She propped her legs up on the coffee table, examining the bruises on her pale legs. They settled into pooled spots on her shins from when Damien had lain her, face down, in a shallow grave out in the dump yard behind the projects they lived in. Those marks were easy enough to cover. The ones on her throat where he’d choked her out until she breathed her last breath, not so much. Leticia was just glad decay hadn’t set in as fully as it could have before she had clawed her way up through the broken glass and discarded bicycle tires to trample through the garbage and get back to her beloved.
“He never listened to me when I told him I wasn’t like other women.” She shook her head and sucked her teeth. Damien had thought she was just flexing, trying to cement her positioning as wifey and pin him down. She’d told him some variation of the same throughout their eight-year, tumultuous relationship, throughout which he evaded committing fully and marrying her.
There were other ways to bond yourself to someone. He couldn’t get away from her if he tried.
They might have fought violently every other month and cheated on each other even more frequently than that. He may have been unwilling to turn in his player card and quit the game. Women of varying ages, ethnicities, and classes may have thrown themselves on him at every turn, with him taking full advantage of the ample selection. None of that mattered because Leticia loved him. He was hers. And she wasn’t some common chick, living a common life, doing common shit.
No flex. Real talk.
In her heart of hearts, she knew he was unconvinced she was the best thing to ever happen to him. Why else would he leave her hanging on a string, even after she had contrived a financial problem that required that they live together so she could show him, first hand, her domestic skills? Why hadn’t he felt the need to at least propose to her after any one of her numerous “miscarriages”?
He had just needed a little help. Leticia went to find the practitioner on the outskirts of the ‘hood to provide the kind of assistance he wouldn’t be able to figure out or resist’.
(c) Copyright by RJ Joseph. All Rights Reserved.