- #HurtBae reference (for OSF readers who don’t follow me on Twitter). This excerpt is for our relationship Ch.8.
- >MY PODCAST SEGMENT ON #HURTBAE and how to deal to go here<
- Since my sequel and finale has been ready for over 5 years and I just haven’t published them yet, until then and as promised, I decided to go on and drop this excerpt (end of Chapter 5 through 6) from the sequel / book 2 “Angie Situation (Naivete)” of my Angie Situation 3-book series: (Innocence, Naivete, Sophistication) . Book 1 “Angie Situation (Innocence)” is published and available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble etc.
- BONUS– for those who’ve read all mentioned in #3 (end of chapter 5 through 6): On the next page (located at the very bottom of this page-chps 5 through 6 excerpt) I went on and posted the rewind (chapters 1 through 5) as, #HurtBae situations have more than one side. Men that #HurtBae #HurtBae often times experience being #HurtBae, too…And at a stage of naivete, no woman makes good choices in men any more than she makes the best choices for herself (neither). But we’ve ALLLLLL gotta grow through it. #HurtBe men and #HurtBae women. Hurt people, hurt people.. And the cycle goes on and on until…
“Kris hated Nayba since that. I looked back down at Kris and together; in unison, we looked at Nayba like she was out of her mind, having the nerve to come knocking at my door with this jaw-dropper and heart stopper.
Kris knew all things Pucker and me-so she was pissed. Through my scorn she yelled at Nayba: “And then you’re talking about getting money from him and going out to eat? Is that all? Girl he doesn’t want you for anything! He’s not going to feed you and take you anywhere! You’ll do good if he takes you to McDonald’s! He doesn’t know you! Child please! You sound like a fool! You sound stupid as hell!” said Kris.
Nayba was at a loss for words. She stood there for a minute waiting to see what, if anything I had to add. I refused to offer her anything-and especially my hurt and upset. My “pretend to not care” look was enough to send her back out of my door.
Nayba was known to return the attention of many-a-guy who turned the spotlight on her. She had no more loyalty to me as a friend of any kind, than she was in the know that I was in love with this man. But I sure as hell was not going to give her the pleasure of watching me bawl and squirm for her ego or for a conversation piece for she and Pucker over a McDonald’s Happy Meal and bus fare to ride home.
When she exited the door, Kris and I just stood there talking about what a whore she was anyway. I was too shocked, hurt and upset to even bawl or cry to Kris. While she kept spewing her venom at the ghost of Nayba, I continued to braid, stitch and weave her hair with my brows turned so far in, that each stitch nearly weaved my brows into a permanent angry frown.
I when I spoke to Pucker that evening, I did not mention what Nayba had told me, instead, I was waiting on some type of sign that he never gave up. He was talking and acting so normal that I almost wanted to believe that Nayba was lying or hallucinating and this whole thing was just a bad dream. I did not know who to believe, but I refused to react to either one of them-so I could only believe what time would reveal.
I could hardly get through my busy schedule and full-day that next day, from calculating the time he was due to pick her up, and what could be happening from that time until the time I could watch her come in, through my peek-hole of my door to hers.
I watched her walk to her door-looking angry as hell.
My left eye peeking through that hole and looking at her body language told me he damned sure as hell didn’t fuck her, because she sure as hell would have had much more of a pep in her step than that. I knew better.
(I giggled some more).
When she walked into the door and closed it, I waited a few minutes to allow her to get situated and then I boldly went over to knock on her door to get from her-the results of the story she so boldly knocked on my door, the previous day, the give to me.
She opened up and let me in. She was dry and moody as hell. Inside my mind, I giggled some more. I didn’t give a fuck about her feelings at this point. I cut the tension, and her ill-attempted and folded intention with an annoying, enthusiastic “I Told You So-You Idiot!” –like sharp knife:
“Hey! What’s up? How’d your day go?” I jabbed, sounding as if I was apart of the setup of her letdown tonight.
“It was alright, I got so much homework and stuff to do-I’m probably going to be up all night trying to finish,” she said, as if school was the only part of her day and evening.
I let her off the hook and pulled back my knife.
She was obviously pissed off and did not want to be bothered-at all. Good. That was all the conversation I really needed from her anyways. Her body language and sadness told me everything I needed to know. She gave herself away. All that happened and all that did not happen. Because if things had gone as planned and as her mind had fantasized about the previous night that she had the audacity to reveal to me; she would have gladly been floating on air, in spirit and conversation because that was her style. But tonight she was left high and dry. To add insult to her fantasy, I was sure she was probably hungry like Kris said she would be.
As I opened the door to let myself out, I shut it and giggled inside of my mind again. I turned to her and squinted my eyes, smirked, and thought to myself: “bitch, do you know how much I love this motherfucker? That’s what the fuck you get! He only wants to use you to tell him what I don’t tell him about Slip and me, since you are in position to see it all!”
I pulled the door shut for her.
Though she played her part and played her self, I still had yet to pick at Pucker about it-because I could only assume why he would hurt me like that during the middle of trying hard to win me over, the way he had been doing.
I called Pucker’s right-hand man, to find out what had actually gone down. He told me that they all treated her like the slut that she was and that she had let everybody take turns with her. At school and in the neighborhood, that was always the rumor about her, so, I had to believe it. Right Hand Man and Pucker’s crew were from the suburbs, attended a totally different school and associated with an altogether different group of people than our social circle, so I knew that Right Hand Man was telling the truth.
“Was Pucker involved? Tell me the truth. What did he do?” I asked him.
“No, Angie, foreal. He did not touch her-neither did I, but he was there. We all were there. Actually, this was supposed to go down a long time ago. Slip didn’t tell you? He knew about it too,” Right Hand Man said.
I declined to respond to that because I didn’t know if Right Hand Man threw that in for shock value, in defense of his friend Pucker to find out if I was still with Slip too. For all I knew, he threw it out there in hopes that I would ask if Slip, too, was apart of this thing-just to see if I cared for him like I loved Pucker so that he could report it to Pucker. Though he liked me and cared for my feelings where Pucker was concerned, the fact still remains, he’s still friends with Pucker-first.
He tried it again:
“Yeah, Slip knew about it a while ago but then came you and him; that whole episode-and I never knew what became of it, but then it resurfaced somehow. Your girl Nayba agreed a long time ago-way back before you and Slip took up with each other and he and Pucker stopped speaking. Slip never told you that-I guess,” he reiterated.
I still did not reply to that-I refused to.
I cared about no body and no thing but that fact that Pucker did not fuck her. As much as I loved him and loved fucking him; that would have made me leave him-for good.
Still a bit confused, but feeling like I still did not have the right to question Pucker about it after what I had put him through with Slip, I was hoping that the worst of Pucker’s worst was over after this scare. I was hoping that after this-he would consider us even, but I was in for a rude awakening.
Right after that mess, it seemed like Pucker slowly started to grow horns at the top of his head. He began to drive me crazy and play all sorts of mind games with me every waking moment of the day. During conversations, he would often bite down on his teeth and was rude and mean to me-fists balled up and pointing in my face talking to me like some elementary schoolyard bully.
It seemed liked he worked a perfect plan to get me to all wrapped up into him again to weed Slip out of my life and then drop bombs on me-nonstop, from the very moment that Slip graduated and headed straight off to the military. Pucker instantly turned insensitive and dropped grenades in my mind and heart on a daily basis. I could not keep up with this battle, and was in such a state of shock from being caught off-guard by all this, so all of a sudden, that I did not have it in me to fight back.
He treated me as if I owed it to him to allow him this kind of power over me, considering the fact that I embarrassed him in front of all his friends, he lost one-permanently and yet all of his friends still saw me as the victim-talked to and handled me with kid-gloves. And at times, would disrespect him in front of me if he tried to control me in front of them.
He had no power and no control over anything except whenever we were alone together.
He wanted payback, and it seemed like everyday, he was thinking of a way to be compensated commensurate to what I put him through.
The only time I could get any sensitivity from him was when I would make love to him. He would get weak and we would melt into one another like we would always do, but then his already awkward love-making style would get more awkward, because he would burst into a violent and aggressive thrusting rhythm in an effort to seem uncaring and heartless.
He turned cold and selfish in every way.
There was nothing short of letting him have his way with me, that I could do to get him back to the old “him” with me or “us.”
He had gotten to the point that he barely wanted to hear my voice unless I was giving him phone sex or having sex with him. With that being the case, I would make love to him so methodically and with so much concentration that, in my mind; I felt it would remedy and reverse everything hurtful. I would be apologizing and begging for him to stop mistreating me. He would even tell me that he would stop hurting me-in spurts (small spurts), but immediately after it was over, he would turn to me with what began to seem like horns on his head. And it was back to [what was now] our same damned thing.
Although I would not be graduating with my friends at the artsy school I had attended from fourth through tenth grade; we all would still be graduating the same year, but just, in spirit. I missed my friends there. Graduation was special because my besties and bff’s that didn’t begin with us in fourth grade; started with us in fifth grade and we fancied our feat: “survivors.” Graduation was considered that mountain-top, and to think-we not only watched one another grow since fourth and fifth grade straight through to twelfth grade all confined in one facility; but we did it all together. We walked the same halls-year after year, through all the: braces, blemishes and bifocals-growing taller and expanding our horizons. We had that connection.
I disconnected, but I accepted and embraced my transition the same way I accepted and embraced my consequences and considered it a minor setback.
Then awesome happened.
I accomplished my “get a life” workout plan with flying colors. I succeeded at passing night school in the spring, and as well-summer school, with all the credits required to enter my senior year which would enable me to graduate on time.
Regardless, because of my accomplishment, my spirits were high and calm, but sprinkled with a dash of anxiety about what I was about to embark upon: a new, neighborhood high school-that threw me. It was a complete culture shock to me and knew it was going to take a lot of getting used to. Because just like the continuity of being confined from fourth through to twelfth grade at the artsy school, my peers here at this neighborhood school pretty much all attended the same neighborhood elementary school facility, then moved over to the same middle school facility, and now, over here at the same neighborhood high-school facility. And I was not apart of that transition, so, I stuck out like a sore thumb there. I knew it-they proved it.
Where I’d come from, our recreation and excitement was: attending the opera and the symphony. Creative arts and fine arts was our sport and consumed our spirits.
But at my new neighborhood school; it was sports that fueled the spirit of the school.
I had no idea what a pep-rally was until this particular day at the school, and was thrown into that lion’s den, feeling like a lamb being led to slaughter.
My TGGF was the only friend I had at the school, but we did not share the same lunch or homeroom. Our lil’ love-affair that we had since third-grade was one such that by the time we started liking boys around fourteen years-old or so, we began to call ourselves “besties” because we had a kind of fondness for one another that best friends really did have, despite the fact that we were loving all over one another from third grade until around eighth or ninth grade.
Throughout all my transfers and transitions, she and I remained inseparable no matter where in town I moved and no matter how many schools I transferred to-she was always there for me and never too far. Well, except for our senior year at this neighborhood school we both attended.
By this time, she was hot and heavy into a relationship with a guy a few years older than us and school was not much of a priority to her. If she did make it to school, it would be after lunch-time, because early mornings were never her bag. So, the morning that this pep-rally occurred, I already knew that she would not be amongst this shin dig.
When we were directed to the auditorium, I was completely alarmed and caught off-guard.
It looked and sounded as if a riot was about to start. I was startled. The only roaring sounds close to anything rallying I was used to were the sounds of some mad-raging future Amadeus’ or Gillespie’s on saxophone.
The school, the people, the activities, the rallying-everything, was far too much a culture shock for my psyche. I almost felt like I should have received some kind if itinerary or syllabus in the mail to tell me about all of these happenings-that did not happen.
In an instant, that made me hate that school even more.
My emotions were already delicate during this time and this atmosphere did nothing to ease it. You practically had to tip-toe on my emotions and in my surroundings-this scene was merciless and offered the antithesis of that.
Turned sideways, picking my nails-inattentive and uninterested while sitting at the edge of the bleacher in black thigh-high boots and black and white plaid Chanel skirt and jacket (courtesy of my TGGF) in the middle of this pep-rally with a gym full of screaming cheerleader and cheering; I had to keep giving myself pep-talks about how much I had accomplished to get to this very point. I couldn’t just come undone and fall apart right now. I had to keep reminding myself that if I were to graduate on time, these next nine months at this school was my last option.
Pucker had already graduated and would come to pick me up most afternoons during my lunch time or afterschool.
With Slip completely out of the triangle, having gone away to the military and my being at the new school; Pucker was about the closest thing to the familiarity of what was. So I clung to him, despite all the ways he was mistreating me by this time. I didn’t care. I just melted myself into it with him because I loved him, but also because he was that last thing familiar to what I was used to. Everything else was far away or far too new and way over my head. I needed him even more than I did before-when I was in love with him just because-when there no explainable reason. Now, I had a tangible reason to love him: I secretly began to need him by all means unnecessary…
Things really started to pick down and my self pep-rallies were more frequent, from having to endure making it through one class in particular where I was constantly heckled by a girl whom I had never seen a day in my life. She badgered me like it was a part of her homework assignment every Monday, Wednesday and Friday that I would have this “secretarial science” class.
Speaking of “secretarial science:” What the fuck is a “secretarial science?”
At every turn: the teachers, the curriculum, my schedule, the priorities and the atmosphere; this school was proving itself to be the complete antithesis of what I was used to. They prepared you for working in an office, complete with two smoke breaks and a thirty-minute lunch to be had in a lunchroom equipped with vending machines stocked with bad food, hard chairs and a hanging television looking down at you. Where I’d come from, we were being preparing to be on that lunchroom television during breaks and lunches or looking down at a crowd of people hanging with you for the night.
Considering the fact that I already stuck out like a sore thumb at this school and I had no friends there, I always remained quiet but friendly in passing. That was all I could do since pretty much eighty percent of the school all attended the same elementary school, middle school and now this neighborhood high-school together. They didn’t even know my name. For the ones who did address me, directly or indirectly or when they would talk around me or to one another I would only know they were referring to me by their use of: “the new girl,” “the new stuck up girl,” or “Miss Pretty.” I had no power outside of these three monikers.
I was: very stylish, very sexy and very pretty-period. That was my only “role” there-nothing like the soil that grew me that I had blossom from and now feeling reduced and wilted to.
They played their positions in: pep-rallies, football, basketball, volleyball etc.
I just played my position: stylish, sexy and pretty-period (as far as they knew-or even cared to know).
Unlike where I came from, talent or skill outside of basketball or football was unheard of and self-expression and individuality was unheard of.
I would observe.
And when I would, I would see in the atmosphere around me; a tightly closed fist. And in this fist, there were hundreds of people all stuffed and packed in-but comfortable, because that’s all they knew.
I would observe.
In contrast, where I’d come from; it was like an open fist with all five fingers visible. All five fingers representing various people, the four spaces in between the five fingers: freedom. Free to be themselves, free to dress how they wanted to dress, speak the way they wanted to speak or break out into song and dance if they wanted to. No one would laugh, stare or shun you-they would either: give audience, perform with you or join you, blending with you, their way-doing their own thing.
In that closed fist, everyone talked alike, acted alike, used the same slang and even dressed alike: in low as well as high-end multi-colored designer labeled sportswear digs down to the shoes and book bags.
Courtesy of my TGGF, I wore designer digs as well-however, black and whites or grays, natural or neutral colored high-ends. They all recognized Adrienne Vittadini, Chanel and Carol Little, suede and leather digs, so, I blended in. Thank God I had grown out of my pink high-top Converse and acrylic paint splattered clothes and such. My sore thumb identity would have been a broken one-indeed.
They had no idea that I was exceptionally, academically and creatively gifted.
They had no idea that I could sing and dance and act and write and draw and paint and sketch and sculpt. No idea.
I wondered if they had any idea about those things or how they were cultivated or whether they thought it just showed up on a lunchroom hanging television.
Funny thing is, if either one of them could sing or dance or act or write or draw or paint or sketch or sculpt; the school itself-the curriculum- did not go out of its way to let it be known, unlike where I had come from.
So, it turns out that I really was living a fairytale, fantasy and illusion up until this point in my life.
Because every year of my life up to this point, I had countless teachers take me under their wing and take special interest in me-during and afterschool, but not here. I could tell that the teachers who appeared to be interested were either afraid not to appear interested or at the most; were only “interested” until three o’clock and that damn the bell rang. No phone calls to their homes and long conversations with their parents and weekend excursions or personal one-on-one time with teachers who cared about them both personally and academically.
Uh-uh, none of that. This was a school of hard knocks of the unanswered kind: no knock at that door afterschool or during lunchtime by invitation.
I could tell most probably none of the students ever had that luxury before.
I would observe.
I could tell they felt that because they may have seen the teacher on a Saturday night picking up a Blockbuster movie and a box of Sno Caps, and because the teacher shot the breeze with them while waiting in line; they somehow felt that the teacher was cool or cared.
I could tell they felt that because they could see the teacher in the hallways and give then receive a high-five; that was enough for them to feel and say: “Mr. So-In-So is cool as hell!”
They somehow felt cared for, special, or some kindred kind of kinship over bullshit like that-as if that meant the teacher liked and cared for them-personally.
I observed that and I knew much better than that.
I knew what it was like to have a real mentor-all my life. And I did not seek, lure, or knock, or exhibit any exceptional way about me in search of what I had been used to.
Though I did not blend in, in order to find a happy emotional medium, I did roll with what was real life as it was for me now: no illusion and no fairytale as-was.
I accepted that like a big-girl, because the consequences by which I had to accept it; I never regretted and for life-loved wholeheartedly.
I accepted the fact that there would be no fame or living forever or learning how to fly.
At this school, there was no such thing as dreaming, or making plans to make it big.
“Fame? I’m gonna live forever? I’m gonna learn how to fly?”
What the hell?
They had no idea that there was such a song. To them, that song would sound real corny and “Tinker Bell-ish.”
Real-life for the majority of them was a lot like this school and the monotony after the eight hour day of it: go home, go to work (perhaps), chill out with a couple friends, get drunk, smoke a lil’ weed (maybe), get into some mischief-and five-finger discounting (possibly). Get up the next day: wash, rinse, dry cycle and repeat.
I eventually mimicked it, by not necessarily dumbing myself down; but rather, merely melting myself into the atmosphere, by accepting that my situation was no longer the fairytale and illusion that I lived-up through this particular time in my life.
I about-faced it all like a pro.
To cope and find the strength to move forward, I totally gave up on any thought about the “as-was,” because real life for me now, was “as-is.”
Make it through life and live?
Fame? Live forever?
Learn how to fly?
Why? What the hell, why try?
Just make it through this life with the cards that I am dealt, be happy and in it-just get to getting-whatever that “getting” may be.
Time to rock and roll…
I could not make it through that dreaded “Secretarial Science” class: forty-fives minutes of a three day-a-week, without Heckla calling me everything from a pro dick sucker to a bourgeois bitch that had no place in “her school.”
I did not need her help reminding me of that part, but I was growing ever-curious as to how she seemed to know, oh-so-well and without a doubt, that I sucked dick when I was only sucking one man’s dick-and that was Pucker’s. Like me, Pucker had no friends and knew of no one from this school. So I was baffled.
She would put me on blast from the back of the classroom so much, and with such certainty; that the only thing I could conclude was that she saw me giving him head during one of my lunch breaks out with him.
He would bring me lunch and his usual constant sexual urges on a platter.
We would pull over at a certain spot nearby so he could fuck me like some fiendish sexually deprived mad-man and as if his day wouldn’t be complete until he got his fix.
I’d deal by straddling him carefully; leaning back very stylish, very pretty, and very sexy, all in an effort to make it back to school-in one piece-that way.
He had pitch-black tinted windows, and any sucking and fucking going on was always done in the back seat with the car facing obscurity-no possible hecklers. So, my question in my mind regarding Heckla was: where in the hell could she have been during our one hour sessions that she was so able to entertain the back of the classroom with kind of certainty about whose dick I was sucking and how well I sucked it.
I would just ignore her, although it bothered me. She heckled me so much that I ignored her with the same force-so much so that after a while, it was no longer as entertaining to her backroom audience. It used to be entertaining to them all when I used to look back into the crowds laughter, but after a while, when my being embarrassed and shocked wore off; I quit turning around to peek back there.
When I discovered that her biggest joke that she would spew: “Hey pretty girl! Hey Miss Pretty! You think maybe I can borrow your mouth to sneak in between me and my man and suck his dick like I heard you could. Maybe I could keep my man a fiend too; addicted to fucking me then sticking his dick in my mouth. Oops I mean-your mouth! I heard you were that good. That’s how it all goes down!” she would whisper aloud.
All of her friends in the back room would laugh.
Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for nearly the whole forty-five minutes, she would find creative ways to spew the same rhetoric to her friends in the back of the classroom.
She had no more to offer outside of how good a dick sucker I was. But considering the fact that she did not have a dick or an actual story to support her jokes; I ignored her power away until it dwindled down to true lies. That made my Monday, Wednesday and Friday more bearable at that school when I got over that hump. That, and the fact that I had made friends with a girl named Kandy. She was popular-and everyone knew her and respected her although it was rumored that she was a twenty year-old who had many cracks at trying to be a graduating senior at a few high schools. In passing, she and I would have small talk, and the days that Pucker would pick me up from school rather than come at lunch time; I would have lunch with her or another friend named Posh that I made friends with in a bookkeeping class.
But before I would give any time to either one of them at lunch, they knew that they could find me standing near the front of the school snuggled up on the pay phone talking to Pucker with either a smile on my face and my finger in my mouth grinning like the high-school girl that I was, or needing the support and holding up from standing there with my elbows onto the phone booth’s silver shelf; hands on my forehead-crying from Pucker screaming in my ear and fucking with my head. Other times he was having post-traumatic stress attacks trying to slip something in about Slip. He always hated me for what I did with Slip and I could always tell that he longed for a play-by-play of all that Slip and I did with him with the time we shared. But his pride could never bring him to asking me-and me, being the passive aggressive-submissive that I was to him; I would never make it easy for him and initiate the conversation about it. And when he would try and force it out of me by initiating an argument about it, in hopes of soliciting dialogue about it, I would go mute on him, and like clockwork he would growl like a mad-man.
With Slip gone, my only power over Pucker was the torment in his mind about never knowing if I was still seeing Slip and talking to Slip. Unlike Pucker, Slip could hold his own and stature, height and way just spelled: “I get pussy and I don’t need to brag about it to my boys.” Slip loved me and respected me and wanted to win-so-I never had to worry about what we had or shared being in the minds and hands of Pucker or their friends.
During one of our conversations on the phone one day, while Pucker was having one of his post-traumatic Slip attacks and yelling into the phone at me; Kandy happened to be standing nearby and heard me call out his name. She slapped me on the arm:
“I know Pucker! I know him!” she whisper-yelled.
“Let me speak to him! That’s my boy!” she yelled out.
My eyes began to blink really fast from trying to process his yells and grunts in one ear and listening to her asking to speak to him in the other ear.
I wanted to see about this about as much as I wanted him out of my ear and in my head at that moment.
I knew that she had attended several public high-schools around town for a few years, on a quest for trying to nail down: how to be a senior.
I knew that Pucker had attended the public high school closest to the suburb he was raised in, so I had to assume that she knew him from that high-school.
I shoved the phone in her hand and broke Pucker’s attack.
They talked for a minute while I stood there analyzing the excitement in her voice; trying to decipher whether or not it was one of friendship or something more than that. I could not tell-it sound like a little bit of both, wrapped with a little bit of reminiscent nostalgia in her face and body language. I didn’t worry too much, because she could barely speak in complete sentences and seemed to be the “everybody’s home girl” type of girl.
She handed the phone back to me:
“That broad is over there now! She’s about twenty-five/thirty years old and shit!”
I laughed-but didn’t respond.
“I <em>know </em>you don’t hang with her? How’d that happen?” he asked.
I looked over at Kandy and replied into the phone:
“She’s really nice to me. She introduced herself to me one morning while I was sitting in front of my homeroom-so in passing, we would talk. That’s how we met,” I replied.
“Listen to her-yelling. I hear her!” he laughed- listening to her yell out to someone in passing.
“That’s why she can’t graduate now. She doesn’t know how to stop running her loud mouth! She’s cool and all-but she aint got nothing on her mind-at all!” he laughed.
I felt good that this girl interrupted one of his many psychotic post-traumatic Slip disorder attacks that he was having on me-in my ear.
I used the moment to exit the conversation with him.
“I didn’t know you knew Pucker.”
“That’s my boy.”
“That’s your boyfriend? “
“Are y’all kickin’ it?”
“He’s not with Soccer anymore?”
“How long have you been with him?”
…she had a laundry-list of questions while we were walking down the hallway.
I ignored them all and answered one question for her:
“That’s my dude,” I said, looking here straight in the eyes with a soft smile on my face (for her). But in my mind, I was saying: “girl you have no idea what I’m going through with him.”
I gave her a nod then looked at my watch:
“I’ll talk to you later if I run into you-alrighty?’ I said.
“Alright, then Angie,” she answered back.
Outside of our being acquainted with one another in school, we had nothing else in common.
We did not have one another’s phone number or hang out afterschool. And I certainly wasn’t interested in taking our acquaintance to another level by discussing Pucker with her. After all, regardless the fact that Pucker was an old friend of hers, the main fact was that I was in love with him.
Later that night after he and Right Hand Man came from attending a football game; Pucker came to see me. He was looking good, wearing: a white sweatshirt, blue jeans and a new pair of Nike sneakers.
I already knew that he would make his way over that evening, because if I did not see him at lunch or afterschool, he would go out of his way to make his way to me before I would sleep at night.-as if somehow, this fixing would be what it would take to ease his mind that there was no one else but him inside or around me-ever.
Taking into consideration, the fact that I had hurt him so-with Slip-and still carried on with Slip while he still loved and stayed with me; all the while I secretly dared him to fight, complain or ask any questions about me and Slip back then. After Slips career departure-in return-I never complained or fought with whatever Pucker would yell and scream about while on the phone, nor would I fight or complain about when and wherever he wanted it. Ever since my slip with Slip, and especially now that Slip was gone away; I never felt like I had any right to disagree with anything Pucker suggested or demanded. Although part of me was growing weary with this power struggle, because I loved him, I wanted so badly for him to get his manhood back. And because I knew that despite of what I did to Pucker, all his friends still handled me with kid-gloves, but made it a habit of disrespecting him right in front of me. He couldn’t win with me-he couldn’t win with them. So I let him score this night-right in front of Right Hand Man while he drove around the city-pretending to not know what was going on, while turning the music up a higher octave over each of my screams of passion and pleasure from Pucker’s back seat while Pucker performed for what seemed like hours…
That next day at school, during before and during homeroom, I was told by several other students that Kandy was flying from floor to floor looking for me. I caught up with her around first bell to find out what it was she wanted. She couldn’t wait to tell me something deep. I could tell by the way she sat at the edge of her seat and her hanging from the shoulder where a book bag filled with books should have been. She kept holding her index finger up to signal me to hang-on, while using that same finger to point at her neck while smiling and laughing. She was excited as hell and could <em>wait</em> until that bell rang.
Finally-it rang. She ran straight out and into to me to show me a big bright red and purple swollen hickey on her neck that she said Pucker had given her.
“How and <em>when</em> did that happen?” I asked her-trying to look unaffected by remaining calm and poised.
“He came over to my house last night!” she yelled, with a smile on her face.
Immediately I thought she was a crazy liar, because he was with me-performing-for what seemed like hours, after leaving the football game that he and Right Hand Man attended.
“Hmm. What did he have on Kandy, and what time was it?” I questioned her.
She picked an hour that could very well have been correct because it was around the time he should’ve been at the football game that he <em>told</em> me he and Right Hand Man had gone to.
“What did he have on Kandy?” I asked.
“He had on a fresh-running pants outfit: jogging pants, a white t-shirt and a running jacket that matched the pants!” she yelled loudly-trying hard to prove to me that my dude was no good.
The outfit she said he had on was way different than what he had on when he had come to see me.
Though I knew the description of the outfit did not match with what I knew he had on when he came to see me; I knew that she was not lying either. I knew that somehow and some time in that night before coming to see me-she indeed saw him.
I could not hold my composure any more than I could bring myself to ask her what, if anything, had happened that brought about that hickey on her neck.
I don’t know about where she came from, but where I come from; we didn’t necessarily go chasing girls down to show them hickey marks on our necks-given by guys we knew they were going steady with.
I could not wait to talk to him. I was livid. The questions that refused to ask her began to pile up in my head and pushed water to my eyes.
She lowered her big smile:
“My bad Angie,” she said to me-with both of her hands covering both sides of her neck.
I refused to give her the satisfaction of asking her any questions about what happened with she and Pucker. I left her standing there staring at me like she wished she was in my shoes that I used to walk away from her-at that moment.
I couldn’t reach Pucker in the afternoon during lunch, so there were no plans for picking me up afterschool. His being missing in action the next day after this scandal almost seemed like it was apart of some plan of his. The end of the school day couldn’t get here soon enough for me. It was a good thing that Kandy delivered this news to me on a Tuesday or Thursday morning, rather than on a Monday, Wednesday or Friday-that I’d have that class with my heckler because she would have caught the vapors from me that day-for sure.
Later that night however, Pucker caught it, when I caught up with him the moment he finally answered his phone:
“Why?” Why would you make love to me the same night that you were with someone else, and why <em>her</em> Pucker? All that shit you talked about. I thought you were so disgusted by her type!”
Feeling like he was getting some of his power back, rather than shocked and caught by surprise, he sounded rather happy that he was able to get such a rise out of me. He began to give me a play-by-play of his entire day through to the time he had come to play with me.
When he proceeded to question me about what she said he had on, I knew then that his play-by-play was not fully true. His concern for her reporting to me what he wore was so irrelevant, that I knew he purposely changed clothes to confuse me, but discredit her story that he knew her loud mouth would be delivering to me.
The entire time he was talking to me, I sat on the phone crying my heart out-without saying a word while he continuously asked me if I believed him and that he did not sleep with her.
As I listened on to his version of the night with her version of the night, I could tell that, like I thought, the hickey put on her neck was by way of him. That angered me. Listening on, I could tell however, that there was no football game attended but he did indeed change clothes just to confuse me-knowing that she would report some evidence to me to further confuse me and leave me with a thousand questions in my mind as to whether or not he fucked her. Little did he know, as I listened on and assessed it all; I had been with him for long enough to know that the length of time he fucked me; he didn’t have enough stamina and endurance to have fucked her and then fuck me that way or as long as he did anyways-no matter how much my sitting there feeling sorry for myself was giving me comfort. After a while, after reaching my conclusion; my tears eventually became a mere performance for him and his ego and power that he was so methodically trying hard to get back from me-by any means necessary.
So, that night-he played himself, I just played into it (for him) just like I found myself always doing, since Slip.
I knew that all I had to do was put in a phone call to Right Hand Man and without hesitation; he would definitely give me the full details of what did and did not occur that night-something I needed to know, to soothe my heart:
“So what happened last night Right Hand Man, how’d that go down?” I asked him.
He told me that he and Pucker stopped by Kandy’s house. They did what the norm was in this real life that opposite my illusion and fairytale life that I once lived in: “smoked a lil’ weed, drank on something and chilled out for a lil’ while,” and getting caught up on who was doing what since Kandy had left that particular school she had attended with both Pucker and Right Hand Man (who proceeded to tell the rest of all that Pucker neglected to mention in his play-by-play):
“So, Kandy was tossing ‘em back-talking all loud and shit, like she always does. Then all of a sudden, she came over to Pucker and sat on his lap-rubbing all on his chest and said some shit like: ‘<em>I always wanted you so bad Pucker, but Soccer was always in the way at school! Give me some of that dick.</em>’”
My eyes stretched. My mouth stretched wider. I listened on:
“He was letting her rub, you know-on his shit right? Then he started grabbing her and asking her how bad did she want it. She started begging him to fuck her. So then he started sucking on her neck and making her hot and shit-you know. Then, she started pleading for him to fuck her,” explained Right Hand Man.
My open mouth dropped. My heart was palpitating:
“Pucker was laughing and getting a kick out of it Angie. He’s not attracted to her like that. It was funny to watch her beg. He was laughing. She was begging. We were both laughing. She then got up and started pulling him back towards the bedroom. He was pulling back away from her. It looked liked they were playing tug-of-war and shit, that was a pretty funny sight,” laughed Right Hand Man.
“Wow,” I said.
“So then Pucker was like: ‘Nah, we’ll have to hook up another time, alright-I really have to go right now though</em>.’ So, we started heading to the door while she was still begging him! That shit was crazy as hell! Pucker slipped out the door with the quickness and I slid out behind him. We were laughing because she was in the window-sill…still begging while we were outside going to the car! It was crazy,” he laughed.
I was speechless.
Right Hand Man kept laughing; enjoying telling me this story that hurt but spared my heart at the same time. He added:
“What was funny was that, while she was begging from out the window, Pucker looked up and started singing like: ‘<em>You’re not worthy. You’re not worthy. You’re not worthy. You’ re not worthy of this dick!’ We started laughing. And Kandy yelled down and said: ‘<em>what did you say?</em>’ Pucker laughed and got in the car. We drove off, and that was it. Then that’s when we came over to your house…” he finished.
I still wanted to know about the whole “Change of Clothes Whodini” act:
“So what was with the change of clothes? What was all that for, if he didn’t fuck her? I mean, what is all of this for-the shit he does and tries to prove by being this way to me. The mind games and shit? It’s always so much effort put into it on his part. It’s crazy, “ I said.
“Well, for starters, truth be told, he hasn’t been to right since that shit you pulled with Slip. And I think he feels like he’s got something to prove to us, since you hurt him like that-in front of us. That caught him off-guard. He never expected that from. I don’t he’ll ever get over that. He hasn’t spoken about or to Slip since that day. Not even when Slip left for the military.”
He paused, waiting to see if I had anything to offer that he could go back and report to Pucker. I did not offer him anything to report. Instead, I said asked (again):
“So what was with the change of clothes? What was all that for- if he didn’t fuck Kandy?”
“What he had on when he came to your house was something that he had in the trunk of his car in a gym bag. He pulled to the end of her street and changed into them because he said something about Kandy hanging around you at school, and if she tried to tell you anything to upset you-he wanted to prove her all wrong-that was all,” explained Right Hand Man.
I had to believe Right Hand Man’s play-by-play over Pucker’s play-by-play. He did not have enough respect for Pucker’s relationship style (or his manhood for that matter) to even consider telling me a lie about what really happened. He wasn’t concerned about whether or not I was going to playback the play-by-play to Pucker, either.
Right Hand Man had been sweet on one of my girlfriends as well, so, with that desire unfulfilled as yet, it was looking more and more like Pucker’s right hand man would slowly be turning to my right hand man; playing Pucker to the left-at least up and until he could get both of his hands on my friend.
Meanwhile, I allowed Pucker to talk to me until I fell asleep; still allowing him to keep his ego and power in tact, by letting him think that he still had one up over my hurt heart. Because as far as he knew, I was still hurt, confused, unaware and lied to about what had really gone down last night at Kandy’s house.
When Wednesday came, and Kandy showed up before homeroom, snooping around me, trying to check my pulse to see what, if anything I knew:
“Hi Angie, how are you today girl,” she half-smiled feeling uncomfortable.
“I’m good, just a lil’ tired-is all,” I replied.
“You work afterschool Angie?” she asked, just trying to be nosey.
With a straight face, devoid of any emotion-I replied to her in a tone of voice and language that she would surely understand:
“Yeah, I do. This week however, I am off until the weekend. So Monday night and last night, Pucker has been working me overtime. That dick is <em>awesome,</em> girl,” I said-like it was some delicacy that she couldn’t afford.
She tried to hold on to her half-smile that was replaced with an envious smirk, looking like she would kill to have a bite.
She stood there tapping her foot with her hands in her back pockets:
“How long have you been fucking around with Pucker?” she inquired.
“Fuck around?” I looked at her as if she had two heads:
“I don’t just ‘fuck around’ with Pucker. I told you that he was my dude. We’ve been doing a lot more than ‘fucking around’ for a little over a year now, Kandy.”
I smirked then smiled back at her-to make her feel like it was Pucker who told me about [what didn’t get to happen] two nights previous. If only she knew, he did not have the balls to tell me-but rather, set it up just enough so that whatever would be told to me; would be just enough to play with my head and my heart.
She just stood there-looking down at my shoes that she wished she could be in, having no idea what I had been going through with Pucker while trying to stay sane.
I cut her off at the knees-right where she stood and let her watch me walk away.
That afternoon, she boldly made her way to the front hall of the school, to see if one of the phone booths would be occupied by Yours Truly.
Surprise! It was.
I turned around with the phone in my hand and stared at her as she walked by. She took it a step further by rolling her eyes at me.
I raised my brow and giggled into the phone as if I was laughing at her; making her think that Pucker and I were laughing about her, when alls we were really doing was making plans for him to pick me up afterschool.
Wednesdays and Fridays where the days I would have an extra three to four hours before having to be back home.
We went and grabbed a bite to eat and Pucker pulled out and onto the streets like he had some place to go in a hurry and was running late.
“Why are you driving like that?” I asked.
“ ‘Cause I have to get somewhere shortly and I lost track of time,” he said.
“Oh, okay, are you taking me home?” I asked.
He slowed down and looked over at me kind of alarmed:
“No, I actually thought you were coming with me,” he said.
I would go to the moon and back with Pucker by this time.
My heart smiled and then my mouth and eyes smiled at him as I said naively:
“Ohhhh. Okay. Whatever then,” I blushed, naively.
He smiled back at me:
“Angie, you are so damned cute…” he said, as if there was more to say behind it-like I had no idea of what was to come.
“Oh, thanks, for noticing,” I laughed and replied.
“Nah, I just hate looking at you sometimes, it’s just a trip,” he said.
I didn’t reply.
A short time after, I looked up and we were pulling into Right Hand Man’s driveway.
Right Hand Man opened the door to let us in.
“Took you long enough!” he said to Pucker.
I yanked Pucker’s hand and pulled him down to my face:
“He knew we were coming over here?” I asked.
“Yeah, I mean-I needed to spend some time with you, I miss you man. He just needed to let me in so he could go run some errands with his sister. You know he’s got his own section of the house right?”explained Pucker.
“Yeah, but-I mean, I guess,” I mumbled.
I was getting comfy cozy on the couch, watching a little television while Pucker was rubbing, kissing, biting and massing all over my body and digging down in my crouch as if he was looking for a pot of gold-slurping and puckering his lips like this was the meal of the day he had been waiting on.
All of a sudden, he started grabbing his dick-anxiously-as if he was trying to hold back for a reason, but was about to burst.
I sat up straight, pulled my skirt back down and crossed my legs; watching him run up and down the steps.
The first trip: a soda for me.
The second trip: a soda for him.
Third trip: no reason.
He started getting very nervous and antsy.
Then, as if we were hiding from someone, he whispered: “Come here! Come here Angie!”
I made my way over to the side of the room where the loveseat was positioned.
“What’s going on?” I whispered.
“Nothing! I’m just-grrrrr…” he growled, as if he was in a tight and about to piss his pants.
He began to sink his teeth all around my neck-panting-hard.
I was so in love with Pucker that the minute he would touch me with his mouth or his hands, I would tear up. It was fireworks-always-in a matter of seconds.
He then put his teeth in my neck and started caressing my breasts back and forth really fast-like I liked. I began to get very aroused.
I knew what he wanted me to do and I was mainly worried about whose eyes were watching this time. Everything that had occurred up to this very point seemed to be a setting for a scene and in the back of my mind, I knew that I was the star and Pucker was the supporting actor in this. At this point, I didn’t even care. Every degrading thing he made me do, I felt like I owed it to him because of what I did with Slip. Anything that he wanted me to do in order to put his ego back in place in the eyes of anyone who I stole it from-in front of; I was willing to do. All without voicing to him that I knew what he was doing, so that I wouldn’t lead him to think that I was okay with it-because I was not. Not all. I figured that with enough notches under his belt, eventually everything would be back to what was at least normal before I hurt him and besides, I knew that all of the eyes watching him fuck me had already seen me naked on the photograph-legs wide open. I just knew it. I knew all those eyes were the very same eyes watching from the passenger side and back seat of Puckers car that same fateful day that he pulled up on Slip and me and got his heartbroken in a million little pieces. I knew it. Though I couldn’t see the people under the stairs, I just knew they were there, so, I didn’t let the matter-matter.
When he undressed me, he positioned me in a way that I knew-for sure-I was being watched.
He kept instructing me: <em>“No come here, come right here, over here a little bit more, bend over, open your legs, show me how you play with it on the phone,”</em> all kinds of instructions.
I lay there on my back and opened my legs for him and began to knead my swollen pussy for him while playing with my clit-watching it and him swell up with every moan. He sat up on his knees in front of me with his dick in his hand while he slurped and slithered like a dirty old man jacking off to a girly magazine-trying hard not to jab himself into me so that his friends watching to the left of us and standing on stairs of this attack bedroom-could enjoy the show.
“Angie this pussy you got is so damned good,” he whispered, while he continued to stroke himself slowly and wiping the tip of his dick back and forth across my clit.
“You know it too-don’t you?”
I did not respond.
He wiped faster and shoved himself into me:
“Tell me you love this dick why don’t you!” he demanded.
I withheld my response, turned my head to the right and tightened my lips like a kid being force-fed broccoli.
“You call yourself not scared to take this dick? Huh!” he yelled.
I gasped and let it out:
“No, no!” I moaned helplessly.
“I love this dick, I do. Just-fuck me, just fuck me,” I said-desperately, wanting him to hurry.
He threw my knees back to my chest and my legs over my shoulders and began to fuck me senseless while grunting and growling like some rabid animal trying hard not to let his lil’ friends hear him break into to any form of submission of pleasure or emotion whatsoever. All I could hear was Slip’s voice in my head loud and clear from that conversation we had one day: “Number Three, what do you need with an asshole like that who would show his circle of friends his girl’s goodies and then demonstrate how you be fucking him and what you be crying out to him when he’s fucking you. What do you need a man like that for?”
I twisted my legs like a pretzel and wrapped my arms around the backs of my knees and buried my entire face there to allow me enough air to breathe; to block any possible view of my face from the left side of the room.
I buried myself there in tears and moaning, hurt from knowing that I was being watched, while at the same time, moaning with pleasure; the same normal tears of pleasure that I would shed even when we would make love (in private).
Pucker was beneath me-with full access to the bottom of me-all he could see was my pussy and himself going in and out of it as he grabbed my ass from the bottom like he was holding a sweet bowl of cherries; pounding away like a mad-man.
“Turn around!” he whispered, while he rose up off of me some-in a heated rush with his dick still stuck inside of me and panting like an animal in heat.
I threw my right leg over in front of him to carefully turn over without having him pull all the way out of me. I could tell by the way he was holding me-like he was holding me captive-that he was hoping he could prove that I had talent and he would not have to fully pull out of me.
I did well.
He wanted to prove all the things we did-all the things I’d say:
“Why aren’t you telling me that you love me!” he yelled, while thrusting me senseless as I lay there arched with my whole upper body lying flat; giving him full access to hurry up and finish this show.
He was fucking the shit out of me and it was driving me crazy-it was feeling so good. I started to lose control the way I normally would whenever we would be alone:
“I love you! I love you! I do. Just fuck me! Fuck me harder!” I yelled-repeatedly and louder-knowing that it would make him cum faster while thrusting back into him with my legs wrapped around him; thrusting up and down on his dick and pushing him back onto his knees to put him fully out of control.
My mind wouldn’t allow me to let the eyes I felt to the right of me, hear him drive me this wild and have me this aroused, like in private. I just couldn’t do it.
The fuck was frustrating for me. Because no matter what, when, where or how. I loved fucking Pucker above and beyond anything else. But I had to shut him down in order to shut me up.
I thrust and pushed him back so hard that he sat up and on the back of his legs and gripped my ass tight like a pair of handle bars.
I wrapped and gripped my legs around him from the back like a human octopus and fucked him tight, slow, deep and senseless-with the force and two-hundred miles per hour winds forcing its way through a sliding balcony door being repeatedly opened and closed tight shut.
It was him losing, and out of control this time.
I refused to be.
I wanted this tornado to be over and done with. It was too much for my mind, imagination and body to bare. I was needing it, loving it and hating it at the same time.
He yelled out: “I’m ‘bout..!” as he reached down and grabbed my hair.
He pulled me back up to his chest and turned me around to catch it. This was private no more.
He sat up off the back of his legs and on to his knees.
It was typical for me to tickle his prostate and suck him off simultaneously. That too, was private. Something in my mind told me to go on with the show as usual and this would be the test to see if we really were being watched. I knew that he would rather die than to let his circle best friends see the effects of him getting his prostate played with. I knew that to begin doing so-he would definitely perform for his friends, break the moment and ruin my sexual high as well. The ghost would then be given up and the people under the stairs would be known.
That was all just too much for my mind to process.
So instead, I kneeled beneath him and placed both my hands in my lap while he howled out: growling, grunting and gasping soprano; trying hard not to pucker as he grabbed his face in his hands as if was having a head rush and turning from a human to a werewolf.
I gripped him like the merciless hold of a sphincter-so tight-that from bawling my lips around my teeth; I knew for sure that my mouth would be sore the next day. I pulled back and forth so deeply and slowly-refusing to pull off of it. I was hoping that the tongue-lashing I was giving the shaft of his entrapped dick would surely be enough to touch down all that he had out of him, and to finish this whole entire tornado of a fucking scene.
On the lighter side of my life, my “to-get-a-life” workout plan was coming to fruition bit by bit. One goal that I did reach was my senior graduation-on scheduled as I had planned although not literally with my familiar surroundings and people; I still did it on schedule without having to be held back because of my setback.
The fact that I hated that school had nothing to do with the joy I felt from graduating at my age-appropriate year. By graduation time, although I never made it a priority to make many friends there, and likewise, they-me; my graduating class was still all friendly and respectful to me by this day, and likewise, me-them (including Heckla). We all probably looked like Morris Day did out in the crowd at the end of “Purple Rain,” celebrating and dancing to Prince performing after all that time during the whole movie he spent heckling his rival.
I think we all just wanted out, and felt like something had been accomplished-regardless-for our own sets of reasons and from our own sets of experiences and expectations. The goal was the same and at this moment in all of our time; we all were the same: in my eyes and me in theirs. It was beautiful. I began to love the school towards the end of the year.
Though I knew, like they knew that we pretty much had nothing else outside of this sunny June day in common; what we did share was the spirit of joy and accomplishment. The days leading up to graduation day was as friendly and as close as if after commencement, I too, would be joining them all in their monotonous: go home, go to work, chill out with a couple friends, get drunk, smoke a lil’ weed and maybe get into some mischief.
I took my time getting dressed and ready for this moment that I knew I would be sharing and celebrating alone.
Still, I felt beautiful that day. I felt so smart, so accomplished, so worthy of this moment. I worked so hard for it.
My one good friend that I made at the school: Posh from bookkeeping class, walked down the isle right in front of me as determined by our last names. The only people who made it to my graduation in support of me were my friend Dana and my aunt Judy. I was very surprised because I went alone, not thinking that I would have anyone there for me.
My mom was home sick from surgery, Twin was who knows where, and I was still estranged from my dad. Posh and I were chums at school as well as after school. Her stepfather scooped me up in the old beat up Chevy Conversion van where he, her sister Dawn, and her mom were her guests and support system for this big day. And well, mine too.
After commencement, I entered the lobby of the hall, and there stood my aunt Judy with a card and a surprise hug for me, wrapped around some words of encouragement to let me know just how proud of me, she was.
We walked through the corridors to outdoors and there, stood my girl Dana, with flowers, a card and a tight hug for me as well.
I was even more surprised, because although she and I had still remained friends after I left the artsy-school, I didn’t recall ever telling her my “get a life” workout plan or even what my graduation date ws. We talked about a lot of things-guys and such-but never did I explain to her, the things I was feeling, going through or working on. Just our boyfriend-talk, but she surprised me.
I figured that since she knew I was supposed to be walking down the isle with she, and my other artsy-school buddies sometime earlier that same month; I guess she took it upon herself to find out where my deviated graduation plans were actually taking place. She found me.
That was special to me-her thoughtfulness.
Outside of the fact that we shared a history as friends since we were ten years-old and even shared the same bathtub many a day as pre-teens; the fact that she went out of her way to share this day with me meant even more than that.
Her mom meant business about her water bill.
It was common for every weekend during the school year and on random days throughout the summer; Dana’s house would be littered with screaming girls throughout all three floors of the house, including the basement, den or the attic. It was like when her parents bought that house, they just opened the doors for an all-girls sit-in, and they would retreat to their bedroom and close theirs.
It seemed like the only time her mom came out of the room was to cook big breakfasts that would last us through lunch, then to cook dinner. She mainly made her presence known when it was time to supervise that bathroom. She didn’t play that shit about her water-bill. If thirteen of us were over there, only one of us got lucky, because she meant business about those two-to-a-tub baths. I guess she figured since none of us were sexually active and still walking around singing jump rope songs, rhymes and limericks; we did not have too much to hide in our lil’ pocketbooks.
Dana and I would usually pair up and then retreat to the den; lying upside down across the plaid couch with our feet up on the wall, blasting music and singing Chaka Khan “Aint Nobody” to the top of our lungs like we had somebody.
We were so wild and free at Dana’s house.
At house, her mom and her dad were just the ticket to the kind of pre-teen freedoms that you could not get at home. Any concert, skating party, mutual friend sleep-over, Saturday night movie or recreation of any kind; Dana’s house was the place to be, and her mom or dad would drive all us daisies to and from.
Though later as we got older and my ride met that intersection; Dana and my friendship never came to a complete stop despite the fact that in order to adapt to my new life, I had to change my mindset and roll with the as-is of it. That included parting ways with some people from my past and the dynamics of my relationships with other’s-on a different level now.
With that, at the time, it meant learning to be content with doing a lot of things alone and for my family, myself and for Lucky.
Since my setback and all the things surrounding it; everything that I made a goal for, and pretty much all things that I had done, I did for me and I did it all alone. After my setback, I was done looking for surprises, congratulatory hugs, listens for rounds of applauses and standing ovations. During my transition, when I got that first dose of culture-shock and hard-knock (real) life; I had to toughen up with it. I toughened up in every way except when it came to love or sex or Pucker.
In addition to the joy I felt for my accomplishment plus never having to see that school again, I was going to see Pucker later that day-and not because he shared my joy with me. He didn’t even know about this day-and what it meant for me. We talked about a lot of things-but my “get a life” plan was definitely never one of them. I was so in the habit of making sure Pucker kept his questions at bay with all things having to do with: me and Slip, Santana and me or Lucky and me. By this time, he probably forgot I even had a kid. He still had no idea as to whether or not I was still with Santana. Even when I was with Santana; my relationship was never in the way (as far as spending time with him was concerned) and neither was his. Throughout my whole relationship with him up through this point, he had one good chance to ask me anything about Lucky, and I practically bit his head off so severely, that he was left with no choice but to keep all questions and concerns strictly: he and I. And he took that “he and I” to the hilt and ran with it-all answers, all demands. The only questions were the ones I had. And I had many.
That night of my graduation, he came to my house to see me again.
I met him outside. This time, he wasn’t driving-another guy was. I had never seen him before. I had only heard of Pucker speak of him a few times, as a close friend of his, outside of his own circle of friends, but a guy they all knew from back when they were in high-school.
I walked up to the passenger side where Pucker sat:
“Hey, what’s up? Where’s your car?’
I looked past Pucker and spoke to the friend and he replied:
“How are you? You’re bea-u-ti-ful!” he proclaimed-looking shocked as he reached out his hand past Pucker to shake mine.
Confused, I laughed:
“Oh. Gee. Thanks” I said.
“No. I didn’t mean it like that. I-I just remember over a year ago when you and Pucker first met and Right Hand Man and them were telling me about this Angie-girl that had this fools nose open and stuff,” he socked Pucker in the chest, lightly.
He continued: “Just-a lot of stuff y’all were going through. Bottom line is-I heard that you were a pretty girl, but you’re too pretty for him! That’s why I’m shocked” he laughed out loud.
I laughed back.
Pucker laughed and looked over at me with a look to try and make me break my laugh.
I grabbed Pucker’s face and kissed him all over it:
“Oh leave him alone. He’s my honey-bunny,” I said, in baby-talk.
Pucker was blushing like some twelve year-old boy, having just got the attention from the girl loved for a long time.
“Get in baby-I’ma get in the back with you,” he said.
“No. Where’s your car Pucker?” I replied.
“It’s been in the shop since early this afternoon. It’ll be there until around tomorrow, close of business, he explained.
“You look pretty Angie. You look sexy,” he then whispered to me, quickly.
My face was still made up from my graduation earlier. My hair was beautiful, and I still had on a pretty silver silk blouse that I wore with a black silk mini skirt and heels.
“You just. You just look different today,” he said, gazing into my eyes as I kneeled from the outside of the car, facing him from inside the passenger seat.
“I feel different-good day for me. Got a lot of things accomplished,” I replied.
“I’m sure you got your way too, didn’t you?” he asked-assuming that whatever it was that I accomplished; how extra special I looked that night must’ve opened a few more doors for me.
“Uh yeah, long-time coming, I had to work on it for a long time. Today I got it,” I replied.
He reached over and turned the friend’s music up a few notches and proceeded to open the car door, stepped outside of it then shut it. He walked to the back door, opened it up and looked down at me and held my face in his hands and started kissing it all over just like I had done his:
“Come on-let’s go, we won’t be long-I miss you. I need you-right now. Quit playing-please. Angie, please. Just give me some,” he begged-whining in my ear.
“Not here Pucker, no-not here,” I said.
“I don’t care where Angie, I just need you, man. I missed you-all day,” he whined.
“Just pull to the next block. There’s a doctor’s office right there. He can park in the front and we can go to the back of the office then, alright?” I replied.
“Good shot. Hey Demar. Demar. Pull right there and park and we’re going to take a stroll around the building to talk about something, man,” said Pucker.
The friend turned on his car light and asked: “Is everything alright?” he said while turning back to look back at me.
“Yeah, everything’s cool,” I assured him.
“Just making sure sweetie,” he replied-then turned back around and cut the car light out.
He pulled into the parking space in front of the building.
Pucker and I proceeded to get out of the car.
He put his arms around me and held me close like we were two young adventurous lovers walking through a park in the daylight and sunshine-yet, we ended up in the rear of the dimly lit office building.
It was immediate.
The stroll ended quickly.
No conversation whatsoever.
He just wanted in.
My face and hands were against the brick wall while he proceeded to pound into me as if he was twenty-minutes fresh from jail while panting like a werewolf in the woods.
Before I knew it, he had me up and off of my feet. I had to rely on his lust and trust to keep me levitated for all that my poor elbows, hands and face could not do to hold me up against that wall.
My fingers were digging in between the bricklaying as if I was somehow going to dig a whole through the cement for my fingers to fit into.
He just wanted it. He didn’t care how, where or when. He was just fucking me like it was becoming apart of his nature and for survival. His body was stuck firmly into mine like we were mating rather than making love.
Minutes into it, bright lights from a heavy diesel truck lit the back building and I immediately lost Pucker’s trust and lust. He just dropped me and ran away like some rabbit in the woods running from a Laughing Hyena. It happened so fast that before I could pull my skirt back down all the way, he was no where to be found.
I was shocked and literally caught like a deer in headlights.
I placed my hand atop my squinted eyes and I looked into the light at a strange man who held both his hands up to me to apologize as if he was surrendering to the cops: “Are you okay? I’m sorry-are you okay? Is everything alright? I’m just back here to pick up the garbage cans to take them with me. I’m so sorry. I won’t hurt you!” he assured me.
He didn’t know if I was being raped and if my rapist ran away out of fear from being caught, or if we were just two youngsters that had found a place to make out away from home where we most probably still lived with our parents.
“I’m okay,” I said, while moving fast away from the spotlight of his big truck; trying to make my way around it to get to the front of the building for safety. His gigantic truck blocked the only way in to the back of the building, which too, was the only way out.
I was scared as hell.
When I made it to the front of that building, the parking lot was as empty as if I had just walked out of the woods of someone’s dream and as if Pucker had never been there.
Though where I lived was a literal hop, skip and a jump away from the office building, I just knew that Pucker had to be were somewhere near. So, I stood at the top of the fenced area of the building underneath the street lights to see if he would come pulling up.
Every car that passed, heading north and south began to sound like swishes of lashings ripping at my heart. I began to cry because I just couldn’t believe that he would just hop in the car and take off-not knowing what could have happened to me in the back of that building with some stranger. Luckily the man wasn’t crazy because he could have taken full advantage of me back there and no one would have known, heard or saw a thing.
I walked that block down to my house dropping nonstop tears, trying to figure out where I was going to go from here with Pucker. I began to feel like no matter what I would do to accommodate his urges or what I would do to hand to him-his pride and ego back; nothing was ever going to be enough-nothing.
It was merely becoming a habit, and something he was setting himself up for having: anytime, any day and any where. And for me, I was setting my self up for giving: anytime, any day and any where-with no dues paid, clean slates or new beginnings considered.
I reminisced on everything: letting him fuck me in parks against trees, picnic benches, pulled over in his car, riding around while he would drive and I’m giving him head for the thrill of it and for his pleasure, adventure and good times in his life. I created a monster out of simply trying to please him in ways he could never imagine. Thinking that he would consider it all gestures of the love I had for him and the apology I never gave to him. He never took it as that. He didn’t have the capacity to. So, he just took full advantage of it all.
You name it, I did it for him.
His urges began to resemble that of a crack head coming for a fix at various times, many times within a period of each day. It didn’t matter. I never turned him away. I just dealt with it. It was getting far too out of hand for my heart.
I was processing it all as I walked the block down to my house.
Once inside, I ran myself some bath water and took the phone into the bathroom with me-just to see if he would even call. Midways into my bath, he did:
“Are you alright?” he whispered, like some coward in the woods hunting wabbit.
I yelled-I know it must’ve scared him:
“The hell do you mean Pucker? Why did you leave me back there like that? You ran so fast that you were gone before the man could even step outside of his truck! And for your information and care…since you care so much now…That man could have raped me back there and could have very well gotten away with it. You were no where to be found! Fuck you Pucker!” I scolded him.
“‘Fuck you mean? You live right there!” he yelled, as if he was pointing at a house next door.
“‘Fuck YOU mean? The point is. I could have been held against my will back in the dark where you left me-running off like some fucking fugitive! What kind of shit was that? Ugh!” I uttered.
“‘Fuck you want me to do? What the fuck? It just happened so fast, man-damn!” he uttered back.
I did not reply.
“So you aren’t going to say anything?” he asked slowly, lowering his voice.
I moved my fingers in the water to let him know that I was still on the line but I refused to speak another word on that phone.
He thought his usual lusty grunts would work like it normally would:
“You looked so pretty today Angie. I couldn’t help myself,” he offered as an apology.
I still did not reply.
He sat on the phone the entire time that I continued to bathe.
The whole time, he was fidgeting around and huffing and puffing, hoping I would break the silence and say something.
I took my time.
He was about as afraid to say one word, just as he was afraid when he heard that truck pull up in the back of that building.
I still took my time.
When I got out, I dried off, applied lotion all over my body and got in the bed-I was still taking my time, with that phone horn being transferred from my right to left ear; daring him to speak without being spoken to or to hang up.
I was still moving in slow motion.
He thought he was in for our usual-and that I would finish him off.
The moment I lay my head on the pillow, I hung up on him and rolled the receiver off so that the phone would ring busy.
I refused to give or receive anything “him” at this point-down to the sound of his voice.
It was a must that I leave him as high and dry as he dropped and left me low. And for the next week or so, I refused to answer any of his calls, cat calls and fiendish urges. I knew those few days would next to kill him. I had to teach him a lesson, and I meant business about it. I just wanted for myself, the lesson: “How to Drop His Ass-For Good…”
I got a phone call from Right Hand Man, inviting me out to the neighborhood picnic that was being held by their community’s Park Board. There would be a lil’ parade, some refreshments and cookouts going on in the park and he wanted me to hang out with he and a few of their friends. This was also the day that he was to officially hang out with my friend Tina-whom I had finally set him up with. The two of them had been hitting it off pretty hot and heavy over the phone for quite some time now.
“Tina may come out too, but if she can’t make it either way, it should be pretty fun-a little something to do,” said Right Hand Man.
“Sure, that would be good. I can meet you out to your house later on today and we can take it from there,” I informed him.
I knew that Right Hand Man knew that I wasn’t talking to Pucker for a few days now.
He made no mention of him either, as if Pucker wasn’t invited anyways, and even gave off a vibe to me that he did not want me to dare ask if Pucker would be attending-so I did not ask.
It was funny like that.
No matter what Pucker would do or say or try to prove to all of his buddies in an effort to get his ego and [what he thought was his “manhood” back]; he always lost that battle. Because all of his friends cared for me, are were delicate and respectful to me-thank goodness.
The one thing about Pucker that I always observed was that he was never a good judge of time or appropriateness-with none of his actions or reactions.
He never understood his role and his place within his own circle of friends. He always thought that because he stood out amongst them all, next to the height of Slip, anything he said or did added notches under his belt. He thought it afforded him some position within his circle that in his mind, he felt was unattainable by his friends, which in turn made him look like he was “the man.”
But little did he know, whether it was because of their jealousy or just maturity on the part of his friends; his antics were growing old with them because they-like me-the chronically apologetic and accommodating culprit, knew the reasons behind them all. It was growing old. For almost a year now, he was still creeping, walking and sleeping with a broken heart and felt like he always had something to prove in order to breathe again and stick his potato chip chest out like he had power.
It was like, he was the walking joke and we all knew the punch line, so, it wasn’t fun and entertaining anymore after over a year and half’s time. And slowly but surely, it all backfired on him, because his friends did not have enough respect for him as a man to allow him the platform to be the star of his show like in his mind, he thought he was.
After a while, no one cared what happened.
Slip was long gone and we all moved on and got over it-everybody did. Everybody except Pucker, who deserved it anyways, they all knew that too.
The naïve girl that I was, I would participate in rebuilding ego the whole time, when I knew he really had no foundation. I just wanted his mind, his pride and his heart to work in my favor-because I loved him. I did know enough to know that if I did that, I could at have that.
I would observe that. I would observe everything about him, about his close circle of friends and about him with his friends. They were all he had and I felt like he was all I had. So I watched closely.
Since I can remember life beginning for me at age five, all I did was observe people, and twice as much if they are apart of my life. Him-three times through, because I loved him.
While he thought he had power over me, he really had none.
The monster I had created actually made him think that he had power, when in truth; the strings to cut it on or off were in my hand. It took me a while to notice because I was too naïve and too busy observing. When instead of observing, but rather-doing; I had the power of choice: I could have easily merged with the besties and made him feel and look bad, or continue doing what I was doing: catering to his ego to make him look and feel good. Regardless, with the smoke clear, I knew, like his besties knew; he was really powerless-without my help either way-on both sides. And lastly, I could just unplug altogether…
When I got to Right Hand Man’s house, we hung out there for a while then, we decided to head to the park. When we got there, all of Pucker’s friends were there. We all sat at the table and ate, talked, played cards and laughed while they all threw insults and jokes at one another like it was a sport and game of ping pong.
Pucker showed up and changed the mood of the whole atmosphere. His friends did not even want him around. It was obvious. I kind of felt bad for him because not only was it obvious that there was a lot of laughter and fun going on before he showed up, but he was most probably put in an awkward position because I doubt that Right Hand Man had run past him that I would be coming out. Pucker’s surprised look on his face to see me sitting there told it all. All he could do was roll his eyes at me and fold his lips in anger. Because the mood at the table was not on his side, I was completely guarded from his scorn.
We hadn’t spoken since the night when I hung up on him after leaving me in the back of the doctor’s office building-so, he did not know how all this happened: me, at a picnic out with his friends.
For the next half hour or so, everybody tried to pick the momentum back up but it was hard-Pucker’s presence made it hard. At dusk, as the park started clearing, Pucker walked over to his car without saying goodbye to his buddies and had yet to even say “hello” to me, let alone “goodbye.” His entire walk and body language spewed: “fuck her-and y’all too.”
At that moment, everyone kept glancing over at me and averting their eyes; embarrassed for me.
Right Hand Man caught up to him and yelled where we all could hear: “Man what the fuck is your fucking problem? ‘The fuck is wrong with you? Man fuck you! You know what the fuck you’re doing!”
Pucker yelled back: “Fuck her, <em>you</em> take her home!”
Embarrassed for me, his friends began to offer.
“That’s okay y’all. Fuck him. My mom’s asleep, I can get her car to take her home,” said Right Hand Man.
When we returned back to Right Hand Man’s house, he paced around looking for his mother’s keys. A few minutes later, Pucker came knocking at the door, asking Right Hand man for something that I guess Right Hand Man felt he could’ve waited later to ask:
“Man, fuck you. Don’t come over here with that, man. That shit can wait ‘til later dude,” said Right Hand Man.
Pucker screamed aloud: “SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE BROUGHT HER ASS OUT HERE ANY FUCKIN WAY!”
He then walked up to me and grunted as if he wanted to grab me by the arm like some toddler having misbehaved at the shopping mall:
“What the hell are you doing over here anyways? Huh, why Angie?” he said, sounding like de ja vu-asking: “Why Angie?” that fateful day that he rolled upon Slip and me.
Only this time, my being out and in the vicinity and with his Right Hand Man, was completely innocent. And truth be told, I did miss him. I felt bad about ignoring him during the whole time I was doing it.
While at the park, I secretly had hopes that he would see me and wisp me away. We would make up, make love and work out what we had been going through-work over what I had been feeling-but that didn’t happen.
I just let him stand over me, scolding and grunting-angrily.
I did not look up at him. I just remained quiet.
He then slammed the door to leave.
On the way home, Right Hand Man and I did not say one word to each other.
He was angry, too.
I could tell that he wanted to vent, but although he had respect for me and cared about my feelings where Pucker was concerned; the fact still remained, he was still Pucker’s Right Hand Man. So, whatever venting he needed to do, was certainly going to go down at the very moment he left my presence and returned to Pucker rather than to me.
When we arrived to my apartment, I thanked him for the ride home.
“You’re welcome Angie, I’m just irritated right now,” he offered.
“No problem, I understand,” I returned.
The next few weeks were horrible with Pucker and I was a nervous wreck. But this time, I refused to get caught up into his vicious cycle all over again for any length of time past the time I began to get the shakes, anxiety attacks and crying spells.
I refused to.
I had been working my new job and focusing on getting my own apartment and spending whatever spare time I had with friends and people who kept my mind off and away from that damned Pucker. I meant business about it.
I refused his calls.
I refused to see him.
I refused anything-him.
When I finally got my own apartment, I had even neglected to tell my friend Tina because she and Right Hand Man had been pretty chummy and I could tell that like a vulture, Pucker was somewhere near Right Hand Man working overtime trying to get either a phone number and at best; trying to find out where I had moved to.
After about three to four months, and life going on for me; I figured that life was going on for Pucker as well. I eventually resumed a normal friendship with Tina into that time-feeling secure that she understood my plight where keeping Pucker away from me, was concerned.
I was feeling so good and so alive again, busy taking care of my business and living a life that I was growing more accepting of living-all things considered.
My apartment wasn’t too far away from my mother’s house, which was where, if I had to use the telephone, I did, because I hadn’t made enough money to get my own telephone cut on at my new apartment as yet, nor was I in a hurry to get one.
Low and behold one night while just coming into the house for the evening after work I heard a faint knock at the door and then the window.
I turned my radio completely down and the knocks were repeated.
I frowned, curiously, because only a few of my friends knew where I lived and they wouldn’t have shown up unannounced, and especially at that ten o’clock night hour.
I walked into the living room and pulled the shade back to follow the pecking at the window. It was Pucker. I took a deep breath and stared him in the face from behind the glass like this must have been a mirage of some type, or a fun mirror in a bad dream.
“Open the door Angie-please,” he said, from behind the window.
I stood there. My heart dropped.
He put his face up to the window: “I just want to talk to you, please. I need to talk to you, really, please,” he begged.
“How’d you find out where I lived?” I asked from behind the glass on my side.
“Just open the door, Angie. I’ll tell you. Open the door,” he said.
I walked around to the front of the house, opened the door and stood on the porch with him.
“What are you doing here? And how did you know I lived here? Who told you?” I asked, already having the answer in the back of my mind, I just needed confirmation.
“Angie, please let me come in. I-I-I need to talk to you real bad,” he asked, as if he was in a tight.
“You can talk to me right here. How do you know I don’t have company right now?” I asked, trying to sound as brave and as fearless as I was mentally and emotionally detached from him by this time.
“Come here-right now!” he grunted and grabbed my arm like a toddler being dragged through the mall for misbehaving.
He leaned against me at the kitchen sink and began to grind into me while holding my face tightly, telling me he missed me.
“Don’t you miss me?” he kept repeating, grinding harder trying to make his body talk to mine.
He began to kiss me and tried to hold me stiff enough so that he could try and sink his teeth into my neck-knowing that once upon a time, that would set me off into an arousing frenzy. But this time, I refused.
I started fight him off of me.
He was not used to that kind of thing coming from me. He got angry.
He then began to pull at my jumper and shirt to rip then down my shoulders. The more I tried to fight him, the harder he pressed his knees into my body.
It was so painful.
“Get OFF of me!” I yelled.
“Quit yelling Angie! And quit PLAYING! Acting all silly and shit!” he grunted, sounding as if I was playing a hard game of “hard to get.”
He had no understanding that I meant business about him not touching me.
He then wrestled me to the floor and snatched my jumper down, pulled his dick out while climbing on top of me, trying to put it inside of me the best way he could. He just wanted to shove it in and breathe.
I began to fight him some more.
He pressed his knees into me and grabbed me by the jowls:
“Quit-playing-Angie-and-acting-all-silly-and-shit!” he grunted and demanded with his knees dug firmly into my thighs.
“You’re fucking somebody else right now? Huh?” he asked.
“I heard that you call yourself having a lil’ boyfriend-pulling at you, I know you aren’t stupid. You know better, don’t you?” he asked, as if he was trying to assure himself rather than to get an answer.
I did not give him one, either. Instead, I lay there stiff as a board like I was playing dead.
The moment he moved his knees from my thighs I made a move for it and grabbed my jumper to pull it back over my shoulders.
He then climbed above me, trying to force his dick in my mouth.
He was rabid.
“Get OFF of me Pucker, I mean it! I’m NOT playing!” I yelled.
“No. Don’t do this to me Angie. I miss you. Quit trippin! I’m sorry. I apologize. I miss you!” he must have said a thousand times, trying hard to convince me to relax so that he could get this feeling he had inside of his body off and out.
He became angrier and refused to be apologetic and courteous any further.
He then ripped my jumper back from out of my hand with the force of an angry mad-man as if to show me that he had the power and the strength and had been letting me think I did, up until that point.
It was like he dared me to object, scream or push him. I did not.
He then shoved himself inside of me like he was fresh out of jail from doing a twenty-year bid for serial raping.
I lay there wanting to scream to the top of my lungs with a thousand thoughts going through my head from: “<em>What will happen if the neighbors hear me?” “Will they call the police?” “What will happen then?” “Is this mother fucker raping me?” “Is this rape? I’ve had sex with this man a thousand times.</em>”
He fucked me and thrust and fucked me and thrust and moaned and grunted as if we lay there having our normal consensual sex and as if he was invited. Only this time, I refused to let him hear a sound utter from my voice. This time, he didn’t even care that he wasn’t getting any moans of pleasure from me because this time, it was definitely not about or for me-it was all about and for him. He did not care. He just wanted to breathe again.
I just lay there and cried and let him have his way; climb on top of my and do his business. I refused to fight with him anymore. I knew it would not be a good idea to.
I let the tears fall back from my eyes, into my ears-plugging them up while I worked hard to tune out his pleasure that he was getting.
His whole body was pulsating. He was breathing: hard.
He was sweating profusely mixed with my tears.
As he pulled out of me-he hurriedly grabbed my hair and sat me up to meet him to finish him off as if we were having an agreed upon erotic lovemaking session that I too, was enjoying with him.
He insisted on getting his usual. This had <em>nothing</em> to do with me. I was just the body-laying there.
I was shocked.
I just wanted him gone. I just wanted him to leave.
I had been doing so emotionally well and had felt so cleansed of him in every way up until that very moment.
So many thoughts were going through my head that this all felt like a bad dream. Like I was having consensual sex with some stranger who was loving every minute of me taking him all in.
He gasped and moaned like some heroin addict getting a hot shot.
It was disgusting.
When it was over, I pushed him away from me and scooted myself back up into the kitchen sink.
He stood up over me: “Get up. Why are you still sitting down there acting all silly and shit? Get UP!” he reached down and grabbed me under the arms and lifted me to my feet like that kid that had fallen to the floor-misbehaving at the mall.
“Now see. Why were you acting all stupid and shit? All that fighting! You know you missed me too!” he whispered, with his finger in my forehead. H had the kind of smile on his face as if the two of us were about to be on again and what we just had was good make-up sex.
“Are you gonna call me? Are you gonna call me Angie?” he asked.
I didn’t respond. I just wanted him to leave-immediately.
He knew that something went wrong in this and he just wanted out before more could go wrong. All he was concerned about at this moment was that he got what he came for and as far as he was concerned, nobody got hurt; no harm-no foul. Somewhere in his mind, he made love to me and I wanted it-and missed it and him.
He just fixed his pants and slid to the door, then out of it like a real thief in the night. He knew he was wrong, but in this moment, he did not care-at all.
When he shut that door, I slid back down to the floor in front of the kitchen sink feeling like such a loser all over again.
I felt like all the work I had done on my emotional and mental plumbing was backed up-yet again.
I was over craving sex with him and over him: period-even down to being over hearing the sound of his voice.
I had really moved on in every way.
And in just that short time, in that one night; I felt like my past three to four months walked right out of that door with him.
I sat there in front of that sink balled up into a knot with my arms around my legs, crying myself senseless and sleepy, when all of a sudden; a knock at the door broke my sleepy tears.
My eyes got big-I already knew that this could not be him at that door. He was too much of a coward to show back up and if he didn’t care enough to see me through the back of a dark building on a dead end street; he sure as hell didn’t care enough to come back to the comfort of my home to make sure I was okay. So, I knew this knock did not belong to him.
I got up and walked around to the living room window to peek out of the shade. It was Dana. I was shocked that she happened to show up at my apartment at this hour, but just like at my graduation, Dana always seemed to appear at the most surprising times, unannounced but on time, nonetheless.
I hurriedly ran around to the front of the apartment to open the door for her.
I was so glad to see her-I immediately began to cry.
“Why? What’s wrong Angie? What’s wrong?” she asked-startled.
I told her everything that happened.
She wanted to head straight over to my mom’s house so that we could call the police.
“No, I’m sorry Dana. I cannot do that. That’s just too much. I can’t do that,” I told her.
“Yes you can! That is rape! That is crazy!” she proclaimed.
“No, I’m not dealing with that-I’m not dealing with him. He can just go away-forever,” I said.
“He did-for four months and looked what happened tonight!” said Dana.
I continued to shake my head “no.”
“No-I’m sick of him! If you’re not going to call the police-the least you can do is call parents and tell them! He needs to learn a lesson!” she asserted.
“I really want to leave it alone altogether Dana-I just do,” I replied.
“Well, let’s go over to your mom’s anyways because I have to call me a cab to go home. I was really going to stay over here for the night and go home in the morning but I don’t even think you should stay here tonight,” she said.
I looked her: “Dana, you may as well hang out here until the morning with me as you planned, because I assure you-he’s too much of a coward to come back over here at least this night-trust me. I know better. I really do know better…”
In a quest for normalcy and a sense of stability of a relationship of any kind, I could always count on
…click on to page “2” to rewind to the beginning. Because (as mentioned atop-#4) #HurtBae can go both ways-either way, there are several sides to all #HurtBae’s #HurtBae stories….