Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
The way she asked, it was almost as if she were expecting for him to refuse her, once again. It broke his heart.
“Yeah, follow me back to my place.” She nodded as they walked to their respective cars in the parking lot. In his mind, he had a different scenario that was playing out. This version was riddled with errors and pitfalls. In his imagination, the first time she came over to his place, there was supposed to be sexy music playing, a bouquet of flowers waiting for her, rose petals all over the bed, candles lit, and a homemade five course dinner served, with a bottle of good wine. Instead, large, ratty knots bundled in his stomach and squeezed, and his brain felt as if it were going to explode. There wasn’t anything prepared for her at his home, except horrid plans he refused to back away from, and nightmares that refused to back away from him.
‘…You ain’t afraid of much at all.’ Ms. Florence’s words ebbed into his contemplations as he got into his truck. He sat there for a second, composing his thoughts. She’d said it in his dreams, more than once as of late. He recalled her saying that to him when he was a new student in her class, too, when he’d decided it was a good idea to challenge her authority. He saw this tall, big boned Black woman with natural hair, glasses, and a voice that probably could move mountains. Her touch was gentle, her aura commanding. Regardless, he refused to be punked. He declined to listen to her upon their first meeting. He later recognized her tone of sarcasm as she made this statement. She could see right through his façade. What he took as a compliment was indeed an insult. His teacher, his mentor, his confidant saw his scars, tears and emotional bruises, hiding under false bravado and machismo.
She saw beyond the Wiz’s curtain, the bloody smokescreen. He was a thin kid who managed to scare other children regardless of his lack of muscle definition and lanky limbs. He loved being feared—it was like a cup of good morning coffee to him. Mama said evil resided in me. He believed for so long, she’d put it there. He was a tough boy. A rough boy. A mean and unruly boy. He was a violent child. One who cussed out adults. Fought and bit, kicked and screamed. He was an angry child. Uncontrollable. Entered the criminal life early. It started with stealing and running away, then escalated to violence and drug dealing. He had no idea how he’d not become a drug addict himself.
He supposed it was by the grace of God that he didn’t have much interest in taking any pills or powders. Axel and he met first. They both were good at baseball, and had detention together. Then Caspian came. All of them nuisances at school—deemed intellectually bright, but emotionally unbalanced.
Noticing his street approaching, he looked into his rearview mirror to see Desiree, bobbing her head to some song no doubt. Whatever she was listening to, it made her happy, and he couldn’t ask for more, especially since he realized her joy would be short-lived on account of him. He pulled into the small parking lot of his apartment complex, and she pulled up right beside him. After she was out of her car, he took her hand, walked to his front door, and unlocked it. Once they were inside, he immediately heard his dogs barking.
He locked the front door and set the alarm.
“The dogs are in the guest room. I didn’t want them to bombard you right away.”
“Oh, so you want them to just bombard me later? Let’s just get the bombarding over with now. I like to get bad stuff out the way first.” They both laughed at that.
“They’re actually good dogs, just hyper and because of their size and breeds, sometimes people are afraid when they see them. But it’s your call. You really want to see them now? I’ll make sure nothin’ happens, of course.”
“Yeah, why not?” She slipped her jacket off and slung it on the back of a chair.
“Okay, that’s cool. Make yourself comfortable, baby.” He went to the guest bedroom, and opened the door. Dior rushed past her male companions, leading the pack. She was the queen and the supreme ruler after all. The one in charge. He immediately grabbed her by her dark red leather collar, told her to heel. Placing leashes on all of their collars, he marched them out of the room, their straps secured around his wrist and palm. They traveled down the hall, into the living room where Desiree sat, her long legs crossed beneath her dress, looking pretty as she pleased. Her eyes grew large and she reached for her necklace, twirling it fretfully between her fingertips.