Hair matted. Face crusty. Everything in her body ached. Burned. She was raw and empty and broken-hearted.
And she hated him for making her feel this pain. This was what she’d spent her entire life avoiding. And now she was hurting . . . because of him. How dare he come into her life and disrupt her entire existence with gunshots and bloodshed?
Goddamn him!
And he still hadn’t come to her, hadn’t tried to beat down her door . . . nothing! Maybe he hadn’t cared after all. Maybe all she’d ever been to him was a good piece of ass, another wet hole to dump himself in.
Served her right for all the years of whoring with married men.
This was her payback for all the hearts she’d broken over the years—unintentionally or not.
All they were ever supposed to be was a fuck-n-go. Nothing more.
She blamed Ashley for this shit. Had it not been for that bitch Peaches taking ill, Ashley would have had her ass in Philly that day instead of sitting around at some stinking-ass vet with a sick dog.
“Fuck you, Ashley!” Arabia snapped out loud. “The minute I’m out of this funk, pack your shit! You’re gone, bitch!”
She let out a loud groan.
Who was she fooling? She’d never fire Ashley. If it weren’t for her keeping things running smoothly, her advertising firm would probably be going under right now. No, Ashley and her team of execs were holding it down while she . . . while she recovered from her terrible . . .accident.
Yes, that was what she’d told them. That she’d been in an accident. That she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That, that . . . three gunmen tried to carjack her at a red light. Then when she’d sped off, they started shooting at her. And she was too shaken up to return to the office. That was her lie for the first two weeks.
Now this week, she’d been stricken with the flu. Yes, that’s right. She had the flu in the middle of June. The lie had rolled off her tongue before she even had a chance to realize it. So she’d run with it.
Truth was, she was sick.
Sick of still missing him.
Sick of still wanting him.
Sick of still aching for him.
Sick of breathing him in her dreams.
Sick.
Sick.
Sick.
And being sick with the flu paled in comparison to what she was feeling this very moment.
Lovesick.
She couldn’t shake this burning hell she was now in.
She couldn’t shake him.
She couldn’t even say his name. It seared the back of her throat like acid.
She was such a pathetic bitch.
Over him.
A man!
This didn’t happen to her. But it had. And now . . .
She swallowed back another sob.
Then closed her eyes and breathed in deeply until it burned her lungs. Her funk overpowered the smell of him still on her skin. But, no matter how bad she smelled, he was still here, lingering, hovering, in the air around her.
She exhaled.
She reached over from the bed, where she’d been lying for the last four days, and grabbed another Philly cheesesteak from off the plate on her nightstand. Cheesesteak deliveries were the only time she opened her door. She’d stay hidden behind the door and crack it open so her doorman could stick her sandwiches in. She’d snatch them from his hand, then hand him his tip, before slamming the door in his face.
She bit into her sandwich, and cheese and ketchup oozed out and dripped down her chin.
Using the back of her hand to swipe away the gooey cheese and ketchup mixture, she started crying again. She’d taken to eating the messy sandwich loaded with onions, because her life had become such a smelly mess, like this stupid-ass cheesesteak.
She hadn’t bathed. Hadn’t shaved. Hadn’t brushed or scrubbed. Or bothered to change her panties.
Her life stunk. And so did she.
She just lay in bed and watched reruns of Being Mary Jane. What a sad bitch!
God, she hated Mary Jane. She was a weak bitch.
And she hated herself. Because so was she.
She choked back a sob, and reached for the remote to her stereo, turning on her CD player again. Jennifer Hudson’s “Giving Myself” started playing—again. Arabia sat up in bed and rocked and cried and hummed along to the song. And then she looked up and called out to God.
“God, why’d you do me like this?” she cried out. “Why are you torturing me? Have I not been obedient?” She shook her head. “Okay, scratch that. Maybe I haven’t been. But damn it, I’ve been loving and kind, haven’t I?” She shook her head again. “Okay, okay. Maybe I haven’t been that, either. But do you think . . . do you really think I deserve this? If this is my punishment for sleeping with married men, I swear to you, Lord, if you find it in your heart to forgive me, I’ll never sleep with another married man. I swear. Cross my broken heart and hope to . . . well, I don’t hope to die. But this pain is killing me.”
Body and soul, she’d given herself to him.
Unexpectedly, she’d handed herself over to him.
And now she was left with nothing. Not him. Not her heart. Not her dignity.
Nothing.
She’d lost everything she was to him.
Some reformed thug who’d almost gotten her killed.
Her life flashing before her eyes, she reached for the box of tissue on the other side of her bed, and blew her nose.
And when she had enough of Beyoncé singing her version about how she’d rather go blind than to see her man walk away, Arabia was curled up in a ball bawling her eyes out.
Her cell buzzed.
She refused to look over at it. Refused to lift it up from the nightstand, where it laid face-down, to see who it was this time, calling her. So she took another bite of her sandwich, and savagely chewed, her stomach bubbling as she swallowed.
She had gas. Bad.
But she suffered through it, chomping away at her sandwich as a reminder that he’d introduced this sandwich to her, and this was her consequence for opening herself to him. A knotted stomach filled with gas.
She was dying inside. All she needed was a coffin and a gravesite. And she’d be ground ready.
Her cell buzzed again.
Then her landline.
Then her doorbell.
Then came the banging. Loud. Obnoxious banging.
And then—oh God, no . . . there were voices.
The blood in her face drained.
Not one, not two, but three very loud voices.
“Open up, Arabia! We know you’re in there!” That was her sister Tamara.
Then Alexis: “If you don’t come open this door, I’ll call the police to have it knocked open! Try me!”
More banging.
“God, please don’t tell me she’s in there dead over some man,” she heard Tamara say. More banging. “Open up this goddamn door, Arabia!”
Then came Maya’s voice: “Arabia, open up, girl. Please. We’re worried about you.”
Arabia groaned. Then glanced around her room in horror. She couldn’t let them see her. Not like this.
Then came the pounding again. “You have ten seconds to open this damn door, Arabia. Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”
Arabia threw off the covers, knocking over her sandwich, stepping over dirty dishes and old sandwich wrappers.
“Seven . . . six . . . five . . . four . . .”
She raced to the door. “All right, all right . . . I’m coming. Damn!”
She held her hand up to her face and blew out a breath. She made a face, her lips twisting. Her breath was wretched.
“Three . . . two . . . one . . .”
Arabia slid back her locks, then slowly opened the door.
“God, you’re so ugly right now,” Tamara hissed, pushing past her. “You’re so fucking selfish, Arabia.”
One by one, they barged in, jostling Arabia out the way.
“And you smell,” Alexis chimed in, pinching her nose together.
“Yes,” Tamara added, “your ass stinks. What the hell? Why are you moping around here letting your cat-juice marinate in your drawers? I smelled you all the way out in the hall.”
“Will you bitches shut up,” Maya snapped. “Can’t you see our baby sis is hurting?” Maya pulled Arabia into her arms and hugged her tightly. Arabia couldn’t hold back the tears. She sobbed on Maya’s shoulder. She needed her sisters more than she realized.
She’d thought she could get through this alone. But she couldn’t.
And that knowing tore her up even more.
Maya coughed, then gagged. “Okay, okay. Girl, I love you,” she said, prying herself out of Arabia’s hold, “but you smell like sewer water. No offense, but I’m choking here.”
Tamara rolled her eyes. “I told you this bitch stinks.”
Arabia nearly bared her teeth. “I don’t need your insults right now, Tamara. If you don’t like the smell, then leave.”
Tamara fixed her with a hard stare. “Bitch, I’m not going any-damn-where until after our intervention. Now go wash your ass, so we can nurse your grieving ass back to health.”
Alexis and Maya took one look at Arabia and their hearts ached for her. The love bug had finally bitten their baby sister and it had torn her ass up real good.
“Yes, go clean yourself up,” Alexis said, almost pleadingly.
“Please and thank you,” Maya added.
Arabia sucked her teeth. “All right. Y’all sit,” she said, relieved that her bedroom was the only place that looked as if it’d been turned into a war zone.
The three sisters eyed Arabia as she walked off.
Tamara scowled. “If I ever see the bastard who did this to her, I’m going to claw his damn face.”
“Girl,” Alexis said, “his dick must have been dipped in gold for him to turn Arabia’s ass inside out like this.”
Arabia cringed. “I don’t need you bitches talking shit about me behind my back,” she yelled over her shoulder. “I need your support. Not a bunch of ridicule.”
“Girl, bye,” Tamara said dismissively. “You’re getting both—our support and ridicule. So, go. Wash. That. Ass. We’ll be right here still talking about you when you get back.”
Arabia shook her head. God, she loved her sisters. She truly did.
• • •
“Much better,” Maya approved when Arabia finally emerged from her room forty minutes later, wearing a pair of pink lounge pants and matching top. Her still-damp hair was in a French twist. And she’d managed to slip on a pair of diamond-hoop earrings, a little bling to brighten her otherwise bleak existence. She felt somewhat better. Not as tense. It was amazing what a little—okay, a lot—of soap and hot water could do. The shower was nice. She even gave herself a facial. But she still needed a good soaking.
Maya handed her a mug of white tea. Then ushered her into the kitchen where Alexis and Tamara were, sitting at the breakfast bar.
“Okay,” Tamara said as she stood and opened her arms. “Now you get a hug.”
Arabia rolled her eyes, setting her mug on the counter for a sisterly hug. “Whatever,” she said, stepping into her embrace. Moments later, Arabia stepped back and was then hugged by Alexis.
“We love you, girl,” she whispered into Arabia’s ear.
“I know,” Arabia said.
“Awww,” Maya teased. “Sister moments. So sweet.”
“Okay, okay,” Tamara snapped. “Enough of the Oprah moment shit. Tell us what in the hell happened. And don’t you dare leave anything out. And I do mean nothing.”
And so she did. Told them everything—well, except the part about fucking him on the dance floor. They needn’t know that.
When she was done reliving every terrifying detail, it felt like a ton of weights lifted off her. She still felt empty, but she felt much lighter—if that made any sense.
“OhmyfuckingGod!” Tamara shrieked. “I can’t believe this shit. You need Jesus, girl.”
Arabia loved her sisters dearly, but the way Alexis and Tamara were scowling one minute, blinking their eyes the next minute, then muttering curses the next after that, she regretted confiding in them the humiliating truth of the events leading up to her breakup with Cruze. Her short-lived love affair.
She wished at this very moment that it was only Maya here with her.
“What an asshole,” Alexis hissed. “Street thug trash! That bastard, Cruze, or whoever he is didn’t deserve you.”
Arabia cringed. Maybe it was true. But it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She felt like she was being sliced open, and slowly bleeding out.
“Exactly,” Tamara said fervently.
“He isn’t trash, Alexis,” Arabia defended. “He showed me a side of him that I don’t think he showed anyone else.” He was beautifully flawed, and had been perfect enough for her. That’s all that mattered to her.
“Yeah, that he’s murderous,” Tamara snapped. “That’s the side he showed you.”
Arabia sighed, then surprised herself when she said, “He was only trying to protect me. They started shooting at us, first.”
Tamara gritted her teeth. “And he conveniently happened to have a gun tucked under the seat of your car, huh? Arabia, will you wake up! Listen to yourself.”
“And it’s a good thing he did,” Arabia muttered. “Otherwise—”
“Oh, this has to be some new Stockholm syndrome shit I’m hearing,” Alexis pushed out, “because this bitch is still in shock.”
“I’m not in shock. I’m hurting, Alexis. You weren’t the one there. He wouldn’t have had to start shooting them if . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. They’d never understand. And she didn’t expect them to. She choked back a sob. He had no business putting her life in danger, but she wasn’t about to give her sisters the satisfaction of hearing her say it.
Alexis rolled her eyes and Tamara just snorted. But it was Maya who reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. The gesture melted her heart.
Alexis twisted her lips. “Mmph. Well, maybe he isn’t trash. But he’s still a gun-toting thug. And he had you in some high-speed shootout, like you were starring in some damn drama series. Who does that?”
“My God, Arabia,” Tamara hissed. “You could have been killed. What were you thinking?”
“I—”
“She wasn’t thinking,” Alexis interjected, before she could get the rest of her sentence out. “That’s the problem. She never thinks. Just does. Tamara, you know how she’s always been. Reckless.”
Tamara grunted. “Mmph. Girl, preach. Even with her fucking married men. If that isn’t reckless, I don’t know what is.”
Arabia frowned. “I beg your pardon? Um, hello! I am sitting right here. There’s no need for you to be talking as if I’m not. And I wasn’t being reckless. I’m never reckless, as you so eloquently put it. Everything I do I give thought to.”
Tamara snorted. “Well, apparently not enough thought. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Arabia scowled. “My mess—as you call it, is mine. And mine alone. I didn’t ask you here to clean up my mess. And I didn’t call you”—then she pointed at Alexis—“or you for a shoulder to lean on. So why the fuck are you bitches coming down on me? Do you think I asked for this, huh? Do you?”
Maya reached over and touched her shoulder. “Arabia, none of us think you asked for what happened to you. It’s horrible. And I can only imagine what it was like being in it. Ever since we heard the news, we’ve been worried sick about you.”
Arabia relaxed at her sister’s touch. “I know,” she said softly. More tears streamed down her face. “I already feel bad enough. I don’t need them two self-righteous bitches making me feel any worse than I already do.”
Tamara shifted in her seat. “I don’t mean to come down on you, hon.” Her tone softened. “You know we love you and would do anything for you. Anything. But we haven’t heard from you in weeks, Arabia. Then we have to find out from some stranger at your workplace that you were in some shootout. After not hearing from you all this time. How do you think that makes us feel?”
Arabia swallowed. “I’m sorry. I should have taken your calls. I was too embarrassed to say anything. I didn’t want any of you to know what I’d gone through.” She covered her face in her hands. “God, I feel so fucking stupid.”
Maya rubbed her back. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said gently. “None of it.”
“Well, maybe not,” Alexis stated. “But she can help what she does about it. And we’re here to help her. Have you blocked his numbers?”
Arabia shook her head slowly, biting the inside of her cheek. She wished she hadn’t. She wanted to hear his voice, one more time. All she needed was one phone call to him.
It wasn’t like he really cared about her.
“No. I didn’t block him. I changed my number.”
“Good for you,” Alexis said. “Wait. So he’s the reason you changed your number?”
Arabia nodded, embarrassment washing over her all over again.
Tamara grunted again. “Mmph. You let that hoodlum disrupt your whole damn life. And why isn’t his black ass in jail? You reported it to the police, didn’t you?”
The look on Arabia’s face said it all.
“Arabia!” Tamara and Alexis shouted.
“What the hell, girl?” Tamara questioned. “Are you serious?”
Alexis shook her head, utterly baffled.
“I did report it. I just didn’t mention his name.” Of course, there hadn’t been any police called. How could she call them without implicating herself? She’d been the one driving—the shooter, no less—in her car. Oh God—her car. She wanted to scream. Her once beautiful luxury car destroyed, now a thing of the past, dragged off to some chop shop. Thanks to . . .him.
Tamara drained her tea. “Okay. Someone tell me why the hell we’re sitting here drinking tea? I need me a bottle of wine. This bitch has officially lost her mind.”
Maya gave her an icy glare. “Tamara, shut the hell up. Before I spill the tea on your ass. Okay? Because you and I both know some of the crazy shit you’ve done.” She tilted her head. “Now don’t we?”
Tamara shot her a scathing look of her own, a warning to keep her mouth shut.
“No. I’m not going to put your business out there like that,” Maya assured her. She was the sister they all confided in, trusting her with their deepest, dirtiest secrets. “But don’t go throwing stones at Arabia, either. Your glass house isn’t all that perfect.”
Arabia blinked. But before she could open her mouth to question, to probe further, Maya took her hand in hers, and said, “Look at me, Arabia.” Arabia looked at her sister, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer truthfully. But before you do. I want you to ignore Tamara and Alexis. Fuck them. This is you and I talking.” Arabia nodded. And then Maya eyed Tamara and Alexis. “And you two don’t say shit. Or I swear I will drag the both of you.”
Tamara flinched, her stare glacial.
Alexis threw her hands up. “I’m done.”
“Good. Now tell me, Arabia. Do you love him?”
Arabia choked back another sob. The question hit her hard. It hit her in the chest and nearly snatched her breath away.
She needed to see him, one last time. She didn’t want to keep fantasizing about, yearning for, what could have been. But it was over. She knew it. But she couldn’t go on lying to herself, even if he didn’t love her back. She needed to be free to live in her own truth. And the truth was, she didn’t want to breathe—without him.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Maya stared at her, hard. Then a smile hovered on her lips. “Then go to him.”
Arabia blinked, surprised, her tears falling heavy now.
“You heard me. Go get your man.”