Page 74 of Quasim: King Inferno

I watched as she rushed to where our suitcases were, and she dug through the front pocket and came back with some organic bug spray. “You sharing?”

She held it to her chest and smiled. “I don’t know… you been being mean to me.”

We were so close that I could smell her tangerine scented lotion she wore. “I wouldn’t say I been being mean… I been making you feel good, no?”

She held her breath the closer I became to her. “I told you to let me be happy.”

“And have I not? I could have homie on a T-shirt and having a memorial on TV with his fans, but I been behaving.”

Blair stared up at me with those lust filled eyes that I loved so much. “He wants us to be serious and I owe that to him.”

“Then why the fuck are you telling me this, my love?”

We were so close to each other than if I moved a centimeter, our lips would be touching. “I felt like I should tell you.”

“You wanna be with him, right?”

“Ye…yes,” she stammered, letting me know that she didn’t want to be with him. “I want to be with him, Quasim.”

I nodded my head, too tired to do this damn song and dance with her. “I’m about to go take a shower.”

Turning, I walked over to my suitcase and grabbed a few things out of it while she stood there watching me. “I just want you to love me, Simmy. Why the fuck is that so hard for you?” She raised her voice, showing me that us being on this end of the villa was the best choice.

I paused and looked at her. “Watch yourself, Anjo.”

“Or what?” She folded her arms as she challenged me, wanting me to show her some emotion, give her what she’s been desperately craving from me.

I dropped my shit on the bed and crossed the room until I was in front of her, backing her up against the glass as I grabbed her neck gently. My hands eased right up her thigh into her wetness as she looked up at me with tears threatening to fall.

“You looking at me with all this love in your eyes, wanting me to fuck the shit out of you, but you telling me that you wanna be serious with homie. Stop fucking playing with me, Blair… you wanna be with him, but every time you’re with him you think about me, huh?” I inserted my finger inside of her as she moaned out. “You told me you wanted me to let you go, and I’m fucking trying… I’m good at goodbyes, but this back-and-forth shit ain’t for me.”

“Then stop doing the back and forth… give me what I want to give you. Why do I have to beg you.”

I bit her bottom lip, as she moaned into my mouth and I pulled my fingers from inside of her, leaving her spent against the glass. “You don’t even know what you want… First you want me to leave you alone, then you wanna lay on me on the jet, and stare at me with those eyes.”

“What eyes, Quasim?” She asked, as she remained on the window.

“The eyes that tell me you would give up everything for me… you love me and would do whatever when it comes to me.”

“And will,” she whispered.

“Fuck, Anjo,” I snatched my shit up, and turned toward the bathroom. “I’m not good for you… you don’t deserve a nigga like me.”

She remained quiet for a second before she removed herself from the window and closed her robe back. “I hate that you feel like that… that you can’t love me because I have loved you for some time. I want you so bad that the shit hurts, but you’ve made it very clear… it’s understood.” She pulled the blankets back on the bed.

I went into the bathroom and ran a shower, standing under the water with my hands on the wall, fucking pissed at the conversation we just had. The fuck is wrong with me. Again, I had the chance to make the shit right, and everything inside my body fought against that. My body was telling me that I needed to leave shit alone and allow her to be truly happy.

Loving me had her stabbing a bitch in the head. Yeah, she also defended Capri, but my name was mentioned, too. She wouldn’t want to love a nigga like me, not after she knew the real me. The me that only a few people knew about.

After my shower, I pulled on a pair of briefs and walked out the bathroom. While I was in the shower, she pulled on a nightgown and had her back to me with her kindle in her hand. I got down on my knees at the end of the bed, and she finally looked over at me.

“Come pray with me, Blair.”

She sat up and looked at me. “I hate when you call me Blair.”

“Come pray with me, my love,” I corrected myself and she placed the kindle down, and came around the bed, kneeling beside me.

“I hate to admit that I don’t pray too much… I mean, I do, but not much. I was angry at God for a little while after I was diagnosed with cancer,” she spoke, almost like she was scared he wouldn’t accept her prayer.

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