Page 13 of Lost In London

“I-I ” My steps slowed hearing the emotional cry in her voice. “I still love him. I love you so much, Quincey.” I never denied that she did. She loved me how she could and in the end that wasn’t enough. “Back then I didn’t know how to handle you and the type of love you wanted to give me.” Lifting her head from her fingers fidgeting in her lap, those teary hazel eyes made my chest constrict. “You’re so intense. So damn intense. Sometimes, most times it was hard to breathe because your love became smothering. I-I’m used to getting lost in a man but never has a man got lost in me as you did. Then there were times you became so selfish that you wouldn’t be happy unless you had me all to yourself. The way you were dependent on me, it wasn’t healthy.” She mumbled the last part, unable to look me in the eye.

“Then why…”

“I don’t understand…”

Bishop and I began speaking at the same time. He nodded his head for me to speak. Making my way over to her, I pulled a chair over until I was sitting in front of her. Bishop’s wooden coffee table looked sturdy but I doubt it would hold all my weight. Taking her hands in mine, I waited until she gave me her eyes. “Look at me.” Her lips parted and a low gasp came from her cherry painted lips.

“We are…” her words died off seeing the hardness in my eyes. I gave her all the time to speak, a whole month to be exact. It was now my turn.

“I’m tired, India. Tired of you making it seem like our demise was solely my fault. My love is too overbearing, yet you’ve been chasing after me since we broke up to take you back. Nothing about me has changed in that sense but only intensified. If you couldn’t handle me then what makes you think that you can handle me now?” She tried to pull her hands away, bottom lip trembling and a fresh set of tears holding on.

“What you call flaws within me is another woman’s answered prayer.” Those tears dried up quickly then. “Yes, I become so enamored with the woman I give my heart to that someone on the outside looking in might call it codependency. A woman able to receive my love and reciprocate it is my weakness. You know that. I’ll be a simp, putty in your hands. But never, ever will you have to question if I love you because I make it my business to show it. I can’t give you access to me again. I tried for two and a half long years but you rejected me. Said it wasn’t what you needed, that I wasn’t what you needed.” Lifting her hands to my lips, I kissed her knuckles. “We’re done.”

Exes are exes for a reason.

No, she and I didn’t end on bad terms, but I’ve been making it clear, crystal clear that our season had passed. For months she tried to fight me with that whole let's be friends speech. Friends while she journeyed on discovering what she truly wanted. What that interpreted to me is she wanted to keep me close, keep herself inserted in my life so no other woman would have an opportunity to slip in.

I was ready to move on, she needed to do the same.

Releasing her hand watching tears run down her cheeks, I exhaled and turned to Bishop. “As always thanks for today but I have somewhere to be.” He stood to shake my hand.

“No problem. Congratulations on winning again this year. I’ll make sure Aziza has a cake for you on Sunday.”

“I appreciate it.” Turning to India, watching her wipe her face, I said my goodbyes. “Take care.” Leaving them alone to close out the session, I sped walked to the parking lot only to stop when I heard her call my name. Turning, I watched her catwalk my way in her high heels. I waited for that moment when my heart used to skip several beats seeing her. The moments when my arms would cover with chills and the hair on my arms would stand up just from her stepping into a room. Waited for the moment when my libido went haywire from wanting to bury myself deep in her womanly abyss.

None of that happened.

Was she still beautiful? Absolutely. I loved her brown skin. Loved the softness of it. Loved the way her skin used to feel against my chest and hands. She was wearing braids in a style she knew I loved. It was something about a chocolate sista wearing cornrows with gold hoop earrings and their thick, plump lips coated in a cherry gloss that made me want to be a savage beast.

She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew wearing the tight maxi dress, those dresses that made her ass jiggle and clap with each twist and turn her hips made. Then she had the nerve to wear heels, so I know the walk made them cheeks clap more vicious.

And even still… our ending chapters weren’t about to get an epilogue.

“Here, I got this for you.” She held out a gift bag.

To be an asshole or not to be an asshole.

I made not one move in accepting her gift. “I appreciate you.” That’s as nice as it could get.

Brows bunched and neck snapping to the left, I knew she was about to go off. “Seriously, Quincey, it’s just a gift.” Huffing and looking around the open parking lot, thankful no eyes were on us, she tried to hide her frustration but failed. “I forgot you’re weird like that. Everything with you has to serve a purpose.”

I wasn’t weird, I was a man that took caution as to who and what I let in my space.

After India and I broke up I cleaned my house from top to bottom. Not just a regular Saturday morning clean, I mean I cleaned it thoroughly. Even hired professional cleaners to come in after I had done it three times to catch whatever I missed. After that, I grabbed some oil and anointed my home. Prayed through it. Cleaned out our past.

People think that material possessions don’t have spirits or bad omens clinging to them. They indeed do. If they didn’t then why is it so easy for people to worship idols? Think about the material things we’re attached to. Think about the intentions people have when they give or buy you something. I want him/her to want me so let me buy this. I want to control him/her so let me give them this. You’re already placing your negative intentions on an object I’m going to place in my house and fucking up my peace.

Hell no. I don’t want that shit in my house.

Since I was a kid, I’ve had a higher level of discernment than most. What people call good and bad vibes, I had all those as a child. If a kid gave me bad vibes, I wouldn’t play or share my toys. I never stayed the night or went over to my cousin Rick’s house because I always felt like he had an evil spirit in him. No one outside of my parents and brothers believed me. It wasn’t until years later when it came out that Rick had been abusing his wife and kids that people wanted to start believing me.

I damn sure wasn’t having casual sex and one-night stands with women and for certain, I never kissed a woman unless she was my woman. The exchange done through sex and kissing was too valuable to me to taint just to get my dick wet.

I never took a job that made me feel I’d spend more time fighting with coworkers than doing my job.

During my freshman year of college, I had a roommate I couldn’t stand for shit. I knew early on from the email exchanges to actually meeting him something was wrong with him. I spent that entire semester begging for a room switch and when I didn’t get one, I slept in the library. You know how you can smell the foul shit people do or look at them and can tell they’re wicked? My roommate was that person. It was written all over him and I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. It wasn’t until the end of the semester that it was found out he raped two girls.

When it comes to shaking hands with people I didn’t know or got bad vibes from, that shake isn't happening. I protected myself, my mind, and my heart like Fort Knox. No one else was going to do it so I had to and I took much pride in doing so.

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