Page 88 of Body Language
I was still sweating. Still inside my own damn head.
She curled up next to me, trying to act like what we did meant something, all I felt was fucking hollow.
Regret burned at the back of my throat like cheap liquor.
She asked me to stay real soft, like it wasn’t her who just got through crying about how she messed up everything and still turned around and let me fuck her like a disposable itch I needed to scratch.
“You can stay if you want…” she said, fingers brushing over my chest like her touch could anchor me. “Just lay down. Be here with me tonight.”
I sat up.
“I’m not staying. And I’m damn sure not cuddling with you,” I said, pulling my pants back on and trying to shake the fog in my head.
I was tipsy, high, and mad as hell at myself. I didn’t even wanna be in her damn house, breathing recycled air that smelled like old perfume and desperation.
My head was spinning. I could still see Niv’s damn smile. Her hand locked into Sincere’s arm like he had the right to guide her anywhere.
Fuck.
I ran a hand down my face and sat back down on the couch.
“Ima just sit here. Close my eyes for a minute.”
She lit a candle like she was setting the vibe, and I damn near rolled my eyes out my skull.
It wasn’t a vibe. It was a mistake with throw pillows.
And just like clockwork, like she couldn’t help her damn self, she started talking again.
“You didn’t have to say it like that… like I didn’t mean shit. Like everything we’ve done just ain’t matter to you—”
“Man, shut the fuck up.”
I didn’t even raise my voice. Just said it calm and slow.
She froze and I kept going.
“You always do this. Always kill the moment. We already fucked. You cried. You got your nut. Let me relax in peace before I lose my shit in here.”
She went quiet, flipping through the channels like her pride had taken the hit it needed.
I leaned back, head hitting the cushion, eyes closed, fists clenched.
I should’ve been anywhere else.
But I was….
In the home of a woman I didn’t even like.
Trying to forget a woman I couldn’t stop wanting.
22
Niveah
It had been seven days since I heard his voice and seven days since he’d been blowing my phone up like I was the one who fucked up.
Missed calls. Double texts. Triple texts. And that long ass “I guess this how it is now” paragraph nobody asked for.
