Bad as in Good (30 page)

“Hangin' in there? How 'bout you?”

I could tell he was even more surprised that I was interested in his well-being. He didn't say anything at first. He opened his mouth to say something, but when nothing came out, he laughed nervously and jiggled the keys in his pants pocket. “I'm okay. Could be better.”

“How so?”

“Well, I…I think…” He laughed nervously again and stuffed his mail in his pockets. He leaned his shoulder against his doorframe and dug around in his pockets. “I'm a broker, and I wish the stock market was playing in my favor.”

“Oh, well, I hope things work out for you.”

He nodded in agreement and smiled some more. The casual moment I ensued was slowly evolving into an awkward one. I went for my keys to end our happenstance tryst. “I gotta get going. It was nice catching up.”

He stood up straight as if he weren't expecting our meeting to end so quickly. He put his hand up and opened his mouth to speak. Again, nothing came out, and he stood there fumbling over his thoughts and trying desperately to force a conversation. When I got my door open and turned back to look at him, he dropped his hand and shoulders. “It was nice talking to you, too.”

I smiled back and closed the door behind me. Sometimes I feared Alonzo was the type to try to kill me in my sleep. I hoped our convo was enough to ease him off the trigger. I was tired and a long hot shower would do me good. I disrobed in front of my mirror and admired the beautiful woman that had men gushing. My perky breasts, slim waist, and full hips told the story of a woman worth the gush. I only wished my body made them do more than gush; I'd rather they learned how to act right and do what I needed them to. I smiled at my reflection and slipped into my running hot shower. I let the water cascade down my skin as I sloped my head back and moaned in ecstasy. My day was long, and this shower pleased my body better than I thought water could. I rubbed and caressed my moist skin and pretended to be my own lover. Loving my curves and embracing my imperfections like the
perfect lover should. It felt good holding myself and knowing that I wouldn't have to let go until I felt ready.

After stepping out of the shower, I noticed two missed calls on my cell—one from Louis and the other from Tariq. I deleted my call history and got dressed for bed. Under my covers, I heard my phone vibrating. Looking at my phone, I read the text out loud, “Can I cum see you?” A text from Tariq that I chose to ignore. I did want to see him, but I also wanted to spend the night alone instead. I rested under my covers, hugged my pillow, and tried not to stare at my blinking phone. I wanted to experience the feeling of being alone…even when the entire world wanted to lie by my side.

I
was feelin' Erin. I would think about her when I tried not to. I may have been married, but it was a marriage of circumstance—one that I couldn't get out of. I didn't know what it was about Erin, but when I was around her, my palms would sweat. She had control over my emotions and I hated it. When I considered giving her more, I'd remember the situation I was in dealin' with Simoné, and I'd back out. Erin was
fine,
though. I fantasized about holding her Coke-bottle figure close to me. Her lips were plump like cornbread. She had almond-shaped eyes that reminded me of Deja, long hair that I pictured running my fingers through, and honey skin that I craved melting over mine. I'd come over her apartment with the intention to talk and end up wanting to watch her make her love faces. She had deep dimples that I wanted to stick my fingers in. When she eyed me with her coconut-skin eyes, I tried not to peer down at her full, water-balloon-shaped breasts. I'd be standing there in heat, and she would remind me of Simoné every time I came to see her. The last thing I wanted to be reminded of was the reason I couldn't claim Erin like I wanted to.

All I wanted to do was hold her close to me. But I was a man scorned by trifling women. What I felt for Erin was real, though. When she looked at me, she truly did want to be with me and be the good woman all men wanted to hold down. She didn't know
that reminding me of Simoné also let in the possibility of her being the next woman to trap me in an undesirable situation. I would call and text Erin like I was her bitch. She would ignore me and disregard my attempts at reconciliation, and it turned me on. I would be on my way to the gym or on the way home, and next thing I knew, I was standing outside Erin's door hoping I could make her come by night's end. Shit, I had it bad.

Still, my situation was fucked. Simoné tricked me. She gave birth to our son, Amari, and pretended like our marriage was a sign of resolution. “We can make this work, babe,” she told me. I got down on my knees and begged her to agree to the annulment. She laughed in my fuckin' face. “Why would I divorce the father of my son?” She had it good for a while. But my plans hadn't changed. Soon, I stopped caring about her feelings and only cared about mine. Simoné was not my wife. She was a bad situation I couldn't get out of.

One day, I met a dime piece. Her name was Brooklyn. She stood five feet three and had long, golden-brown hair that reached the top of her butt. Her light-brown skin always shined like gold, even in fluorescent lights. Her voice was squeaky, and I often imagined it screaming my name while I hit it from the back. She worked at the shoe department at Macy's. She helped me pick out shoes for my new suit. When I came back for the matching tie, we decided it was time to stop playing games. My son was at my mama's for the night, and I opted to bring her home. I told her about my situation. “The mother of my son lives wit' me, but it ain't nothin'. You can come home wit' me if that's cool.” She was down for the cause. The rattlesnake tattoo wrapped around her upper thigh told me that she liked danger. It turned her on knowing that Simoné might catch us.

I had her on all fours. She gripped my sheets and spread her legs wide, ass up high. Burying her face in my pillow, I dug into her deep like I was lookin' for loose change. I held on to her thighs while I pulled her so close to me, almost as if I was tryna to pull her inside of me. I heard my front door slam shut. Brooklyn didn't. If she did, she sho' ain't care. I kept pounding away while she covered her screams in my pillows.

When the door swung open, Simoné stood in the entryway to my bedroom with her hands on her hips. She stared at Brooklyn's ass that rested on my lap. At first, Brooklyn kept her face down, unaware of Simoné's intrusion. When I stopped thrusting, she quickly shot up and looked back. “Why'd you stop?” she said. When she noticed Simoné, she looked back at me and smirked.

I pulled away from her and let Brooklyn cover her naked breasts with my blankets. Simoné stood holding the doorknob tightly, her nostrils flared, and her chest heaving. I got off the bed and tried to put on my boxers, but like slow motion, I could see Simoné lunging for Brooklyn. I jumped into action, holding her up to the wall. Brooklyn didn't flinch. She watched Simoné kick and scream like a madwoman, “Get the fuck off me, Riq! I'm 'bout to fuck this bitch up!”

Brooklyn sniggered as she shook her head. She turned her back as she searched for her clothes. I don't know if she felt safe knowing I was able to hold Simoné back or if she truly didn't care. When Brooklyn slid back into her body-hugging, spandex mini dress, she walked up to us and looked Simoné up and down. She laughed some more and kissed my cheek. Waving goodbye, she walked into my living room.

Simoné was stronger than I thought. She threw me to the bed and ran after her. Brooklyn didn't know what hit her as Simoné
grabbed a handful of her weave and slammed her down. Brooklyn's head hit my hardwood floor like a cracked snow globe. Simoné then fell to the floor and climbed on top of Brooklyn, slappin' her face like they were having a duel. Brooklyn guarded her face before she flung Simoné off of her. Before Simoné could get in another punch, Brooklyn cocked her fist back and clocked Simoné's jaw at full speed. The blow knocked Simoné off balance, but it was the second part of Brooklyn's one-two combo that took Simoné off her feet. “Now what, bitch!” Brooklyn taunted her, begging her to get back up.

Before Simoné could, I ran to her and held her down. “You gotta go,” I told Brooklyn. “I ain't tryna have all this go down.” Simoné tried to break free, but my grasp was firm.

Brooklyn grimaced and walked backward to the front door. “Fine, but keep that bitch in line, 'cause I'm coming back to catch my nut.”

Simoné growled as she tried desperately to break free. Brooklyn walked out laughing, confident in her victory. With the door shut and ten seconds having passed, I let Simoné go and stepped back. Apparently, not far enough. Simoné shot up and slapped me across the face. “I can't believe you, Riq!”

I put my hands up palms out and sucked in my lips. I didn't have anything to say. There was a chance that Simoné would catch us, but I had to send a message. I wanted out of our fake marriage—one way or another. However, I hadn't expected a fight to break out. Well, I realized Simoné would react, but I wasn't expecting Brooklyn to wild out like that.

Simoné wiped her bangs from her eyes and tried to stare me down. She wasn't going to intimidate me, though. I stared back at her and waited for her to tell me what I wanted to hear. “What the fuck was that, Riq? How could you do that to me?”

“We're not together, Simoné.”

“I'm yo' wife, Riq. Your damn wife! Why can't you respect that?”

“ 'Cause it ain't shit to respect! You know why we got married. You know I ain't want all this. You chose to change shit up and stick around. I kept my end of the deal. If I wanna bring females over and fuck, I can do that.”

She stared at me, tears filling her sockets, arms folded across her chest. She looked at me from head to toe and laughed. “You are so…” Simoné threw her hands up and squeezed them tight as if she were squeezing my neck. “I can't believe you, Riq. In our fucking bed, too.”

“Our
bed?” I glared at her. “Divorce me.”

I wanted her to give in. She was hurt. As evil as it sounded, I wanted her hurt enough to let me go and get out of my life. She took a deep breath and wiped her face. I expected her to give in, but she laughed again. “No. You think I'ma make it that easy?”

I couldn't believe it. She was the mother of my son, but I couldn't stand to look at her. I stared into her eyes and tried to remember the feelings I thought I once had for her, but as her eyes stared back, I realized that I never should've even liked her. “I'm not goin' to stop seeing other women, Simoné.”

“I'll move out tonight. I can't even imagine me sleepin' under the same roof as you.” She bit her tongue and shook her head. She walked over to the kitchen and rubbed the side of her face. The blows that Brooklyn landed were finally settling in, and her jaw was sore. Taking out a bottle of gin, she grabbed a shot glass and took two to the head. Then, she threw the glass into the sink and looked over at me. “You fucked up. We're not gettin' a divorce,” she said. “I wanted to work things out. I wanted us to be together. You wanna play games. Fine, we can play. But at the end of the day, I am still the mother of your son, and married or not, that will never change.”

Damien and I grew close over the years, and I relied on his skewed wisdom to get me through some rough times. Sometimes he'd come over so we could watch a game. He'd also rub it in my face about how right he was about women.

Simoné moved out that night. The bad part of it was she refused to end our fake marriage. At first, it was cool. I thought I was rid of her, but she'd show up at my place unannounced and leave some of her shit around so other women could find it. She'd make it hard for me to see my son and then lambaste me for not trying to work things out with her. She was playin' all right, and she played it well.

“I tol' you. Bitches ain't shit.” Damien shoved a boneless chicken wing in his mouth and chugged a beer. We sat in front of my TV watching ESPN. I never talked about my feelings for Erin with Damien because he'd speak against it. He could talk bad about Simoné all day, though. I never let Simoné know about Erin either. If Simoné knew she existed, she'd make Erin' suffer. “Next time, wrap it up.”

“I did wrap it up. Condom broke.”

“Double-baggy it next time.”

I waved him off and chuckled. “Man, please. I ain't think she was goin' turn out like this. She's the worst type of woman.”

“I'ma have to admit it, though, the shit you did having her catch you when you was fuckin'…you one cold dude.”

“I'm not proud of it. I was hopin' I'd get a divorce out of it. Instead, I got the baby mama from hell.”

“Shoulda played it better. I'm cool wit' both my baby mamas. I can see my kids when I want to. They both moved on, and I ain't got no drama.” Takin' another sip of beer, he said, “Who marries someone for insurance? Ain't that insurance fraud? Shit, you should know.”

I sipped my beer and licked my lips. “I couldn't pay them bills out of pocket. I saved much more money marrying her and lettin' the job pay for it.”

“Was it worth it?”

I swallowed the rest of my beer and set it down. I stared at the TV screen and shook my head. “Hell no. I'd rather the debt.”

We both stopped laughing when there was a knock at the door. I looked at my watch and back at the door. I hoped it was Erin, but then I realized, I'd rather it be nobody. I stood up and answered the door. Simoné stood in my doorway in a polka dot maxi dress and her hair pulled back. She was letting her bangs grow out. Now, she swiped her bangs to the side. “What's he doing here?”

She pointed at Damien and sneered. Damien shook his head and drank his beer. I didn't move out the way to let her in. We stood at the door, and I waited for her to tell me why she felt the need to drop by. “What do you want?”