Page 50 of Aug
I followed the serum with moisturizer, finalizing my skincare routine. I patted my puffy eyes, hoping there was relief by the time I arrived at the theater.
In my slippers and robe, I strutted through my home, feeling a lot less confident than I portrayed. The thief of joy had been gripping my heart since yesterday’s dinner. The strength I’d mustered over the last week had diminished greatly. Still, my head was high and my boundaries were clear.
The first stop was the kitchen. I removed the two boiled eggs from the warm water and cracked them on the counter. One after the other, I peeled the shells off. I seasoned the plate delicately and sat down at the countertop.
I swiped past the notifications from August as I dipped the first egg in the all-purpose seasoning. I searched for evidence that someone besides him had been interested in conversing with me, but found none. Not even my parents had called.
Unsatisfied with my findings, I shut my screen off and finished breakfast. A glass of water helped it settle in my stomach as I made my way to the bedroom to get dressed. Every passing minute rewarded me with a little more of my sanity.
By the time I was in my leotard with my hair slicked back into a ponytail, my eyes had minimized in size, and my confidence was at its peak. I admired my reflection in the mirror, hoping that today would grant me much more peace and clarity than yesterday. I gathered my things and headed for the door.
“Oh shoots–”
The weight of a sleeping body fell onto me, pinning my legs in place. The fragrance was familiar. The clothes were familiar. The face was familiar.
“Ti–” August made out, grogily and halfway asleep.
The voice was familiar.
“August.”
Heartache clouded my judgment. My head and heart began spinning at once. Remorse shifted my perspective.
“Did you sleep out here all night?”
Standing on his feet, August dusted himself off.
“I meant it when I said I wasn’t leaving until we talked, Ti. Just give me a minute.”
“You had six weeks, August. Six weeks. I waited by the phone. Called you at least once every day. Nothing. I got nothing. I’m sorry you spent the night out here and I want you to get some rest. You can have my bed but once you’re awake, please leave. Help yourself to anything in my kitchen and lock up on your way out.”
“Ti–”
“Tiana,” I corrected. “My name is Tiana.”
My voice cracked, pissing me off a little more. I didn’t want to be weak in front of August. I didn’t want to be weak for August. He’d made his bed. He needed to stew in it and hopefully do better by the next woman.
“And, don’t come back to my home. Don’t call my phone. And, don’t fix your mouth to say a freaking word to me when you see me. Whatever we had is over.”
“What the fuck you want me to do, Tiana? Hmm? What you want me to do? Get on my fucking knees and beg you to talk to me? To rethink all the shit you’ve been coming up with in your pretty little head? To just hear me out? Hmm?”
I wasn’t oblivious to the pain in his voice as he pushed into my home. In my hallway, August fell to his knees.
“Fuck it, then. I don’t have any pride right now. I’m fucked up. I’m lost. I’ve lost my mother, Ti. I can not lose you too. I won’t lose you too.”
With tears cascading down his face, August looked up at me.
“Get up, August,” I begged.
“I’ve been dealing with my shit. Dealing with some shit no man should have to deal with so suddenly and so brutally. I got a call that my mother had suffered an aneurysm. I was on the first thing smoking to Channing. Since I got that call, I have been a fucking mess.”
“Stand up,” I cried.
“That was my mess, Ti. My mess to deal with. My mess to handle. My mother. My fucking mother. She ain’t a phone call away no more. I can’t pop up on her. No more birthdays. No more holidays. No more nothing. She won’t get to see me make good on my promises to her.
“She won’t get the one thing she longed for more than her next breath. She won’t get to meet you. She’s gone. Dead. Not breathing. Six feet in the ground. It hurt my soul to see her in that casket. So, nah. I didn’t call. I didn’t text. I didn’t visit. Cause fuck I’m supposed to say when my whole world is crumbling down? I’m sorry that hurt you.
“I’m sorry that fucked with your mental. I’m sorry that made you feel like I don’t give a fuck. I’m sorry that made you feel like I don’t love you, because Ti, I do. And, I ain’t never loved nobody. I’m not asking you to give me a pass. I’m just asking you to cut me some fucking slack.”
