Carl Weber Presents Full Figured 6: Plus Size Divas Page 12

  “Are you?” Lance asked, his eyes not leaving mine.

  “No, of course not. I’m not a monster. When I’m really in love, I love deeply.”

  “You lose yourself.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I would say love completes me.”

  “Then, that’s all that matters. You know your heart and that those men loved you. You were there during their last moments on earth and that’s a beautiful thing. Don’t you agree?”

  I cleared my throat several times, attempting to get rid of the lump that had suddenly formed. I couldn’t speak.

  Lance understood and simply reached for my hand and held it gently across the table. It was our moment. Words weren’t necessary. The remainder of the night was enjoyable as well. We ate, we drank, we laughed; and then we laughed some more. I realized I could definitely love this man. That realization made my heart and spirit leap with joy. I never thought I would experience this feeling again.

  After a lovely evening, almost perfect actually, Lance dropped me off at my house. Like a gentlemen, he walked me to the door, kissed me lightly on the lips, and simply left after seeing that I was safely in. He didn’t invite himself in, but said there would be plenty of times for that later. I melted as my love came down.

  Much like the other times I experienced love connections, I tossed and turned for most of the night in my queen-sized bed, longing to have Lance beside me, holding me in his arms. Images and dark scenes from my exes came back to haunt and tease me.

  Malik, Brian, and Edward all invaded my dreams, one at a time, patiently waiting their turn. All men I had loved and married at some point in my life. However, they all taught me a valuable lesson that I never forgot: love can quickly turn into hate without warning. There really was a thin line between love and hate.

  Malik

  Chapter 34

  He was dressed in his usual attire of dark denim baggie jeans, a navy hoodie, and expensive Jordan sneakers. And to think when I first met him, I thought that attire was sexy and super swagged out. I attributed it to being young and dumb.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, with my arms crossed stiffly against my bosom as I stood in the doorway of our tiny bedroom.

  “Out.”

  “No, you’re not,” I said boldly.

  “Who’s going to stop me? Not you,” he said, looking over at me from across the bedroom with a hint of anger as he sat on the edge of our bed.

  I glared at Malik with almost as much hatred as I’d once had love for him.

  “You can scowl at me, pout, do the holy dance, the Hokey Pokey, but I am still going out for drinks with the fellows tonight.”

  “What about me?”

  “What about you? You’re a big girl, entertain yourself until I come home. Damn.”

  “I’m sick of this, Malik. We never spend any time together anymore. What happened to us?”

  As he stared at me, for a moment I glimpsed the man I used to love with all my heart. Malik literally saved me after Mama was killed by a lover. After we hooked up, Malik was my reason to live and go on with my life and not give up. He was strong and street confident. I thought that was powerful, that I could lean on him for strength, but I soon learned that swagger and skills in the bedroom didn’t pay bills or keep a roof over your head. We were barely getting by and this was not the life I dreamt of, or desired. I had much bigger dreams and goals.

  “How is your job search going?”

  “Don’t start with that again, Erika. I told you I’m looking and that’s the best I can do. You know the white man don’t wanna give a brotha a break.”

  “Evidently, you aren’t looking hard enough and that bullshit you are spewing is just an excuse.”

  For a few seconds, Malik gave me a look that said I had gone far enough. I was a bit nervous of what he would do, but I knew I could hold my own. Two weeks earlier, he had hit me for the first time. Out of nowhere, he slapped me with the back of his hand over something I had said.

  “You’d better watch that smart mouth of yours. I have told you about that shit, Erika. Don’t make me go there again.”

  “Baby, don’t leave. Stay home tonight. I need you.” I instantly hated myself for begging him to stay with me, but I couldn’t help myself.

  Briefly, I thought I saw a short-lived glimmer of love reflected in his eyes.

  “When you lose some weight, I’ll start staying home.”

  I had gained a few pounds, twenty, since we married, but I wasn’t exactly slim before. Malik used to tell me that he loved a woman with some meat on her bones; he wasn’t looking for a twig. He loved having something to hold on to as he eased himself inside. All the stress Malik was putting me through had gotten to me and I coped by eating. A lot.

  “You used to love it.”

  “That’s the operative word, used to. Look at you. You look like a fat, lazy slob. You wear my sweats and T-shirts all the fucking time. You don’t fix your hair. Get yourself together, Erika.”

  I murmured, “I will when you do.”

  “What? What did you say?” he asked, looking up again from completing the task of lacing his sneakers.

  “Nothing,” I whispered, taking a step or two backward to let him pass as he walked by. “You are making me crazy with your shit, Malik.”

  I followed Malik into the living room. He reached for his keys on the coffee table; or, rather, my keys to my car. His vehicle had been repossessed a few weeks earlier, so now we only had one car. He dropped me off at work each morning and supposedly went job searching. I was no fool.

  “I’m only having a couple of drinks and then I’ll come home,” he said, like that made everything all right.

  “Don’t do me any favors.”

  “Okay, I won’t then. No problem.”

  I walked to the sofa and plopped down on it.

  “By the way, I took a twenty out of your wallet earlier.”

  “Malik, I needed that for lunch for the rest of the workweek.”

  “It won’t hurt you to skip a few meals.” He laughed. “I’ll make you a salad.”

  The man standing in front of me was a shell of the man I loved and married. There was a time when he could do no wrong in my eyes and I worshipped the ground he walked on. He was my savior after Mama passed. Not now. He hurt me, ridiculed me, hit me, and wasn’t changing. I realized I hated him as he walked out the front door without a backward glance or good-bye.

  Malik stumbled into bed around three o’clock that next morning, smelling like liquor and cheap perfume. I stared at him through the darkness and shadows as he slept, snored, and called out in his sleep a few times. I thought of the man who used to made sweet love to me like no other and whispered sweet words that made me feel like I was special. Now, all I felt was contempt and disdain that he was a part of my life. Ruining it.

  The next morning, Sunday, I got up bright and early and fixed Malik his favorite breakfast. Scrambled eggs, hot, runny grits, crisp bacon with thick skin, raisin toast, strawberry jam, the works. If I do say so myself, I threw down, put my foot in it, and Malik ate every single bite. He didn’t leave a crumb and didn’t utter a “thank you, baby,” either.

  Later, I was patient as he lounged around our rented two-bedroom house in his underwear, no worries to be seen. Not an apology to be said. Unknown to him, he could have stopped it at any time with two simple words: I’m sorry. But he never did. So, he paid.

  “I’m going to drive over to Mike’s for a few hours and catch the first half of the game,” Malik offered.

  “Okay.” I smiled. “Drive carefully.”

  He looked at me curiously.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve been acting sweet all day today. Most of the time you are running your fucking mouth a mile a minute, griping about something or another.”

  “Things change. What’s the point?”

  “Yeah, I’ll see you later. I’m running l
ate.”

  “See ya.” I whispered, wouldn’t wanna be ya, to myself.

  I watched Malik walk out the door for the last time as I munched on an ice-cold Snickers candy bar that I had just taken out of the freezer. My favorite. I wondered how far he would get before it happened. I wondered if it would be sudden and what his last thoughts would be. Maybe his life would flash before his eyes and he would regret how he had treated me.

  My mother always told me, “don’t get mad, get even.” Last night, really early morning, I made my decision and quietly slipped to our garage and cut the hose to the brake line. I knew my way around cars from back in the day when Mama dated a mechanic and he taught me a thing or two about cars, among other things. I even briefly worked in his automotive repair shop after school.

  The call came later. Tragic accident. Lost control. Crashed. Hit the wall. Instantly killed. So young. Catastrophic.

  All the words ran together in a jumble and I sank to my knees and cried. Cried for days. Cried for what could have been before it went bad.

  Brian

  Chapter 35

  With his boyish good looks, Brian was my second chance at love. I placed the past behind me, almost like it never happened, and looked toward the future with new enthusiasm. Everyone told me I was still young, I could get past my grief and rebuild my life. And I did.

  I started a new life with new friends, well actually old ones who I simply hadn’t seen for a while. Carla and her sister, Jessica, my best friend from back in the day, were back in my life and we partied together. That’s how I met Brian, through Carla. It was love at first sight even though I knew he was dating Carla, but we couldn’t help who we loved. My heart fluttered each time I saw him. We ended up sleeping together a few months later and before I knew what was happening, we were man and wife. Carla was out of the picture, bitter as hell.

  Love hung around for a brief period of time before it, too, turned bitter cold and betrayed me. In the beginning, I was very happy with Brian. I doted on him, we had a strong sexual attraction, and we were inseparable. He proved to me that I could love again, but then things suddenly took a turn for the worse.

  “I heard you were talking with Carla the other day,” I said as we reclined on the sofa. Brian was watching the game and I was flipping through a celebrity magazine. I loved to read about how the stars lived.

  “If I did, what’s your point?”

  I looked at him in disbelief. “She is your ex-girlfriend and you of all people know that she can’t stand me. That’s my point.”

  Brian didn’t comment. Didn’t even look in my direction. I was invisible.

  “Brian,” I screamed, throwing a small pillow at him. “Answer me.”

  “What? What, Erika? Damn!”

  “Did you see her?”

  “Yes, I did. I ran into her at the convenience store up the street. As I was walking out, she was walking in.”

  “Don’t you think that’s too much of a coincidence? Carla doesn’t even live on this side of town.”

  “So, she’s stalking me now?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “Is that really what you are suggesting?”

  “That’s all you did, simply talked?”

  “No, I took her home and fucked the shit out of her. Two times.”

  I stared at him and rolled my eyes.

  “Brian?”

  “Erika, what? I’m trying to watch the game of the season and you are making it very difficult.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “There’s nothing to answer. I saw Carla and we spoke for a few minutes, asked her how she was doing, caught up, and that was basically it. You are going to believe what you want to believe, so what’s the point in explaining?”

  “Ummm,” I said and sucked my teeth.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, glancing in my direction, finally.

  “You figure it out.”

  “I don’t know what your problem is, Erika. It’s almost like you are obsessed with Carla. You won, okay? I’m here with you. Don’t that count for something?”

  “It’s no secret that she’d get you back if she could, in a heartbeat. I hear the talk around town.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Erika. I’m exactly where I want to be. Married to you.”

  “You promise?”

  “I do, but you have to promise me that you’ll go back to the way you were. I miss the way we used to be before Carla moved back to town and you lost your damn mind. I can’t take much more of this.”

  “I haven’t changed.”

  “You definitely have. Stop trying to control me, Erika. I’m not the one. Never have been and never will be. I wear the pants in my household. I understand how you grew up, what you witnessed and what your mama taught you about men and relationships, but I’m not going to hurt you, nor am I going to let you dominate me.” At that moment I believed him, needed to. I had heard rumors that he had hooked up with Carla since she returned to Atlanta. After Brian and I married, I thought she had moved out to California for a stylish gig with a local celebrity. For now, I let it be. Took Brian’s word as gospel. A couple of weeks later, I discovered the real answer when I picked up Brian’s phone as a text came through. He was passed out in our bed. When we made love, he always slept like the dead afterward.

  The text read:

  I miss you, baby. When can you slip back over and give me some more of that good loving? I didn’t realize how much I missed that dick. LOL. Don’t worry about that fat cow of a wife of yours. She is too stupid to suspect anything and is probably too busy eating everything in sight to notice. Hugs and kisses, Carla.

  Something inside of me snapped, just like the last time. I couldn’t see clearly, I felt like I would vomit as I threw the phone down on the bed. I gave Brian everything he needed and asked for and he repaid me by betraying me by having an affair, not with just anyone, but with Carla.

  I snapped. Snapped hard.

  I can’t remember much that happened afterward. I remember talking to the 911 operator, don’t remember calling, to let her know that my husband had committed suicide with a gun he kept in the nightstand while I slept on the sofa after falling asleep downstairs.

  I was in a daze.

  I remembered the mess. The blood. So much blood. The gore. It was everywhere. Brains. Later, I was told that this was how scenes looked when a person shot himself in the head at close range. My husband didn’t leave a suicide note and I never realized he was depressed until then. Brian always kept everything bottled up tightly inside. That was his way. Later, I discovered we were heavily in debt and he had kept that from me as well since he took care of the bills. People speculated that may have been the reason he was extremely depressed. I never knew. I just knew he was gone. Then came the vicious rumors that I had something to do with Brian’s death. The police investigated and also discovered my first husband had died from a tragic accident. Eventually, the investigation was dropped after they couldn’t find any evidence against me.

  Life slowly returned to normal, as normal as it would ever be, and my grief subsided to a manageable level. That’s the way with life. It goes on. I saw Carla out and about eventually and I went up to her and hugged her. No hard feelings. I whispered in her ear, “Brian’s in a better place. God has him now and we both lose.” I walked away with her staring at me strangely.

  Edward

  Chapter 36

  What’s the old adage? Strike three and you are out? When I met Edward, I was determined to make our budding relationship work, always and forever. Failure was not an option. I had learned from my other mistakes and this time around, I was older and wiser. I looked at the first two marriages as trial runs. Trial and error.

  Edward was the real deal, as my Mama would say, but everybody she met was the real deal, so I started to wonder at a young age how you could tell who really was a keeper. Edward came with the total package: tall, dark, handsome, and charming. He was a gentleman and a professional man. I later le
arned that he had a checkered past as a young man that almost led him down the wrong path and so he had to get out of Chicago. Quick. He never talked much about that time in his life and I had met very few of his family members over the years. It’s funny how life throws different paths our way and depending on the one we choose, it can make all the difference in the world. I met Edward when we both worked at a national insurance company; I was a claims adjuster and he was a manager. We simply clicked and it seemed right. We were meant to be together and he was the love of my life.

  In the beginning, we were very much in love and extremely blissful. Joy shone all over my face. I glowed. I couldn’t believe I could love someone as much as I loved Edward. I kept expecting to wake up and find it was all a dream, just a figment of my imagination. I knew I shouldn’t say it, but Edward completed me.

  Edward and I were your all-American couple until we realized I couldn’t have a baby. We had tried and tried and tried unsuccessfully for years. When we finally tested, it was determined that I was the sterile one. I couldn’t conceive. I cried for days and Edward tried his best to console me, telling me everything would be okay. We could adopt. I wanted to believe him, but soon the small, subtle changes started and I noticed. I saw the resentment in his eyes that displayed he was stuck with a woman who couldn’t give him children.

  I had rushed home to prepare all of Edward’s favorite dishes: well-done New York strip steak with sautéed onions, baked potato with sour cream and chives, a light Caesar salad and a nice merlot wine. Just as I finished setting the table, the phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, baby.”

  “Hey, yourself. Where are you? Are you almost home?”

  “That’s why I’m calling.”

  I sighed. “No, Edward. Don’t tell me . . .”

  “I’m sorry, baby. I’m working late again. I can’t help it. Since I’ve gotten this promotion, I have more responsibility, which translates into longer hours spent at the office, at least for right now.”