Ayzha Nicole Darwin

I loved him too hard. Mind…body…soul…heart…lungs…I exhaled with every breath he took. I’m choking on that love…that hard, unyielding love…that blood in my tears kind of love. The kind of love that slowly eats away at you, until there is nothing left but a rotting carcass with a fist-sized stone where a beating heart once lived. Love is for fools; and I’m a fool in love with the way things used to be. I’m in love with the way he used to hold my hand for no reason other than to bring my palm to his nose and inhale the cherry almond scent of my Jergen’s lotion.

I’m in love with the way he used to speak to me…passionately, loudly, intimately, softly. He used to call my name, in such a way that I’d have gladly sold my soul if it meant witnessing my name birthed from between his lips and cradled in my ears just one more time.

I’m so in love with the way things used to be that my heart refuses to let go of the lingering hope that he could possibly love me that way again. He no longer calls my name. He speaks in monotones. No excitement, no passion, no anger or dismay…just emotionless, inaudible, monotones.

It was slowly killing me and as I sat in that chair, at that table, in that club, surrounded by heart palpitating bass and cigarette smoke I wanted to break a beer bottle on the table and slit my wrists, rather than listen to Stacie share yet another “Trevor sent me flowers,” “Trevor took me to lunch,” or “Trevor made wild love to me today” story.

But, sit there I did. I stared at my girlfriend over the rim of my third margarita, and managed what I hoped was a convincing smile before taking a small sip of the drink. I licked salt from my lips and sighed softly, recalling how, eight years earlier, my mother, rest her soul, had warned me about Riley. I was too young for marriage. I was too young for Riley. I was making a mistake. But I was twenty and thought I knew everything. Although Riley was fifteen years older than I, he related to me better than any man my age. So I told myself that Mama just didn’t want to see me happy. Mama didn’t understand. Mama wanted to control my life. Mama, rest her soul, was using Riley’s age against him. Now, eight years, five miscarriages, three secretaries, and two psychiatrists later, I see that Mama was right.

“Where is Sera?” Stacie inquired about our best friend.

I managed to pull my thoughts from the past and focus on my present
.
“Sera didn’t feel like dancing tonight.”

“Is she still depressed about Jeremy?”

“She just needed some time alone,” I said between sips of my drink. “Anyway, I saw Jeremy when I walked in. So, it’s just as well Sera stayed away tonight. You know how smooth he is.”

“Excuse me ladies,” a tall waitress with a skirt slit up to her neck interrupted our conversation and motioned toward the table behind ours.

“The gentleman at the next table would like to know what you’re drinking.”

I slowly turned my head and immediately recognized the easy smile of Tyree Mitchell. He was a bit overdressed for the club in his shiny black suit and even shinier shoes, but there was something about him that intrigued me.

“Damn, Ayzha, he’s staring over here like he knows you,” Stacie noticed.

“He doesn’t know me.” I turned away from Tyree’s stare and rolled my eyes. “Anyway, he’s looking at you, not me.”

“No. He’s definitely looking at you. Who is he?”

“He works with Aleesha.”

“Your cousin?”

“Um hmmm,” I mumbled absently.

“Do you want the drinks?” I’d honestly forgotten the waitress was standing there, until she asked.

“I’ll have an apple martini and she’ll have another margarita,” Stacie answered before I had a chance to refuse.

“Stacie,” I hissed, “that’s not right. I don’t need to be accepting drinks from that man.”

“Why not?”

“I’m married.”

Stacie chuckled softly and took a long satisfying drag of her cigarette. She slowly exhaled, and the smoke oozed from her mouth, creating a cancerous halo around her head.

“So what if you’re married. There is nothing wrong with getting a little attention from another man, especially when you’re not getting it at home.”

“I do get it at home,” I said a little too eagerly.

Stacie laughed loudly, “Why are you lying to my face, Ayzha?”

“I’m not lying.”

“Girl, please.” She took another puff of her cigarette and looked me square in the eye. “Not with all that dust falling from beneath your skirt every time you take a step. You need someone to polish up that coochie and make you feel like a woman again.”

“You’re nasty.”

“But my coochie is well oiled and dust free.”

“Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!” the left side of my brain screamed. “True! True! True!” the right side responded. I couldn’t deny the rush I felt when I glanced at Tyree. His gaze was intent, forceful, unnerving and yet it excited me in a way that made me feel as if the small gold crucifix I wore around my neck was burning a brand into my chest. I told myself to breathe in, breathe out, look away, but his eyes called out to me, forcing me to look at him. The waitress placed a drink in front of me. As I sipped, I could feel the alcohol coursing through my veins, filling my head with a light, airy feeling. Tyree approached our table then, pulling out the chair beside me and straddling it. I couldn’t stop the sweet smile that took over my lips.

“Thanks for the drink,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from his.

“Anytime, lady.” He smiled.
Eyes as black as toxic smoke met my gaze. I appreciated the smooth darkness of his skin, the whiteness of his smile, his thin yet muscular build and manicured hands, the cut of his suit, the tongue that seductively licked his lips whenever our eyes connected. I was normally attracted to bald men, but there was something about his low cut Caesar that made me wonder how many cardboard cans of Royal Crown grease it took to make it that shiny.

Stacie coughed loudly.

“I’m sorry. It’s Tyree, right?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know.

“Yes. I’m Tyree,” he answered.

“Tyree, this is Stacie.”

“Nice to meet you, Tyree. Thanks for the drink.” Stacie gently shook his hand and then winked at me.

To my dismay, Stacie grabbed her drink and excused herself from our table, leaving us alone.

“Why did you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Give her that ‘please don’t go’ look.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re afraid of me.” Tyree caressed the back of my hand with his fingertips. The sudden contact sent a jolt of electricity through my body and I snatched my hand away from his challenge.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” He questioned, “Don’t touch you?”

“I don’t like being touched.”

“Then you haven’t been touched by the right man.”

A hundred thoughts ran through my tipsy mind but not one of those thoughts included my husband, Riley. Those margaritas were definitely in my blood because my imagination was beginning to take my body places that no sober, married woman would ever venture. I closed my eyes and bobbed my head as Tweet’s voice filled the room. I needed to dance. Without a word to Tyree, I headed for the dance floor, and I didn’t walk, I sort of glided out to the middle of the floor and started dancing amongst the other couples. My eyes were closed so I didn’t actually see Tyree when he began dancing in front of me but I definitely felt his presence. Eyes still closed, I turned my back to him, swaying my hips provocatively, slowly winding my hands over my head as if I were belly dancing in a room filled with luxurious silk curtains and he was my sheik, admiring, lusting, wanting to touch but not daring to disturb my vibe.

I didn’t jump when his hands encircled my waist. Tyree pulled me close. His chest practically melted into my back. I mentally reminded myself to thank Stacie for forcing me to wear this backless, black shirt and I thanked my mother for the long dark legs that flowed sexily from the short black skirt I was wearing. I opened my eyes and smiled.

Tyree’s hands had left my waist and were now slowly sliding from my shoulders to my elbows to my hands, which he held as if he never wanted to let go. What could I have possibly been thinking when I wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tightly? Our hands were still connected so it was if I was hugging myself too. This contact brought our bodies even closer and I could feel how much he wanted me, not only because there was something discreetly poking me in the back, but because I could feel the racing of his heart through his shirt.

“You look so sexy.”

Tyree’s mouth was so close to my ear that I half expected him to lick, kiss or bite it. He did neither until a slow song began to play. Tyree effortlessly twirled me around to face him, pulling me close. I slid an arm around his neck as one of his hands returned to my waist. Our left hands unconsciously found each other, and I sighed softly when our fingers intertwined.
This had to be the most natural feeling in the world, his body next to mine, his nose in my hair, his fingers gently playing with mine. Once again, I closed my eyes and let the music transport me to another place in time. The others in the room vanished as Tyree and I swayed together so slowly we may have actually been standing still on the dance floor.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded.

I obeyed and found myself staring into eyes so deep I knew that every tangled emotion in my tortured body was being studied and memorized. I couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away from him, didn’t dare look away for fear that he’d disappear and leave standing in the middle of the floor dancing alone. Once again, the song changed and we ended up standing together, staring at each other until one of us realized that it wasn’t appropriate for us to be slow dancing to a club mix.
Realization coupled with guilt and instigated by desire forced me to pull myself out of the pool of vulnerability I was drowning in and breathe.

“I have to go,” I walked away quickly, not bothering to see if he followed.

The front door seemed miles away as I manipulated my way through the crowd. There was no sign of Stacie, but I did happen to see Max Jordan, Sera’s brother, staring disapprovingly at me. I felt guilty enough without having it confirmed by a third party, so I made a quick left and walked as far away from Max’s gaze as I could. I had just reached the door, when Tyree blocked my path.

“Were you going to say goodbye?” He asked.

“Goodbye, Tyree. Thanks for the drink and the…dance,” I said crisply.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

“No.”

“It’s not safe.”

“I’m a big girl,” I told him.

“I would feel better if you didn’t walk alone.”

“Fine, whatever,” I grumbled. I tried to sound indifferent, but in reality, hadn’t exactly been looking forward to walking alone in the dark.

Tyree opened the door and a blast of cold air caused goose bumps to overrun my skin. We started to walk, a little slower than I would have liked but at least I wasn’t alone.

“You didn’t wear a coat?” He asked.

“It’s in the car.”

“That’s a good place for it,” he chuckled.

“I know. That’s what I get for trying to be cute.”

“Trying?” He asked with an eyebrow raised.

I should have remained silent. I should have told Tyree goodnight and walked the rest of the way alone. I should have done these things but I didn’t. I continued talking to him, telling him things about myself that he had no business knowing, that I had no business sharing. It was unusually cold outside yet we stood next to my car talking for about twenty minutes. I at least had the notion to put on my coat, but Tyree was still standing there in his suit.

“Well, Tyree, thanks for seeing me to my car. That was very gallant of you.” I turned to open my car door but he grabbed me in a lingering hug. He didn’t want me to leave. I didn’t want to leave. We stood holding one another, until I gently pulled away.

“Aren’t you cold?” I inquired.

“Kinda.”

“Are you going to go to your car?”

“Not yet. I’m enjoying you.” He flashed that smile at me again and my knees trembled.

“But I have to go.”

“No you don’t.”

“Tyree, I have a husband at home.”

“Then why are you standing here with me?”
My demeanor changed. I was suddenly defensive, arms folded across my chest, legs slightly apart, chin a little higher.

“Good question.” I snatched my car door open, almost hitting my head in my haste to sit down in the driver’s seat.

“Leaving so soon?”
I tried to close the door but his body was again in the way. Heat rushed to my cheeks. Anger and frustration threatened to take over my voice box and send piercing screams reverberating throughout the parking lot.

“You’re angry.” He observed.

“Tyree, move out of the way.”

“That’s right, Ayzha. Direct your anger toward me. That way you don’t have to feel guilty for feeling the way you do.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about the way I feel!” I found myself face to face with Tyree again. Our faces were close enough to feel each other’s warm breath battling the cold air.

“You are beautiful…and you’re still here.”

I backed away as far as I could. “You stay away from me.”

“I can’t. When I see something I want, I go after it with everything in me.”

“My husband…”

“Your husband doesn’t know you the way that I want to.” Tyree leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. “But I’ll let you go home and pretend that everything is ok. I wouldn’t want to stand between you and your denial.”

“You don’t know anything about my marriage.”

“Baby, I know that if you were so eager to get back to your husband, you’d already be gone.”

He left me there alone to contemplate what had just happened, why it had happened, and whether or not I was willing to let it happen again. The answers terrified me. I got into my car and turned the key in the ignition, dreading the ride home.