When Love Hurts (8 page)

“Oh, no,” I say, holding the food above her head so she can’t reach it. “You been acting funny all day. You need to make it up to me.”

“Whaaat?” she whines, stretching her hand to the bag. “You’re the one who left me.”

I smile. “Nah, that’s not how it happened.”

She rolls her eyes and stops reaching for the bag, and I figure she’s tired of being made fun of for her lack of height. She comes to my shoulder, but she has short arms, and she was always teased for it. She walks toward the kitchen table and sits down and waits for me to show up there with her food. She looks like she’s going to get an attitude, so I lay the food down in front of her.

Angela smiles softly and starts to rip right into the food. She pauses only to give me a questionable look. “Did you think about me moving in? I think we’re ready.”

I shrug. I really have no excuse for her not to, and I don’t want to have to keep arguing with her every day about it. Besides, there are more important things to worry about, like leasing a good building for my sports bar and hiring staff. Not to mention the fact that I can’t get Jessica off my mind no matter what the hell I’m doing.
 

I stare at Angela and note that she looks more tired than usual. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I was just arguing with my mom. I told her I was staying here, and she’s pissed about it. But, like, why the fuck should I care? ‘What, you thought I was going to stay there forever or something?’ Ain’t she crazy?” I nod and she continues. “So, I’m like, ‘I’ll leave whenever I want to leave,’ and she’s all ‘You don’t know what the hell you’re doing, you’re stupid, and blah de blah blah.’ Ugh. I couldn’t wait to get off the phone with her, but if I would have hung up in her face, I would have been in the wrong.”

“Yeah, probably. So when you gonna move your things in?” I ask.

She stops munching to speak again. “As soon as possible.”

I stare hard at the contract in front of me, let out a sigh, and then lean my head back in my chair. I finally found a building to put my next sports bar in, but the details of this contract aren’t as concrete as I’d like them to be. Loose ends here, not enough details there, too strict here. I need to call my lawyer to look this over for me.
 

I pick up my phone, when Malcolm walks into my office. His smile is halfhearted, and I know something is bothering him. He comes in and sits across from me.
 

“What up, bro?” I say. “You all right?”

He shrugs. “Um . . . I don’t know.”

I put the phone down and stare at his eyes. He’s definitely hiding something from me. My face grows serious, and I fold my hands and lean forward. “You coming out to me, bro?” I’m not serious, but I make him crack a smile.

“Hell, nah, nigga,” He shows his teeth for a few seconds before he frowns. “I ain’t heard from Jessica in a minute.”

When I don’t say anything to him, he continues. “The last thing I heard from her was that she was getting offended that I felt I had to keep checking up on her and that I shouldn’t call as much. Keep in mind I was only calling once or twice a week. She said she’ll call me if anything comes up, so I said okay. That was two months ago.”

I lean back in my chair again. “That means she’s okay, bro.”

Malcolm waves me off. “Nah, nah. Let me finish. I just ran into Jess at the grocery store like thirty minutes ago. We talked, and she was happy. Very, very happy. She asked about you. She was smiling. And I just kept thinking, ‘Why is this girl so happy?’”

“She can’t be happy?”

Malcolm rolls his eyes. “No, bro, that’s not what I meant. I was like, why you so happy, and she said . . .” He pauses like he doesn’t want to tell me. He shakes his head, leans back, and stares off into space. “She said she’s engaged to that nigga, bro.”

PART THREE

Jessica

I roll around in my bed until I face the wall. Chris is still in the shower. I take a deep breath and smile. I can’t believe Chris proposed to me last night. I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised, given the circumstances.
 

My smile fades when I think about seeing Malcolm today. I hadn’t seen him in three months, and even though I asked him how Jaylen was doing, he only gave me a vague answer. I don’t want to admit it, but I wanted to know if Jaylen was sorry for what he said to me. I know my going back to Chris was a hard pill to swallow, but I’m happy. If Jaylen can’t accept my desire to be happy, then I don’t know what else to say about it.

I look out of the window, and I’m able to spot the moon. It’s shining orange like the sun, and I snuggle deeper into the bed. I close my eyes as I hear the shower turn off, and my mind shifts back to Jaylen. I don’t know why I miss him so much, but I hate the last words I said to him. He and Malcolm were the only real friends I ever had, and now I feel like I’m really by myself.

Chris promised to never hit me again or cheat on me. He changed his number and allowed me to pick out the password for the phone. He changed his work schedule so that he works all night and stays home with me during the day so he will have less “tempting moments.” I admit that I wasn’t sure he would keep all his promises, but he has, and I can’t be happier.
 

The bedroom door opens, and the smell of Ivory soap and hot steam fills the air. I inhale deeply and turn around. Chris is wearing only his towel and a smirk on his face as he winks at me. I smile back and stare at his muscled chest and stomach. His skin is about two shades lighter than mine, and his eyes are a bright brown.
 

Chris drops his towel and crawls in beside me. I lay my head on his chest and listen to his heart beat. He starts to rub my back and tug my hair softly.
 

“You still feeling sick?” he asks, staring down at me.
 

“Yeah, just a little, but I’m fine. Just need to get to sleep, that’s all.”

He nods and squeezes my shoulders. “All right, but since I’m off tonight and tomorrow, how about we go to the club tomorrow night? We got a lot to celebrate,” he says, reaching over and rubbing my stomach.

I snuggle closer and rest a leg on top of his thigh. “What do you think we should name it if he’s a boy?”

“Chris.”

“What about a girl?”

“Chrissy,” he says. I laugh and wrap my arms around him.

The next morning I feel a lot worse than the night before. I throw up twice before Chris even wakes up, and after he wakes up, I realize I’m too weak to even fix his breakfast. Of course, he says it’s no big deal and makes himself a bowl of cereal.

I lie out on the couch with my robe on, and Chris is by my feet watching ESPN. I haven’t eaten anything yet because I’m afraid it won’t stay down. “You want some white soda or something?” Chris asks.
 

I shake my head, and he goes back to watching TV. It won’t be till the late afternoon that I might feel like eating something. It’s just that I hate throwing up so much that I don’t want to take the chance. I settle for drinking water.
 

“How many months are you?” Chris asks. I find his staring annoying.

“I don’t know. A month maybe. I’m not even showing yet,” I say.

“Well, how many months into it do you start showing?” he asks, a little louder than necessary. I know he isn’t doubting that I’m pregnant. I’ve been throwing up like crazy.
 

“I don’t know, Chris. We haven’t been to the doctor yet. When we go there he can tell us how many months I am into the pregnancy,” I say. He seems satisfied with that answer and turns his eyes to the TV.

After I finish eating a ham sandwich, I feel a lot better. Chris is still lying on the couch, but says he’ll be ready when I come out of the bathroom.

I get in the shower, and my mind goes back to Chris questioning why I’m not showing yet and how long I’ve been pregnant. I wish I knew. I look down at my stomach and notice a baby bump. What was Chris talking about? Of course I’m pregnant, and I’m showing. Did he just think this was fat or something? Why is he trying to make sure I’m pregnant?

Then I think back to when I moved back in with him three months ago. Yes, he was being good and keeping all his promises, but he was also so . . . passionate. We were making love every day, if not twice a day. And he would always ask me how I felt and if I was okay. We were having sex with the lights off, which was making my memory a little blurry.
 

I reach for the soap and start lathering my body. It isn’t until I’m cleaning my thighs that I understand. Or think I do. I might be wrong, and I have no way to prove he hasn’t been doing it.
 
I think Chris has been trying to get me pregnant. He wanted me pregnant, and now he’s making sure I’m really pregnant.
 

I rinse off and hop out the shower. I feel like I’m in a daze as I slide a towel over my body. Why would Chris want me pregnant? I shake my head and tell myself that being pregnant isn’t a bad thing. So what if he wants me to have his baby? What the hell is wrong with that? And he’s my fiancé, so it’s a pretty sweet deal. I’m finally gonna have a family of my own.

We leave for the club about forty-five minutes later. Chris is smiling at my blue low-cut dress and tells me that he’s going to show me off to his friends when we get to the club. I smile back and tell him how handsome he looks in his tan button-up shirt, slacks, and jewelry. We pull up to this club called Lacey. We stroll in and sit in a booth not too far from the dance floor. I’m wearing my blue heels, but I ain’t afraid to show my dance moves on the floor no matter how bad Jaylen said they were.

Chris heads to the bar to get himself a drink and me a white soda. I’m nodding my head to the music and starting to relax. I lean back and close my eyes. I open them again when I hear cursing and screaming coming from the next booth. From what I can hear, some woman wearing a blue dress as well came here and ran into two of her lovers, and she is being chewed out for it. I feel bad for the woman somehow. To be a hoe and be caught on yo’ shit. Damn. Eventually I stop listening and focus my attention on the dance floor, where women are grinding like it paid the bills. The guys are dancing behind them holding the girls’ ass against their crotches. I stare at one couple in particular with the guy gripping the girl tight and hard against him like he doesn’t want her to leave and dance with another dude. And that’s when it hits me.

I finally understand why Chris is asking if I’m pregnant. I look down at my engagement ring and realize why he wants to marry me. He wants to trap me. He wants me to be with him forever, and he wants an excuse that we should stay together no matter how many times he fucks up. This baby is his insurance. I horridly try to think of when we had sex to disprove my case, but I can’t think of anything. I just come up with visions of us having hot, sexy “miss you” sex. The sex was rough and fast, and I realize he never really seemed to get enough of me.
 

I close my eyes and rest my head on the table. Then I open them and sit up straight. The condoms. They were at the bottom drawer in the end table, and I never remembered him putting them on. I thought he did. He always did before, and I assumed he’d been doing it since we got back together. Oh, shit. No, this can’t be true. I just have to be making this up.
 

Chris comes back to the table a few seconds later with no drinks in his hands, but his face looks pissed off. I’m about to ask him what’s wrong, when he grabs me by the arm and drags me out of the booth. I’m shocked at how he handles me, but I’m too mad and confused to do anything. He pulls me by the hand to the exit of the club.
 

Once we’re outside, he lets go of my hand and starts walking toward the car. I look back at the club and then look back at Chris. I don’t know what he saw in there that pissed him off, but I sure as hell don’t want him taking it out on me.
 

“Get in the car,” he says. “I just want to talk to you.”

I roll my eyes and walk over to his car. I have a few things I want to say to him too. I get in, but he doesn’t say anything. We just start driving back to the house in silence.
 

We pull up to the apartment twenty minutes later and park underneath a streetlight. He kills the engine and climbs out. I follow him to the door, and once we get inside his place his hand slaps my face with such force that it sends me back against the front door. I hold my cheek with my hand and feel the sting. I look up at him with teary eyes as he stares back with eyes of fury.
 

“You fucking whore,” he hisses. “My friend told me you slept with him.”

My mouth drops. What the hell did he just say? “Chris, I never slept—” He cuts me off with a shove that slams my head against the door. I slide to the ground and wrap my arms around my legs.
 

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” Chris spits out. He crouches down and pulls my head up by my hair so I’m staring at his ugly face. “Dude told me he fucked you. I was like, who? He said the girl in the blue dress, and pointed in your direction.”

His face is hard, and his fists are shaking like he can’t control it. Is this really what our relationship comes down to? He said–she said crap? I close my eyes and try to keep my voice steady. “Chris, it’s not true.”

He snatches my throat, squeezes hard, and throws my face to the carpet. “Yes, the fuck it is.”
 

I gasp for breath, when I feel his shoe crash on my ear. He kicks my face again, landing on my forehead. I’m screaming now and bring my knees up to my chest to protect my stomach. I don’t care what he does to me; I just can’t let him hurt this baby. Pretty soon he realizes what I’m doing and his blows meet my legs. He bends over and starts punching me all over. It feels like it’s raining knives, and I get the urge to throw up. I scream so much I wonder where the police are. Someone must hear me. Someone has to hear me.
 

Eventually, after what feels like hours, he stops. I can’t open my eyes, and I’m sure I’m bleeding, but I don’t know where. I can hear Chris talking, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. It’s silent for a while, and I figure he left the room to let me bleed to death. Then I feel clothes fall on top of me, and I crank my swollen eyes open to see what he’s doing. These are my clothes.