Page 31 of Broken Clocks
Because when he first showed up at my door with her, it was:
"I'm sorry, Eshe. It's you I want, but you gotta wait. She's pregnant."
Then she had a miscarriage.
"She's hurting, I can't leave while she's hurting."
Now she was pregnant again—when he wasn't even supposed to be fucking her—and I was left with what? Weekends?
"Me not fucking her wasn't realistic," he said. "We live together, sleep in the same bed. It's not like I'm fucking other women. Just you and her. And her only once in a while. It was a mistake."
I chuckled bitterly.
"Just two women? Congratulations. You's an honorable-ass negro." I clapped. "I need another man then. You ran away the most recent one. Why can't a girl get her pussy ate in peace?"
His nostrils flared.
"Don't fucking play with me, Eshe. You out your monkey-ass mind if you don't know I'll kill you and that nigga."
I threw my hands up and sat forward. "You're a real-life wack job," I snapped. "You just sat here bold and unflinching and told me you couldn't stop fucking the woman you claim not to like, and now you're married to her. But you wanna kill me over getting my pussy ate?" I was intentionally poking at him.
"You damn right," he growled. "I'll kill both y'all before I let you leave me. That's a promise."
"Whatever, goofy." I waved him off. "Can you go now? I'm tired."
"No. I can't fucking go. This is my fucking house. I leave when I want to."
I snapped my head back. "What you mean your house? My granny left me this house."
"Who paid to fix this raggedy motherfucker?" he boasted.
"Who asked you to? I didn't."
He slammed his hand into his chest. "You didn't have to. You're my woman. That's what I'm supposed to do. You damn sure didn't turn down the new bathroom, the stainless-steel appliances, the roof, or the furniture your naked ass sits on."
"You keep throwing that in my face."
"And you keep bringing up this marriage shit like it means something. You know it's in name only. My momma asked me to marry her. She thought she was dying of breast cancer—was I supposed to say no?"
"Oh, you mean the benign cyst she had drained as an outpatient? Oh, I get it. She never had cancer, and as a reward for not havingcancer, she got a daughter-in-law, a grandbaby, and a new pair of tits you paid for. In the end, she wins. Sinica wins. And I wait."
His chest rose and fell. Jaw ticking.
At this point, I should've walked away.
"Don't disrespect my moms again, Eshe," he warned, sitting up.
I couldn't stand his wicked-ass, color-struck momma. That bitch hated me from jump, told me one Christmas she didn't like me because of my dark skin. Her son and husband were darker than me, but she still acted like I was dirt.
And Donte didn't say a damn word in my defense.
Fuck his momma.
"Fuck your momma," I spat, hoping wherever she was, she felt it.
Before the words were fully out of my mouth, he wrapped his hand around my throat. He lifted me from the chair.
Donte wasn't exactly abusive, but he'd shake my ass if I pushed him to. That's why I knew this was coming.
