When He Cheatin' and You Still Love Him (3 page)

“What have you been up to?” she asks standing in front of me, giving me a lustful stare.

“Shit, working and staying out of trouble,” I tell her, taking all of her in.

Brittany’s body is right and she knows it. If I had to guess, I’d say that her measurements were 36-24-40, with a perfect Coke bottle shape. Not only does she have ass, hips and thighs for days, but all of it’s toned. I’m sure you know what I mean, because I’ve seen quite a few women who had nice bodies, but their shit isn’t firm so it kind of looked sloppy. Take Shanair for instance—don’t get me wrong because I love my girl and she has a nice ass shape—but it’s just that over the years she’s let that shape go. She went from having a tight body, to putting on about twenty-five to thirty extra pounds.

It’s all because she doesn’t do anything other than work, and sit in the house with Kendrick. She never goes out, and she only has one friend. Since that friend is overweight her damn self, they don’t make it their business to hit the gym at all. I’ve asked Shanair quite a few times to go workout with me, but she always declines and gets an attitude because she thinks that I’m telling her she’s fat. That’s not the case at all. It’s because she’s always complaining about wanting to lose weight, so I just try to help to motivate her. None of that works because Shanair has a low self-esteem, and it doesn’t matter how much I tell her that she’s beautiful, it doesn’t seem to register with her. To be honest, that’s part of the reason why I stray as much as I do, because I like being with women who knows that they look good, and that’s not Shanair at all. I swear she’d rather eat her troubles away. Whenever she gets emotional, that’s exactly what she does. Maybe if she didn’t let so much shit get to her, she would be cool.  

“Do you like what you see?” Brittany asks, breaking my train of thought.

“Hell yeah,” I admit licking my lips.

Other than the pair of extremely short pajama shorts, she’s sporting a cut-off wife beater that shows the bottom of her perky C-cup breasts. Her hair has been freshly washed, and it hangs down past her shoulders in its natural curly state. Nothing but gloss is on her lips, and her face is bare. Although Brittany wears makeup from time to time, she doesn’t need it because she’s naturally beautiful without it. Slowly my eyes travel from her face and down the rest of her body, before they land on her hard nipples that are peeking at me through the thin fabric of her shirt. At that moment I want nothing more than to put them in my mouth. When Brittany straddles me moments later, I lift her shirt and do just that. She tosses her head back and moans, before she reaches for my belt buckle. I smile inwardly, because I know I’m about to tear this pussy up.

Chapter 4

Shanair

“Hey baby,” I say when I walk into Kendrick’s room.

“Hey mommy,” he replies, trying to sit up.

“You don’t have to get up, I’m coming over.” After taking a few steps toward him, I kneel down beside his bed with my face only inches away from his. “Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” I ask rubbing my eye. I still don’t know what’s inside it, but I’m going to find out as soon as I finish up with my son.

“Yes,” Kendrick tells me and drops his head, before slowly bringing it back up. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He pauses, “I heard you screaming and it sounded like you and Terry were fighting.” If I didn’t already feel like shit, I do now. Since I’m at a loss for words I look up at the ceiling and exhale, not knowing exactly what to say in response. “Y’all weren’t fighting were you mommy?” he asks when I don’t reply right away. “Mommy—”

“No,” I lie, “We were playing.”

“Playing?” The look he gives me lets me know that he isn’t buying my fib.

I laugh nervously, “Yeah, playing Kendrick. Don’t you play?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugs.

“Well that’s what we were doing. I apologize if we got loud and woke you up. We’ll try to keep it down next time.”

“Okay.”

I lean over and kiss him on the forehead.

“Now go back to bed,” I tell him. “I’ll be sitting here until you fall asleep.” 

After giving me a weak smile, Kendrick pulls his blanket up to his chin and closes his eyes.

“I love you mommy,” he whispers, and my heart melts.

“I love you more baby…more than anything else in this world.”

With my towel gripped tightly in my hand, I step back against the wall and take a seat on the floor. I feel so terrible right now. Here I am downstairs yelling, fighting and acting like a damn fool, all while my son is just upstairs. I gotta get it together, because this shit can’t happen again. Thinking back, I don’t remember there ever being a time where I’d seen or even heard my parents argue or fight, and I want Kendrick to be able to say the same. I can’t have my son growing up in a house where all he sees is anger and hostility. That shit ain’t healthy, and I know that no matter how much love I show him on a daily basis, things like that will surely alter him. I’ll be damned if my baby becomes an abuser behind my bad decisions, because if so, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting in this spot, but when I hear the sound of Kendrick snoring lightly, I know that he’s out. Sitting up, I look over at his sleeping face and get emotional. I love him so much; even more than life itself. I know that all parents say that, but I really do. Sometimes I think that I love Kendrick too much, if that’s possible. He’s such an extraordinary little boy, who always has a smile on his face. Kendrick is perfect in my eyes, and I’m extremely grateful that God saw me worthy enough to raise him. What I don’t understand is why his dad doesn’t feel the same way.

My baby father, Alex and I dated for a little less than a year before one day out of the blue he called and told me that we were through. Well it wasn’t actually out of the blue. It was the day after I broke the news that I was pregnant with his child. During the phone call, Alex gave me some lame ass excuse about him not being ready to be in a committed relationship, when it was really the fact that he just didn’t want to take care of his responsibilities. His little bullshit ass speech ended with him telling me that he just needed space.

Space my ass.

How come the following month I found out that he was engaged to his so called “ex” girlfriend? Now mind you this was the same chick who had fucked his uncle, as well as his best friend behind his back. I guess it’s safe to say that Alex liked to share his bitches, because just a few weeks later he married the broad. I wondered why they rushed to tie the knot so sudden, and when I found out why, I damn near died. Come to find out Alex was expecting not one, but two babies at the same time. One he wanted, and there other he didn’t.

To find out that he married her when he found out she was pregnant and broke it off with me, broke my heart into a million pieces. When I say I was fucked up behind it, trust me when I tell you, I was fucked up because I loved the shit out of that man. If that wasn’t bad enough, after our break up he stopped answering my phone calls. Neither Alex nor his family came to the hospital when I went into labor with Kendrick, but I heard it through the grapevine that they were right by that bitch’s side when she had her baby. They even named the little muthafucka a Jr. It amazes me how Alex could so easily claim the child of his wife, who is a known whore, but completely denied mine. I haven’t spoken to him in over six years, and he has never seen or done anything for our son.

Although I get sad at times about the fact that Alex doesn’t deal with Kendrick, I know that he is the one who is missing out. I almost did myself. For Kendrick’s first few years, he was with my mother all the time. It wasn’t like I was passing him off on her, she wanted him. He was her only grandchild, and since my stepfather died, she was alone and Kendrick gave her something to do. He was there so much he even had his own room at her house. At first all I did was work and sit around the house, but once I met Terry I started to party with him every night. It wasn’t until my mom got sick, that I was really forced to buckle down and deal with him. Even though I feel terrible that my mom is ill, I’m glad that I was able to regain the bond with my son before it was too late. I admit that it sucks sometimes not being able to go out, but at the end of the day, he’s my responsibility.

Kendrick is a very handsome little boy if I say so myself, and like I said before, I think he’s perfect. He looks more like his daddy to me, but you can still tell that he’s my son, if that makes sense. He has Alex’s thin lips, that cute little pointed nose and a head full of naturally, curly hair. The only thing I pray he doesn’t inherit is that messed up ass attitude that his father has. Kendrick also got his height from his Alex, because he’s pretty tall for his age. My baby is one of the tallest kids in the second grade. I’m five-foot-three and he’s almost as tall as me, so I know that he didn’t get his large stature from his momma. In fact, the only thing that I gave him is my smooth, dark complexion, and big brown eyes.

With Kendrick now asleep, I stand and move closer to his bed. After I tuck the covers snuggly around his body, I kiss him on the cheek, exit his room and close the door softly behind me. I don’t want him waking up again to us yelling. Even though I’m not trying to go downstairs and get into a psychical fight with Terry, this shit is not over by a longshot. I still have plans to get to the bottom of whoever the fuck Brittany is and I’m going to find out today.

Damn
, I think to myself,
fighting with his dumb ass made me forget her number.
I’m upset, but I’m sure that this won’t be the last time that I get a chance to reach out to her. Terry will let his guard down once again, and when he does, I’m gonna be all in that phone whether he likes it or not. Then I’m going to call the bitch up and find out who she is, and let her know that Terry is already taken.

I make my way to my room, open up my drawers, and pull out something to throw on. With my clothes crumbled in my arms, I go into the bathroom and cut on the hot water. When I focus on my reflection in the mirror, I see that there are droplets of Terry’s dried up blood on my forehead and left cheek. Thank God it was dark in Kendrick’s room, because had he seen that, he would have never gone back to bed and I wouldn’t have blamed him. Irritated, I snatch my rag from the towel rack and allow it to soak up the hot water before I gently wipe the blood away.

When I’m finished, I lean in and take a closer look at my eye. A red gash is in the corner, and the blood vessels that are surrounding it are extremely dark and protruding. When I pull my bottom lid down and inspect it further, I see that there is a small piece of my cornea loose. It now makes since that it feels like there’s something in my eye, because there is. Upset, I exhale loudly because I know that now I have to find a way to make it to my doctor to get it checked out, just to be sure that there’s nothing seriously wrong.

If it ain’t one thing it’s another
.

Still in the mirror, I lift my head, and examine my neck. Just as I expected, although I’m a darker complexion, there are visible signs of Terry’s finger and handprints there. 

“Stupid bitch,” I say out loud.

After I throw on the t-shirt and a pair of shorts I brought in the bathroom with me, I head down the stairs to finish my interrogation. When I make it down, I see that Terry still isn’t back in the living room. My eyes dart in the direction of the front door. The top lock isn’t secured, so I know that that means Terry must be gone because it was locked earlier. I can’t believe that even after all of that, he still decided to leave. Whoever this Brittany bitch is, she must be important. I’d be lying if I said that this shit isn’t messing with me, because it is. My fucking feelings are hurt. I don’t know about you, but just knowing that your man will leave you in the middle of the night —even after you found out what he was up to— makes me sick to my stomach. I guess this just shows Terry’s lack of respect for me.

   Tired of sulking and feeling like a fucking dummy, I walk over to the end table and pick up the cordless phone. My eyes nearly pop out of my head when I see that my brand new tan couch is splattered with Terry’s blood. I know the bastard saw this shit before he walked out the door, because he took his jacket that was on the arm of the couch. I guess he figured I’d be the one to clean it up, if he even cared enough to think about it at all. Knowing Terry, he was too busy trying to get to that bitch’s house that he didn’t even give it a second thought.
Fucking asshole.
I’m hoping like hell this shit comes out, because I have zero plans on paying for another couch. If anything Terry’s ass gonna replace it, because it’s his fault to begin with.

 Furious, I punch his number in and place the phone to my ear. Each time the damn thing rings, I feel sicker and sicker. I’m not surprised when the voicemail activates. Not one to back down, I hang up and quickly press redial. Only this time it doesn’t ring and the voicemail comes right on. After doing this a few more times, I now realize that the bastard has turned his phone off. That doesn’t stop me from calling over and over again.

“Are you fucking kiddin’ me right now?” I scream into the phone. It’s now been three hours and Terry still has yet to answer.  “I don’t know what kind of bullshit you on right now Terry, but…you know what fuck it and fuck you. I promise I won’t call this damn phone no more. You can stay with that bitch since she’s so important to you!” I scream throwing the phone across the room. It collides with the wall and the back pops off.

I stare at it for a few seconds before deciding to go and pick it up. Once the back is secured on the phone, I shamefully hit redial once again.   

“Okay, I didn’t mean what I said the last time. It’s just that I’m tired…I’m tired of this shit,” I whimper once the voicemail picks up. “I don’t want to live like this anymore. Why can’t you do right?” I ask as if he would actually answer me.

A full minute goes by with me just crying on his voicemail, before I decide to hang up and stop further embarrassing myself. After sitting the phone on the base, I crumble to the floor. My shoulders shake as tears slowly fall from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I meant it when I said that I’m tired of this shit, because I swear I am. It’s been five years of the same old bullshit. I’m tired of crying, constantly calling his phone, and worrying about what the hell he’s doing when I’m not around. This shouldn’t be life, and it shouldn’t be how love makes you feel.

Love shouldn’t hurt, but somehow when it comes to loving Terry it does. It hurts bad as hell; almost to the point where it’s unbearable. At the rate I’m going I’m gone fuck around and have a head full of grays by the time I’m thirty-five; if not that, something much worse. All this damn stress can have me in a casket dead as hell, and it would all be because of a man; a man who won’t give me the same respect that I always give him.

I have never done anything remotely close to some of the things that Terry has done to me. Honestly I couldn’t even imagine doing things like that because for one, I love him too much. Not only that, but I also know that he would leave me without a doubt and never even fathom the thought of coming back. Why, because men can’t take us doing all the things they do. They can cheat on you a thousand times and expect you to not only stay, but forgive and put your trust in them time after time. You can cheat ONCE, and it’s the end of the world. There are no second chances, working it out or trust, because it’s over. I know for a fact that Terry would be the same way and that’s a chance that I’m not willing to take. I love my man, and although I know he fucks up, I can’t imagine my life without him. It hurts just thinking about it.

Why can’t he just do right? Why am I not enough for him, and why does he think that it’s okay to leave me while he keeps some other bitch company?
Although I know the answer, I can’t bring myself to say it out loud or even think too hard about it, because if I do it will officially make me the fool that I pretend so hard not to be. You know exactly what kind of fool that I’m referring to, because many of you are in the exact same boat as I am. Don’t look at me sideways, because you know it just as much as I do. I’m talking about the type of woman that will see things as clear as day, but still turn a blind eye to it. In her mind she wants to believe that the man that she loves wouldn’t do the things that she’s either seen or heard of him doing. This woman want’s everything to be perfect, even though deep down in her heart of hearts, she knows that it never will be.