we get together it is like getting Salt-N-Peppa back on the dance floor with Spindarella blazing up the turntables; a sister circle that can’t be broken.
Inside the doors, after several more “are you for reals” and “we can do betters,” we are introduced to the sparkling side of this gem. Afrobeats fill our ears as we take in the vibrant yellows, greens, and reds striped across the walls and brown tones of the furniture. Couches and high boys are drizzled throughout the place, filled with a beautiful blend of skin tones from all types of people.
The sign reads “seat yourself then coffee us,” so we do, and as soon as we sit and begin to mull over our caffeine options, I see him.
Just a table up from us sits Daniel and his new girlfriend. Daniel Rene Cruz is the orchestrator of a tragedy—and my earlier stomachache—which has played over and over in my mind and sometimes in my nightmares.
He is my worst and best memories. He once was my knight and tyrant, the beast under the beauty, eating up my heart, devouring my body in the most sensual manner, then leaving my soul out for vultures to finish off.
My gaze is trapped on his face; the same face I had loved to look at each morning for six years, that is, until that face reminded me of the woman he chose over me. She was butt-fuck ugly, yet strong enough to take him from me for one night. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I guess, and so is the Beast. And he evidently saw something in her I’ve never understood.
Quickly, I look away, hoping he doesn’t see me. Mari catches my quickness and examines the room. Her neck twists around like a cobra looking for dinner or reasons to defend. Her eyes search for clues in the room and I know it won’t be long until she finds the answer to the mystery.
"Is that Daniel?" Mari’s eyes balloon and a snarl grows over her lips. Answering her question is risky, but one I have to take.
"Yeah, it is," I murmur, knowing that I may have just unleashed her inner kraken.
Mari and Gina look at each other, then over at him. If their sight had been lasers, he would be dead instantly, but he wasn’t and I’m sure they are disappointed at their un-superhuman powers.
They hate him more than my heart did. They know what control he once had over me. It hurt them to watch him break me down piece by piece, tear after tear. I wish I didn’t have to lean on them when it hurts so bad, but they would never let me go through it alone.
"Fuck that bitch and his bitch!" Gina blurted out. The buzzing of the room seemed to simmer down as Gina pulled out her best pitbull impression. Even at her stature of five feet, two inches, she would’ve loved to go right over to his table, kick off her shoes, pull back her curly coils and commence a UFC title match with them both. What can I say? She’s my ride-or-die team captain.
“You know what,” Mari whispers, “I can go behind the bar, act like I’m making them a drink and then piss in that shit. Yeah, piss in that shit and then have the waitress serve it to them.” My dear Mari is creative, and even though she is the best bartender I know and could easily pass as one in this diverse establishment, I couldn’t allow her to risk getting arrested by wasting her own piss on them. They weren’t even worth that.
I love my girls. Now was neither the time nor the place and based on our past, piss may actually satisfy his palate.
I’m not doing this today. This is our day and I can’t let anything or anyone, especially a ghost from the past, disrupt it.
"Chill out y’all. It's cool. I've moved on and apparently he has too." I take a stab at a calm tone, hoping that it tames their spirits. As much as he hurt me, I can’t allow him to suck any more energy out of me or my team.
They both sigh and I watch their vindictive desires subside.
"As long as you're good, we're good," Mari responds with Gina nodding in total agreement.
"I'm good," I nod. “For real, I promise." I shoot them a smile and try to get our brunch date restarted.
"So how are Kofi and the twins, Mari? Have they started driving yet?"
She spurts a high-pitched “gurl,” then starts in on a beautiful story about her two precious 18-month-old twins and how they now push each other across the floor, but my attention starts to drift back to Daniel.
I look back over at the table. His girl is talking to him but now, his eyes are on me, locked on the prey he had once trapped in his intoxicating clutches. His dark brown eyes bring me back to the passion I’ve tried my best to forget.
A flash of one of our nights freezes me. I can hear his voice.
"I need you," echoes in my head. His raspy voice calls for my attention in my daydream and I start to feel his firm touch creeping up my thigh. His large hands grip at the straps covering my skin. His words ask for more. If there is one thing he’s taught me, it is to let go of what I don’t know and explore myself to the fullest. And that’s just what we did. I taught him how to worship me, just like he wanted and just like I needed.
The word “dominant” didn’t resonate to me until I leaned more into learning what it truly meant. His trust was my control and my commands fulfilled him. If I’m honest about Daniel, he taught me how to cum without a touch. The simplicity of him following my every word turned me out in ways no dick could ever do. Words pushed us past my insecurities and right into his dirty hands. I remember how a single phrase would activate my instincts.
“Please, ma’am.”
I look away because I must. Memories are reminders of the amount of healing and forgiveness I’ve done in his absence. I can’t let him steal any more pieces of me.
I try to catch up on the girls’ conversation. Gina is now joking with Mari about how she would have to remove her uterus if she ever had twins. She is single and loving the dating life. I laugh and remember that one time Daniel and I talked about kids.
He wanted four and I wanted two. With the amount of sex we were having, I easily could have given him his four. The beast had this princess all wrapped up in his mysterious love but unlike the fairytale, I couldn't have kids with a cheating-ass man. Even during our break up—well maybe we were just separated then—he tried several times to get me pregnant. To this day I thank God for not allowing me or my child to be tied to such a monster.
I glare back in his direction with disappointment painted on my face. He is back listening to and looking at this girl. His girl. She had to be the same girl with whom he cheated on me with.
I take in his creamy toffee face for just another moment, remembering when that face used to look up at me as he blazed a path with his warm lips from my clit up my naval, over my stomach, around my beating breasts to the tip of my nose, where he would pause. He used to tell me that he had to take in all of me, every time, and in those quiet moments he was memorizing the features of a queen.
Looking back, I don’t know if he meant it all, but every time he would say it, it felt like his truth. But a true king would never risk losing his queen, not over some peasant ass—at least not a good king.
He suddenly looks back in my direction again, this time laughing and smiling at me. I knew it wasn't because of me; it was for the story she was telling him.
Maybe they are joking about the late and long nights they’ve had. She gets to enjoy the lips I once raced home to kiss. Those perfectly soft and delicious lips, with his coarse black mustache tickling me every so often, especially when he took sips of my nectar. My nasty tickle monster.
I’ve got to get these thoughts out of my head. He’s no longer mine. She is the new owner of his lips, his touch and his distrust. It may have taken a while, but I’ve finally realized that his “property” was not meant for me. I did enjoy renting it out, though.
I try to focus back on our chat. What are we talking about now?
I couldn’t catch it, so I look over the menu trying to figure out exactly what I want to drink. Denial keeps slapping me in the forehead, knocking me back into memories.
I can’t deny that I miss pieces of him. Of course, I deserve better and she probably does too but that mouth and that touch, and hell that dick just fucks up your mind.
“Ugghh!” I blurt out forgetting that no one else is in my head.
“Are you good, Sam?” Mari asks as Gina’s confused look corrects my thoughts.
“No, yeah. I’m good. I just remembered that I didn’t finish some paperwork at work. You know, something I don’t want to deal with Monday.”
They nod slowly which tells me that my lie was horrible.
“Are y’all ready to order,” I ask knowing that it is time to get my mind back in the right place, which is not on his dick. No. Not Daniel’s dick.
I kick off the ordering with a vanilla latte and cheese Danish. Then I listen to their choices and begin feeling a bit sad. Maybe it isn’t sadness but pity.
I look over at Daniel’s table again. It's probably hard for her, too. He probably hasn’t changed at all and is still sleeping with multiple women. Pity falls onto my heart for her. Passion is his expertise but love; he sucked miserably at that shit.
Looking back, it took me over a year of pain and pleasure, seven naughty texts to four other women and an empty condom wrapper in his pants pocket to get me to leave. If you look in the dictionary today for the definition of “dickmatized,” you would see my face. It was like with each command for a deep stroke he managed to cut off another rational thought from my brain.
My body and mind had been his playground where he enjoyed romping on the jungle gym below my waist and swinging my mind around on the carousel over and over again, in hopes of exhausting my consciousness. But he couldn’t. My consciousness finally got strong enough to decipher what I wanted and what I didn’t deserve.
And now she is going to go through the same thing, if it wasn’t already happening. She probably isn’t even his main chick, maybe number two or three on his list. I wonder where I once was on his list? Never mind that. It doesn’t matter.
Bringing myself back between the walls of the bistro, at a table with my wonderful besties, I catch the end of a joke and jump right back in.
"Ah huh, but what if she was wearing her infamous white jeans?"
"Oh you mean her year-round, see-through jeggings that show every crater left on her ass?"
Our laughter is loud and rich in pettiness. I need this laugh. I do my best to stay in the conversation. Bringing up those old, lost thoughts is opening up a box I’ve tucked away far in the back of my soul’s closet, with the words “do not open, Bitch!” written on top of it.
Our food and drinks come and as I look up to thank the waitress, I see him walking toward me. What. The. Fuck!? I immediately turn my chair to Mari and take the laughter up a notch. The only problem is that no one is saying anything.
"Are you okay?" Gina asks.
"Girl, you are so right. Her big ass in those pants. Such a joke!" I’m not sure my adlib is working but I’m not going to stop trying.
Like a fog rolling over the restaurant, it went quiet, and I clearly heard his footsteps. What am I supposed to do? I have nowhere to go but hop on Mari's lap and I don't think that is an option. But. . .no, no, no, that’s stupid.
By my next exhale, he is past me. I turn around and see the restroom signs high on the wall. I’m so stupid. When I look down the hallway, I see him standing in front of the door, smiling at me. Then he does the craziest shit I’ve seen him do in years—he waves at me.
Out of pure insanity or maybe some sort of a hypnotic trance, I wave back, a long unsure wave, but still a wave.
A wave, really? Your girls are sitting here and you're waving. So damn typical of him. Fucking trash, I tell you, but I guess you can call me the garbage collector, just like when we first met.
I’ve tried to let go of the memory but it plays every now and then, like a #TBT post on Instagram.
I remember vividly that I was enjoying some semi-soft bacon on an egg and cheese melt from my favorite waffle joint, when I saw Daniel for a third time. Those eyes hunted me throughout the night, popping up at the bar first, then next to me at the deejay booth. He apparently knew the deejay, so he was hovering about as if he owned the place. He was the first guy I ever thought to pursue in my life. Yeah, I know, that’s not what we ladies do, but when a fine man undresses you with his eyes twice, you have to do what you have to do to get what you want. And I wanted him. Too bad every time I attempted to go over to him, he was talking to some assed-out, titties-flat-as-a-tabletop trashy chick. I mean, my dress was short, but you couldn’t see my cervix like theirs. By the end of the night, I was sweaty from some good grinding but lonely and ready to sober up.
We lucked up at the restaurant and were able to find three stools next to the juice station. Greasy bacon always helped to sober me up and since I didn’t have someone to use my liquid courage on, I focused on sobriety.
Then I saw him walk in with his eyes beaming and his black hair pulled back into a man bun. His style is a twist on the gangster turned gentlemen with a lot of chains and tats around his neck, barely covered by his nice, white button-up. No jeans and a tee. His attire was impeccable with perfectly tailored pants matched with some expensive loafers, and I couldn’t tell if his glasses were prescription at that time, but behind those black frames were the warmest dark brown eyes.
That night, he and his friends grabbed seats at the counter just arm’s length from me. I took a sip of my coffee and enjoyed the sounds of close conversations and waffles cooking up. Soon, even under the steaming kitchen lights and bustling waitress calling each meal with precision, I sensed his eyes cover me. So, I did what I had to do. I looked. It was only seconds, but it felt like we were locked into a staring match for over an hour—one that neither of us was willing to lose. And when I wouldn’t give in, he waved. That unmistakable wave stopped the match and made me laugh. I looked down, angry that I let him win, and when I looked backed up, he was only a step from starting a conversation with me.
His words were nothing I’d heard before. Not on a first date. Not on the first intimate night. Not ever in my entire life.
He took my hand and kissed the inside of my palm then the top of my hand, keeping his head bowed the entire time. He kneeled in front of my stool. I thought he’d dropped something, but he didn’t. Then with those possessive, deep eyes he said, “Can I be yours?”
Those words sealed my fate. His submission was the beginning of the end. I officially entered the beast’s den and there was no looking back.
My memory fades as my phone rings. It’s Cortez. Thank God it is Cortez.
"Excuse me Ladies. I need to take this." I shoot them a snarky grin, one that lets them know this is a possible sex rendezvous call.
They nod and I head toward the door, looking for a quiet place to pick up.
"Hey, Babe." I answer with relief.
"Hey, Beautiful.” I feel his hesitation through the phone. “I need to cancel tonight. I have to present to an international team tomorrow morning and they are making us attend a mandatory prep meeting tonight.”
I sigh but it doesn’t matter. I know this contract is important to him and the company. I respect his passion for success, it just sucks because I need him today after seeing Daniel. I want his attention; anything to distract me from these thoughts.
"Okay. You know I understand."
"I promise I’ll make it up to you. After I kill this presentation, we’re going to celebrate all night long."
"Okay," falls out my mouth and he picks up on my unsurety with a quick response.
"I mean that kind of celebratory victory that means you're going to miss work the next day."
Oh, he means, an I-can’t-walk-and-need-to-hydrate-for-hours type of night. Yeah, that’s a good night. I chuckle to reassure him I am truly fine with his decision. We hang up. I want to be angry, but I can't. At least he isn't cheating like Daniel did. He’s a great one.
I walk back into the restaurant and accidentally run into the waitress. My phone flies in the air and then I hear the worst sound—my phone crashing to the floor.
"Shit!" I yell.
"I'm so sorry," says the waitress but her spill is worse than mine, so I tell her not to worry about it. She is the one with a wet shirt and a manager evil-eyeing right off of her shoulder.
I begin to bend down to pick up my phone and notice Daniel meeting me at the floor. Is he trying to help me? I don’t need your help! I don't want it!
I squat faster than a sumo wrestler, but he beats me to my phone. He looks into my soul and then hands me my phone. In our low position, I can smell his musky cologne. A smell that reminds me of too much; good times at his family reunion; drying off after a long, warm shower during our weekend getaways; his arm around me trying to get me to stop yelling.
All I want to do is push him away, but it’s too late. I’m falling into an old strong spell that I can’t run away from and it makes no sense.
I grab my phone from him and he caresses my hand with his thumb, biting his lip. Sam, you’ve got to wake up.
Actually, lip-biting wasn't odd for him. It was probably involuntary at this point since he does it whenever we are in close proximity.
The last argument we were in, he did the same thing and out of anger I threw him on the bed and made sure he would never forget me.