Anything (Edited)

Anything

He was dead, my husband that is. Such an untimely end, he was just about to turn 26. I know, he died young and that’s what hurts the most. He died before our life could even really begin. No kids, one vacation, good memories, but not enough. And after everything he and I had been through, together and separately. Couldn’t God have given us a little more time to build those everlasting memories, to have children, to live out our goals and dreams? I know everyone has there time, but still. But all of this was bound to happen, regardless.
My husband was a sick man, even back in high school, but that never made me love him any less. The doctor had diagnosed him with cancer, and he notified us that is had already spread to his lymph nodes. It was already too late for us to do anything, and I couldn’t imagine how my husband felt. So I had to be strong for the both of us, but it weighed too heavily even if both of us were to carry it. It’s ironic, because one day he and I were laughing, but, then the next I find myself making funeral arrangements and watching casket being lowered into the ground.
I remember it so well, the day he died that is. That day felt like it was going to be my death date as well. It’s not every day that you wake up next to a dead person. I thought he was only sleeping in, but I should’ve known better. It never crossed my mind when I went downstairs to make his favorite breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. When I went back to the room I noticed he hadn’t moved an inch, which was odd since he was notorious for tossing and turning in his sleep. He would even let out a snore here and there, but it was silent and his chest wasn’t rising at all. It was then I knew – he was dead. Everything dropped out of my hands, but when the plate and tray hit the ground I couldn’t hear a thing like God had turned the volume down to zero as I ran to his body. Too soon, I kept telling myself as I wept over him.
I hadn’t like to make funeral arrangements before hand, because by planning, it made it feel like it was already over. I was in denial I guess, but it was a hard reality to accept. During that time I had hated making funeral arrangements, and not because of the money. That was the least of our concern, actually. My husband was a successful writer, so money had never been an issue for us. “Us” sounds like it’s supposed to be forever, but nothing is set in stone, right?
Sorry, but making the funeral arrangements wasn’t easy. There wasn’t one thing I could do that wouldn’t end with me crying. My sister had to accompany me to most of the places I had to go to. She was my support and I was glad that she was there to help me through my troubled times.
It was weird seeing the funeral home, with all those caskets. I couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable. When I had told the man who my husband was he was trying to sell me his most expensive casket saying, “Nothing less than the best for such a famous author.” That’s what had always worried me about his fame that people would try and take advantage of it. Not that I had a problem with paying whatever amount of money, but I didn’t want people to treat my husband any differently than they would a normal customer.
Devon, that was my husband’s name, had always told me if he ever became someone who everyone knew, he never wanted to be treated differently. He wouldn’t want to have any special treatment because he was famous and someone else wasn’t. I always respected that about him, he was very caring. Also, more considerate than most guys I had run into.
We had met in high school. I didn’t like him to begin with, because I thought he was trying to play me. I didn’t have the best reputation in the school; guess you could say that I was a little promiscuous. Not that I enjoyed being that, but I was convinced that that was the only way I could get a guy to like me. But guys never treated me the way I deserved to be treated, and every guy had only wanted me for sex, story of my life. Devon was different, though I didn’t believe him at first. I thought he was just trying to be slick and play me, also I felt that since he wasn’t looking for sex he was trying to get something else. Never would’ve imagined that I would’ve married him.
I had known he was sick, but never knew with what. But he spent a lot of time at the doctors. Even in high school he would go home early. Knowing all of that I still wanted to be with him, but the only thing that scared me was I never knew how long it was going to be.
Now that I look back on it, I feel bad for the way I treated him when he first tried to ask me out. Devon was a jittery guy, a little bit of a nerd even. But be that as it may, he was the sweetest guy in the world. He knew exactly how to treat a lady with respect, unlike those other guys at our school. My promiscuity didn’t seem to faze him too much, I was glad. I couldn’t have imagined how it would’ve been if my past had mattered to him, but he would always tell me the same thing, “You’re past may be your foundation, but it doesn’t dictate how the end result is going to be.”
His words always gave me comfort. He made me realize that who I was back then wasn’t who I wanted to be.
My dream was to be a model (you know typical high school dream), but after I met Devon, he had gotten me into writing. Since I was already writing poetry I thought it would only be a short jump to a different style of writing. He would always laugh at me when I showed him something I wrote, not because it was bad or anything. He did it out of care and Devon helped me so much in developing my writing skills. His skills when it came to writing were almost unmatched.
I remember how Devon was when it came to his own writing. He was always so critical of himself, and everything had to be a rewrite. Nothing ever seemed to make it as is. I never really took a full grasp of what he meant when he said this but he would tell me, “When you’re a writer you eventually fall in love with rewriting.” It took me a while to figure what he meant, but I believe it was something along the lines of: when you write, for the first draft, you’ll love it at first, but then as time goes on and your ideas expand, you begin to not like what you initially wrote and you want to add more to it, or at least that’s what I got from it. Knowing Devon, he probably had an entirely different take on it.
He had finished writing his first book when he had gotten out of high school. It was about the tales of different students we knew, names changed of course, and some of the trials and tribulations they went through. It was a big success, and after that day we really didn’t have to worry about money anymore. It was amazing, Devon was only 18 when his book was published and he was going on book tours and doing signings. People really seemed to enjoy it. The reviews we read claimed it was “A Story looking into how real students behave.”
When we read that the biggest smile came on his face. I had never seen him that happy before, and I was proud of him on top of that. I loved seeing him make his dream come true, and it was then when I found a new dream, to add on top of my wanting to be a writer. I wanted to be with Devon forever.
My previous boyfriends had never been as ambitious as Devon, and couldn’t hope to be now. Devon had everything in perspective and he knew that he going to reach for the stars, even if he had to fall a couple of times.
During the time between his book being published and us graduating, I tried my hand at writing a short story. It was about an abusive father, and a look inside to his past as to how he became how he did. Devon helped me edit and revise it, and once people in our school started to get wind of it, everyone seemed to like it. That was the second time I had seen Devon smile really big, I knew he was proud of me.
I was 21 when he asked me to marry him. He did it in the most – unusual, but sweet way. He had called me over, so I could look over his new book he was working on. He hadn’t told me anything about it, so I didn’t know what to think. He let me in and we made our way up to his room. I sat down and looked at the screen and opened up the file. And to my surprise it said in the oddest font, “?” I didn’t know what any of it meant, until I turned around and saw him with a box in his hand, then I figured the weird fond must’ve translated to, “Timika, will you marry me?”
And his words, his words I will never forget till the day that I die. “Timika, will you help in the writing the rest of our life together.” Once I had heard those words my eyes swelled up, it felt like my sinuses were acting up, and I had wrapped my arms around him, because I had accomplished my own goal.
It took about two years to get the wedding plans finalized, with his book tours and my attending college. But finally on June 21st everything came to fruition and I was Misses Timika Johnson. I knew my mother was happy, I have never seen her cry too much. But I knew exactly what she was thinking, “My knuckle head daughter finally made the right choices. She finally found someone whose going to treat her good.”
Looking back on the past, I guess we did have some pretty good memories. But that’s all I have now. I look at the bedroom we made love in, his closet that had a lot of clothes I picked out for him, his achievement room, which held all of his books he’d written and the awards he received for them. It’s hard having to walk around the empty house, knowing no one is going to be there but you.
He still gets checks for his books. The amount that he used to get on them didn’t compare to what he was getting paid for them now. Seems like the rumors are true that when you die, everything thing you did becomes more valuable. Well they can have the value of his books; they could have it all if it would mean that Devon would come back.
Devon had written about 20 books in his life time. Some dealt with topics about his abusive uncle, who’d beat his wife. He wrote one about families sticking together even when everything comes easy to them and they get lost in the glitz of it all (that was my favorite one). He wrote fantasy stories that children enjoyed, but no movie rights. He didn’t want his books turned into movies. “Timika, when they take a book and turn it into a movie, then every vision the author initially had, goes out the window. It also makes the book lose meaning, at least that’s how I feel about it.” He always told me that, I never argued with his logic because it was his vision and his work.
He was always smart like that. He never let the publishers try and trick out of money. All of his deals were looked over with a fine tooth comb, and if there was something there that he didn’t like they would renegotiate.
All these memories are starting to hurt. I can feel it in my chest, but the more I talk about him, the more I feel that I’m keeping his spirit alive, his legacy.
We had planned on having kids, but we never got around to it. We both had agreed that we had wanted a big family. But now, I don’t ever see anything like that happening. Personally, I don’t want to have anyone else’s kids. I’m perfectly fine staying in this big house by myself. I don’t want anyone to come here trying to replace Devon in my heart. I’ll probably ask my sister if she wants to stay with me.
Anyways, I digress. Devon always knew a lot of things, it was almost creepy. It was as if he had premonitions about things, much like a woman’s intuition. He had the guy version of it. There were so many times he would tell that everything would be alright, and it was, or he knew deep in his heart that something was going to happen, and it did. I remember once he had told me that the story I had wrote before, about the abusive father, was going to change someone’s life. I told myself he had gone off the deep end, but he told me, “Words have magically powers. They can do some of the most amazing things, if they are put together correctly. Trust me, Timika, you’re story is going to change someone’s life, just you watch.”
It was about a week after that I had received a letter, from someone I didn’t know. The letter was from a little girl and her father. It talked about how they knew someone who was going through the same thing as the main character in my story, and they had decided to get the father help and take the little girl in until her father got better.
I didn’t know what to think about that, or even better, how did they see my story. That same day I had gone to see Devon and asked him about it, he then showed me that he posted my story on his website. Someone had got in contact with him about my story, mistaking that he wrote it and wanted to thank him, but he gave them my address and told them that I was person who wrote it.
Devon always tried surprising me, and he never failed in doing so. The ring he got me surprised me, and the house we bought, after we got married, was so marvelous. Considering the area we came out of, it was like a gift from God. I could’ve never imagined that we would get out of a place like that in a million years. The place was just so damn depressing, the place we grew up that is.
The neighborhood that surrounded our school wasn’t a pretty sight to look at. I couldn’t see anyone smiling about waking up, knowing that’s what they had to look at. There were even times when I slept over at Devon place, because I didn’t feel comfortable at my own home. And he was respectful, too, always taking the couch downstairs while I slept in his bed. Though I would’ve preferred him sleeping in the bed with me, just so I could have that comfort and warmth of him.
Now I can’t even anticipate it anymore. Every night, since he died, I’ve had to go to bed by my lonesome, not even sleep, but just toss and turn. It felt like that action of his rubbed off on me.
Something I had always known about Devon was that he was a man who kept his promises. It reminded me of the time I had to deal with my cousin’s death, and I don’t know how he did it, but Devon words had calmed me down. Everything he had said to me had made my tears go away, made my heart stop aching, and gave me peace of mind. I did say that he could work magic with his words.
I think that’s what made him such a good writer, was knowing that he could relate to people, and there situations. He always had a personal story for any problem that was brought to him. And, of course, it seemed like he had an answer for everything. But I was always worried if all those people relying on ever made him ware thin. I wonder if dealing with other people’s problems acted as a catalyst to his cancer. No, I shouldn’t even think that, besides its not like there’s anything I can do about it now.
The day of his funeral, that’s a day I will never forget. Initially, it was only going to be my family and his, but so many other people had showed up. During the ceremony, when everyone was filling into the church, everybody who walked by his casket and placed one of his books in there with him.
Seeing that I realized how many people had loved him, other than me, and had taken something from his stories. How many people his books had actually touched or helped was amazing. A lot of people had ended up standing outside, or in a different part of the church. I was happy to see that many people come out for him; it made things a bit easier to deal with.
His mother was crying hysterically, as was I. His father tried to keep his composure, trying to be the strong male figure, but I had known he really wanted to cry. His little brother stood there next to his father and tried to keep the same stoic look on his face, but his little nose kept wrinkling and tears couldn’t stop flowing. Even my mother couldn’t help but cry along with Devon’s mother.
There were a lot of words spoken, a few by family members, a few by close friends, and even some spoken by readers of his books. I said a few words, but I can’t even recall what I said. Something a long the lines of, “Devon saved my life. I know when a lot of people say that it seems out of place, but I truly feel if he had not come into my life when he had, then I would not be standing here a proud woman. He gave his all into everything he did, and his talent wasn’t just writing books, but writing books that gave people hope, that gave people courage, that gave people a reason…” I can’t remember too much more, and if I did I would end up crying.
Then the next day, I couldn’t bear to describe his casket lowering, at his will reading, everything was left to me. In his note he told me to divvy it up whatever way seemed right. He already knew I would help any of our family members, if needed. But there was one more thing he left me, a note.
I’ve been fiddling around this whole time reminiscing about him, but nothing is going to bring him back. Sometimes I wish I could’ve gone with him, but God has his time for all of us and unfortunately mine isn’t here yet. What could God possibly need me to stay here for?
The heartbreak alone makes it hard to sleep at night. Sometimes I will find myself not being able to sleep. I’ve even started to hug a pillow, pretending that it’s him. The thought of him being gone even makes me sick to a point where I throw up, that’s been happening a lot lately. Sometimes I get so excited, because I feel like I’ve woken up from a horrible dream but come to realize that its reality. I know this may sound crazy, but sometimes I try and go through my days and act like he’s off on another book tour. That never last that long though, and the only thing I have to remember him by is his books, this house, and this letter.
This letter is that last thing he wrote, apparently. I never read it because I was afraid of what it was going to say. Actually, what could it say? I guess it was my own fear, because if I read this letter then that’s it, no more Devon.
I have to accept it sooner or later, let’s see what my late husbands final words were to me.
“Dear Timika,
By the time you read this I am probably dead. Sounds very cliché, I know, but it is true. Remember what I told you about cliché in writing? Try to avoid them at all cost, because they are something people hear on the regular. But back to the topic at hand, by the time you read this I will be dead. I told my lawyer to give you this after I was already six feet deep.
First off, I wanted to say that I love you. It was the best decision in my life to marry such a wonderful and ambitious young lady, plus I was happy you looked past my nerd exterior. And I’m glad you gave me the chance to be yours.
My father always told me, ‘Devon, you don’t choose the girl, the girl chooses you’ and I always remember that when I think of you because it makes me feel special. It makes me feel special knowing that YOU chose ME.
You truly are my soul mate, in and out of life, in my case out of life. And I know sometimes you’ll think why couldn’t you have gone with me, but you have a much more important purpose. God gave you a job, and you have to see through it till the end, Timika.
There was a weird feeling I had before I died, I hope that what I’m about to write is true, but I’m hoping that I died with a smile on my face. No, it isn’t because I accepted death, but it knowing that I was accepting death with peace of mind. Peace of mind to the fact that you won’t be alone. I’m not talking about your sister, mother, or my mother, but our unborn child.
Once you read this letter I want you to get tested, if you aren’t completely confident in my words. But that’s why God didn’t let you go with me, he wanted you to stay so you could see our child live, dream, hope, prosper, and grow.
I am a little sad that I won’t be able to see them during this time, but I want you to tell me all about it when you join me in heaven. You can’t leave yet, you still have so many stories to live out and so many to make yourself. So do all that, so by the time you get here I can hear every single one of them.
I’m sorry these are the last words you’ll ever see from me, well at least anything newly written. But I want you to know that I will NEVER stop loving you or my child. And I know that you feel the same way.
Timika, I love you so much and I was honored to have you as my life partner. Goodbye, until you join me in heaven.

Love, Devon”
It’s hard to hold back my tears right now since there already coming, and they won’t stop. I looked down at my stomach and rubbed and felt it move and rumble a little.
This is my, no; this is our child, Devon.
How do you work the magic that you do? How could you have known something like this before me? I knew you were the one for me, Devon. I always knew you were special.
And I’m sure our child will be proud of their father as well.
Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to live out our dreams. Thank you for allowing me to find my purpose in life again. Thank you for guiding me, and taking care of Devon. And thank you for blessing us with a child, one who I can make memories with, one I can see grow and live out there dreams, one who I can only hope will meet someone as special as I did. Thank you.

Boundries of Love

Boundaries of Love

I just started dating this guy, he’s so special. He’s sweet and tells me that I’m beautiful all the time. And trust he knows how to put it down, real well. Like I have been with a few guys in the past (hope that doesn’t make me sound like a slut or anything), but he gets me started in ways I could never imagine.

I’m in high school and he’s in the grade above mine. I’ve always had a thing for older guys. Don’t know what it is about them, but they seem more experienced than these little boys who been chasing my pussy. As hard as they try I won’t give their asses the time of day.

Boys will say anything and EVERYTHING at times just to get in a girl’s pants. I heard them all from, “baby, I can break you off,” to, “damn, girl, I just wanna lick you all up and fuck you till you can’t walk no mo.” Nigga’s are really funny because I bet their dick game is wack. I don’t listen to them though; trust this pussy is on reserve for the niggas who are worth it. You know the kind that you see and you can’t help but lick your lips and just imagine that you taste them. That’s how I feel about this guy I’m dating now. Every time we kiss, I get a rush up my spine, and every time he touches me I just want to fuck him so much.

Other bitches always be checking him out, but I dare a bitch try and take him from me. He knows what he has and he knows that this is probably the best pussy he’s ever had. Those other lame nigga’s before him know what they’re missing. I swear just a few days ago I got a call from one of my exes and he was all talking about, “oh, baby I miss you I want you back.” The nigga should’ve treated me better instead of ignoring the shit out of me.

My new guy didn’t ignore me at all and he was pretty good at managing what kind of time he spent with me. That’s what I liked about this one, and he wasn’t too emotional. Some nigga’s get too emotional about things like: who I chill with, what dudes I been calling or talking to, what I’m wearing, and what I’m doing. They need to chill on that, because if I’m with you then I’m with you. They don’t have to worry about me cheating. Even though I have broken up with dudes to get with another one, but that’s a secret between us. But some nigga’s are too sensitive and take things too far. I remember my ex, Lamar, he was cool in the beginning, but then he got real mad when I didn’t talk to him EVERY night. Now, if we had only started dating I could let that slide, but I was dating this dude for a few months and he knew what my situation was.

“Yo, what the fuck, why didn’t you call me last nite?” He would say.

“Nigga, you already know the deal, I couldn’t get my mom’s phone last night she was working late.” I’d tell him.

“Naw, you chillin’ wit some otha nigga aren’t you!”

“Boy, you best calm all dat shit down, real quick.”

“Bitch, you best not be cheatin’ on me!”

“Trust, you aint gotta worry bout me cheatin on ya ass no mo cuz we done!”

Nobody calls me a bitch and gets away with it. That’s like a female’s self-destruct button, and I try and warn guys about that as soon as we start talking. But they’re liars, all of them, because they say the same thing, “don’t worry, I’d never call you that.” It’s like they went to a school and had the same dumb ass teacher. That shit can only work but so many times before a girl wises up and doesn’t believe the guy.

I learned from a young age that I couldn’t trust too many people in my life, compliments of my dad. He used to beat the hell out my mom, like she had stolen something. I was younger, least about 8 years old when I first saw what my dad was capable of. He wasn’t even drunk, I just think the love had left there relationship. He would constantly say that it was her fault that he couldn’t do shit with his life, truth be told that shit was his own damn fault.

My dad wasn’t the smartest person in the world, any job he had he would get fired from, he had anger management problems, and when someone did give him a chance he would, normally, fuck that chance up.

I don’t like him and I never see him, after he left, but it’s not like I’ve tried to make an attempt to reach out to him, because I haven’t. When you witness the two people you love the most, fighting and hurting each other at a young age that shit fucks you up. I was only a little girl standing at my door, which would normally be cracked open, tears running down my face as I saw his fist hit my moms face. I couldn’t say anything, what could I do I was only a child?

After my dad left it was only my mother and I, and she would treat me like a princess. She worked like a Hebrew slave to pay for our apartment and buy me nice things. She would take me to get my hair and nails done, my clothes were normally new and if not she would get them at a good bargain. My accessories made other bitches jealous. But I never realized why she did it all for me, she could’ve quit one of her jobs so she could have time to rest. I was always stumped by her actions and I was even bold enough to ask why.

“Mom, I don’t want you workin’ so hard. You don’t have to do all this for me.” I said.

“Monica, baby, let me tell you. No one in this world will ever make you as happy as ya mamma does. No man, no friend, no body. You’ll come to realize at the end of the day when every one is gone, your mamma is there for you. And I want to do this for you, Monica because I want you to know that ya mamma loves you.”

I loved my mom, but sometimes I didn’t always agree with what she told me. Because one day I would get married, and that man will love me till the end of time. I wouldn’t let how my parents marriage ended dictate how mine was going to go. And with any luck the guy I was dating now was going to be the one for me.

I never based how I felt about someone over the sex game they had. Its simple some guys are better than other’s and some guys are bigger than others. Size never mattered – actually let me take that back if home boy was like a tooth pick then he wouldn’t last long with me. I’d probably give him a month, just to be nice. But I’ve seen them all to the short and wide to the long and skinny, to the nigga’s who could rock my world to the minute men. And believe when I say I never fucked NO body without a condom. That’s just some old stupid shit.

There were so many girls at my school who had to drop out because they were pregnant. What could have gone through their minds when they were fucking their nigga? Did they think that the nigga would be man enough to actually stay with them to take care of the child? Did they think that somehow everything was going to be alright and they were going to get married and live happily ever after? These bitches need to wake up this isn’t fairy tale hour, when you get pregnant you have that child for life—well, unless you get an abortion (which most family’s were too poor to afford) or put the child up for adoption. Even so, you have to walk around nine months with a swollen stomach, and afterwards you more than likely will lose your figure. Truthfully, I don’t want to see myself with stretch marks all over my stomach and I don’t want to be in the emergency room and my baby’s father isn’t there. That’s stupid shit if you ask me.

Children are supposed to be made out of love, not out of you loving a nigga so much that you let him bust in you, or believing him when he says he can pull out, nope pre-cum can get you pregnant to. Guess I was the only one listening in the Human Life class. Well, maybe one day they’ll learn. Besides my mamma always taught me if you going to do something grown folks do then you got to be ready to accept the responsibilities that comes along with it. Which is why, I got on birth control as soon as I could so I could see what the big deal about sex was, and much to my surprise I was impressed.

My first time wasn’t anything special. From all the talk I heard, the first time is supposed to be magnificent. Well I must’ve heard the wrong shit because my first was with a nigga who had trouble getting it up and when he did, he couldn’t keep it up. I was only 13 when I lost it, I know that’s kind of young but fuck it, I did. And he was an older guy, he was 17 and with all the game the nigga talked he was wack as hell. But luckily for me after a while it got better, I mean the next guy I ended up fucking. The first guy only got this pussy once; I guess he should feel somewhat accomplished since he took my V-card from me. But the next guy he’s the one who turned me out. My God, I was sweating, losing breath, I was sore the next couple days, I was bleeding down there, and it felt as if he was the one to take my virginity. He and I dated for a while and the sex never dulled. But, unfortunately, he moved away so I was out a boyfriend and great sex. But guys come a dime a dozen.

My current boyfriend is everything and more. He’s a light skinned guy and I never thought I be attracted to that, with me being dark skinned and believe I make this skin look good. But what really drew me in about him were his eyes. He had such pretty eyes, his eye lashes were long and the brown in his eyes made me melt. I could go on for days about his eyes, they were just that damn sexy. And, naturally I have my own features that he’s attracted to. Something I got is an ass, he always tell me I got an ass for days, and I won’t lie I got me a phatty. Nigga’s always try to hop up on it, but this is only for one nigga and one nigga only.

He’s amazing, he’s always doing things for me, my mom seems to like him, and he makes me feel beautiful, more than any other guy before him. But him and I are only dating, which sort of sucks, and I can only hope that he ask me for something more committed. I’ve never found someone like him, he’s always considerate of me, he doesn’t always be getting on me about calling him. I even do things for him that I’ve never done with a guy before; I think I may love him. We’ve only been dating a couple of months, but I know I never felt this way about a guy before. He’s the only guy I’ve given head to, and the only guy I’ve let fuck me raw (I was still on birth control), I may have loved him but I didn’t love him to enough to have his child – yet.

I remember how he and I met, we were in the same class, and luckily it was one that sophomores and juniors could take together. He and I worked on a project together and we decided to work at my place, since his family had issues on who he was staying with. No one was home at my place and while we were working he slid his hand over mine, and when he did my skin was covered in goose bumps.

“Monica, you’ve been on my mind a lot. I can’t stop lookin’ at you in class my mind gets real distracted when I don’t get ta see ya. You is real beautiful and I can’t help but look in dem pretty eyes.” He said with my hand in his.

“I don’t know what to say…” I said in a shy voice. If I was white I would’ve been blushing like mad.

“Don’t say anything’”

He leaned in and kissed my lips. That kiss was so amazing that I could feel my heart pumping really fast. He didn’t try anything else – as much as I had wanted him to. But he was a complete gentleman. But that kiss meant so much and a few days later him and I were dating, we didn’t have any official titles or anything. But when he could he would see me and vice versa.

We would see each other in school and it kept on killing me seeing other bitches talking to him, because I wanted him to be all mine. And when I want something, I let a bitch know that it’s off limits.

“Hey, daddy, how you doin?” One of the girls would ask.

“Shit, you know, chillin’ tryin’ to get through another day.” He’d say.

“Well das wats up, but get at me later, call me.” She took a piece of paper out and wrote something on it and slid it in his pocket.

That bitch clearly didn’t know who she was fucking with. So it was up to me to show my man why I was the baddest bitch he ever had and the last one he would ever want. So I decided to confront the bitch after school.

“Hey, Jessica” I called out to her.

“Oh, hey, Monica, what’s good girl?” She said.

“Nothin’ but eh you kno dat dude you was talkin to earlier?”

“Oh, him, yeah mmhmm I jus wanna eat dat boy up.”

“Yeah, no, stay da fuck away from my man, we clear?”

“I think das for him to decide.”

“Bitch, I don’t think you wanna take it there.”

It was about to be a real bitch fight. I saw her taking her earrings off and I got mine off to. I was ready to pull this bitch’s hair out. I didn’t give a fuck if she had nails, or those other nasty ass coochie bitches behind her. She got to know that some shit just won’t fly and when you talk side ways to me shit gets real, in a hurry.

The bitch tried swinging at me, but I ducked and I grabbed the bitch by the hair and pulled her to the ground. Despite my short size I could fuck a bitch up and I didn’t care bout height or strength. If I wanted that shit done it would get done.

We weren’t fighting for too long before the teachers came out and stopped us. The end result was, she had to get a new weave and I had to get my nails redone, but I think I got my point across. This shit can’t keep on going on, I know what I need and hopefully he wants the same thing.

I never liked asking a guy for commitment, because then it made me sound needy. But I couldn’t stand other bitches talking to him, with the chance that he may find someone more interesting than me. Wow, this doesn’t sound like me at all, I normally don’t fall for a guy this hard, but it’s hard not to. I am truly in love with this guy, and I want him to know that I do care about him.

Our phone conversations were never boring. And sometimes I think he enjoyed them a little more than I did, but we both came to a meeting ground, eventually. I know what he liked to talk about and what he’d like to hear. My boy is so nasty, in a good way that is. Like he knew exactly what I wanted to hear whenever we talked. But I didn’t want to give him too much to go on, I needed something to keep the passion alive in the relationship, or lack there of. I had made the decision that I was going to ask him tomorrow what the deal was with him and me. Though I didn’t want it to sound like I was desperate, at the same time I didn’t want to be outdone or outshined (that really sounds like I have low self-esteem don’t it?)

The next day at school I had seen him, damn he looked so good. I was so happy to have him the way that I did, but I wanted more. My heart wanted him to know that I was ready for the next step. So when I saw him I wrapped my arms around him and dug my face into his chest – that about how far I came up on him, right under his pecks. He put his strong arms around me – side note: he smelt so damn good. Anytime I had pressed my nose to him, when we were in close quarters like this, he always smelled like cologne. His arms cradled me like a newborn and I felt safe with him. It was amazing because there had never been a time when the comfort level was this strong before. I didn’t want to let him go, but I had to ask him something, hopefully this wouldn’t end the relationship.

“Baby, are we ever gonna move past this whole datin’ as friends thing?” I asked him.

I didn’t know how he was going to react. His heartbeat started to increase, had I done something wrong? Damn it, I really hope I didn’t fuck this up.

“Sure, girl, you can be mine.” He said with that sexy smile on his face.

“Oh thank you, baby.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him the biggest kiss ever.

I was going to make sure that anything was open to him now. I finally had him and I was so happy. Everything and anything he wanted to do – sexually that is, he could do and I wouldn’t have a problem. Besides, as a future wife I have to learn how to please my man. He won’t ever want anyone else after me, and I’m going to make sure of that. Ah, I love him so much.

I liked to be kinky with him, especially when we were on the phone. Because there were those times when I wanted it, but he wasn’t there and it was late at night and they only way I could have him was through phone sex. Now, don’t knock the whole idea of it, because if you know how to do it right, then it could work wonders. And I could tell he enjoyed it to, shit what guy wouldn’t enjoy his girl talking dirty to him. He always wanted to know what I was wearing and I would tell him. Normally, it would range from just a big tee-shirt or just my bra and panties, either way it turned him on. Not to mention he enjoyed hearing what I wanted to do to him, God it was such a rush and it made my heart race like crazy.

“Oh, really now? Trust, girl, if you’s talkin’ like dat den you only lookin’ fo trouble den.” He would tell me.

“Yeah boy, I’m tryin to make you experience things you aint neva had befo.’” I’d say in a voice of seduction.

“Well, when you plannin’ on doin all dis’?”

“Next time I see you, sexy.”

Life was good and I couldn’t imagine it without him now. He held my heart and I didn’t want any other nigga to have it. It belonged to him and only him, I can’t believed I ever imagined the other guys I slept with would even compare to him. It wasn’t even because it was a new relationship that I was feeling him so much, but there was something about him. He knew all the right things to say, all the right places to touch, and the right things to do. Like he couldn’t fuck up, even if he had wanted to, it would be impossible. Perfection, is there any such thing as it? A lot would probably say no and I would agree, but in this case I think I found someone who surpasses all of that.

As months passed, things started to get a bit harder for us. We began to argue more about stupid shit, we didn’t talk as much, and he refused to hold my hand in school. I felt like I was becoming what other guys were to me, an annoyance. That’s where most of our arguments would stem off of. But not all of it was always my fault. What the fuck was going through this nigga’s mind, after everything we have done together. Shit, he better treat me like he got some God damn sense. But things just didn’t seem right anymore. It sounds bad and I truly don’t want to believe it, I still feel that he is the one for me. But does he feel the same?

Night after night, we would go either without talking or we would be arguing, damn I never wanted to argue, but the nigga kept saying sideways shit to me like, “girl you know you aint nothin’ without me” like what would posses him to say that. I wasn’t going to let him just say it and act like it was cool. I may have loved him, but I knew when to let shit slide and when to get into his ass. But sometimes I thought to myself, what’s even the point in arguing, it’s tiring and takes away a lot of energy.

I tried to ask my mom what to do, but her advice was always the same, “listen to your heart” well my heart always told me to stick it through for the person you loved. And he was the person I loved and I didn’t want anyone else. I couldn’t just up and leave, like my father did. I’m not a quitter and plus – my feelings were too deep rooted just to go away, it would hurt too much.

I wanted to let him know how I was feeling about everything lately, but I haven’t been able to get him on his cell phone. It always went straight to voice mail; I guess it’s just dead. Though something in me told me that he cut his phone off, but why? Was it to avoid me? No, he wouldn’t do that to me, would he? I pushed the thought out my head, this nigga needed to know a few things so we can re-evaluate and re-build our relationship so he and I can be happy, again.

I finally had gotten him on the line, but things weren’t like how I planned them at all. He kept yelling at me, so I would yell back. Then it turned into the blaming game and he didn’t even seem to care about how I was feeling. I know this nigga can hear me, so he better stop acting like he can’t.

“Nigga, do you know who da fuck I am?” I asked him.

“Yo, I don’t feel like hearin dis shit, right now, iight?” he said.

“No, nigga you gon hear me da fuck out. I got a lot of shit dat I need to tell you, iight.” I felt like I was finally going to get my point across. “One, why da fuck do you cut ya phone off, knowin damn well I’m tryin to talk to you. Two, you need ta stop talkin’ sideways to me, cuz dat shit don’t fly wit me. Three, nigga you best respect me, if you want respect back.”

“Girl, get dat shit outta my ear, you aint always gotta know my reason fo doin shit. If I wanna keep my fuckin phone off, Ima keep the shit off so get da fuck up off my dick girl, shit. Actually you know what da shit aint workin’ no mo Mon Mon I’m done wit ya clingy ass.”

Those words broke me to a point where I didn’t know how to react. All my anger just swirled around in me, but I didn’t know how to let it out. I just wanted to hit him and hurt him, because of everything he meant to me, but this nigga is going to fuck up like this, oh hell no.

“What you mean you don’t wanna be wit me no mo, nigga!” I yelled.

“Naw, ya ass is getting’ too clingy, I need my space.”

“Da fuck you mean clingy! Nigga, I givin you dat kind of pussy dat no otha bitch could give.”

“Hahaha, yeah right, hoe, I been getting it in wit otha bitches and they was all betta den you.”

“Fuck you, nigga! Wit ya triflin ass! Yo dick wasn’t even dat good anyways.”

“Wateva, bitch. If dat were da case you wouldn’t have kept fuckin’ me.”

My heart broke and my vision went black when I hung up the phone. Everything that I had dreamed had suddenly shattered. Everything that I had wanted, from the family, to the home, to the perfect marriage had been shattered. He had cheated on me, and not just with one bitch, but with a whole bunch of bitches. Oh, God I let that nigga fuck me with no condom. What if one of those bitches had a disease, how would I tell my mom?

She would be disappointed in me, but why would he do that to me. Didn’t I give him everything he wanted? I let him do whatever, whenever he wanted to fuck, I would fuck, whenever he wanted head, I would do it. Why am I so fucking stupid, to think nigga’s would actually change?

I threw the phone to the ground and I got under my covers and cradled myself in a fetal position. I didn’t bawl my eyes out, but I could feel tears dripping down my cheeks. I felt a pain in my spine, and a knot was in my heart. Memories of me and him kept flashing through my head, from our first kiss to the first time we had sex.

I didn’t even want to lay in my bed anymore, because of all the times we had sex in it. I was so pissed off, I couldn’t sleep and that’s how it was until the morning. I hadn’t moved out of the position that I was in. My mom came knocking at the door, but I didn’t answer. Even when she called to me I didn’t answer, so she came in and sat on my bed. My body stayed where it was and didn’t move an inch. She placed her hand on my shoulder and as she did I could feel goose bumps on my body. It was like the room was frigid and a wave of cold made my body shiver, though it wasn’t cold at all.

My mother didn’t have to say anything she already knew I wasn’t going to school today. I guess she had just come up with her own conclusion, but I wouldn’t put it past her if she got it right. She eventually left for work. I didn’t feel like doing anything, but lay there. And whatever I did do consisted of only thinking of him and wishing it didn’t end like that. I wasn’t hungry, though my stomach growled, and I wasn’t tired, though my eyes were heavy. But I wanted to write.

I finally got out of my bed, though I walked like a zombie and grabbed a pencil and piece of paper. I went out my room and sat at the kitchen table and started writing a letter to him.

“I don’t know what went wrong. I don’t know if it was because of me. Was it because I didn’t love you enough? I thought I did. This is more than likely my fault and I don’t blame you for doing this. I love you and I always will, through life and death. I thought about you all last night, after our fight. I couldn’t sleep because I kept on thinking of our good times. They made me smile, because I never wanted to give them up. I loved making you smile, I loved loving you, and I loved giving my body to you. I loved believing that mine was the only body you were making love to. I cried last night, for the first time in a long time. I never thought I’d cry over a guy, but you aren’t just a guy, you were perfect. You’ll never know how much I love you, and that’s all I wanted was to love you forever. I wanted to get married, have children and live happily ever after. That made me smile some, any thought of you makes me smile. Maybe one day when were in heaven you and I can be together and we can finally have our eternity…I love you…goodbye.”

I place the pencil down on top of the paper and walked into the kitchen. I looked around and I could see everything. The stove, the fridge, the cupboards, the medicine cabinet, but I couldn’t choose where I wanted to go. I decided to go to one of the drawers the held the forks, spoons and knives. Opening it I saw a long and sharp knife lying on top of the utensils. I grabbed it and walked back over to the table and sat down.

My eyes started to leak again, but I don’t know why. Picking up the knife I ran it across my wrist. The pain was immense, but I didn’t flinch any I couldn’t even feel it. So I ran it across my other wrist. The blood poured out and I had finally broken down as my head hit the table and my tears flowed as freely as my blood.

My name is Kristen, and I went to go visit my cousin, Monica. Her mom came and got me, figured that I could help her with her break up. But much to our surprise it was too late. We had witnessed her at the kitchen table with two bloody wrists, and her head laying flat on top of a letter. The Doctors said that Monica had lost too much blood and that she had been dead for a couple of hours. My cousin never did anything to hurt anyone, so why would this guy do her like that. After I read the letter I learned how ‘in love’ my cousin truly was. If only he knew, but I’m going to get his ass for doing this to her.

First Blog

Hey, I'm Devin, aka Shadow and this is my blog spot. Okay, kind of lame, I know, but I have to get this started some how right? Might as well do something to introduce myself to the world of blogging. Allow me to go into what is going to be on this blog site: Lyrics (since I'm a rapper), short stories, previews of books, and possible poetry (I haven't wrote any in a minute though). So allow me to welcome all of you to Shadow D's Journal. Hope to hear feedback from you all, and you will have a good time getting to know me through my writing.