The following is the first of an idea I have for a series of ‘snapshot’ stories I’m thinking of doing…any feedback…and or suggestions for what next is welcome. 😀 hope you enjoy…
Ps if you read my Mr Allen…that is part of the same project just a different avenue 😀
Sobbing, I lay crumpled on the floor in the front room. My heart was paining in ways it hadn’t before. Jarom had just left the house. I could still hear the click of the front door lock echoing through the few rooms we shared.
I begged him not to go.
I knew he was cheating on me, again. I say again, like he ever stopped; but no matter what, when the sex was good and the pillow talk “insightful” I would listen to his excuses and give him another chance.
His excuses weren’t original by far…”this girl did this to me when I was with her”, “I’m in love with you but I feel like I need to experience life some more” etc etc…Each time I asked the question, “Where you going?” “Why you with her?” He would spit at me “Do I ask you your business!?” I’m thinking no – because my business is open, you know I’d never cheat…
“Aaah!” he’d exclaim, “I can’t deal with this bullshit right now! I hate jealous girls!” Funny, no one had ever called me jealous before him.
As I feel the stirrings of our 6month old unborn children, I remind myself that the sadness isn’t good for them, but the rage inside me does not want to be quelled. This I vowed would be the LAST time.
I ring him once, twice, three times. Then I ring her. “Put Jarom on the phone” she does. I tell him how his son will grow up to hate him on sight alone and that his daughter will never trust a black man. I tell him for the next 30 yrs of life he will pay for the hours of tears I shed on this night. I tell him I will never ask anything of you again…and I will no longer be as forthcoming. So kiss my ass, goodnight and I hope the fuck kills you. I hang up the phone…but it’s not enough…I pick up the doorstopper…a pretty, heavy, delicate looking thing shaped like a butterfly and made of wrought iron; I throw it at the toilet. I cry again, this time because the collision of an immovable object and an unstoppable force meant that there was now a 50p sized chip in the porcelain , I’d never get the deposit for the flat back now.
- Teaching babies how to hate. (memoirsofalostgirl.wordpress.com)