Читать книгу When Somebody Loves You Back - Mary B. Morrison - Страница 12

Rocking little Darius in her arms, Ashlee kissed his lips, then laid him across the back car seat. The royal-blue baby blanket covered his lower body. Folding a pair of sweatpants into a makeshift pillow, Ashlee slightly propped his head, then fingered his thick curly hair. Six months had passed since the day she’d given birth. The same day he’d first and last seen his father. That would change when Darius got home.

Ashlee sang, “You light up my life, you give me strength to carry on…hum, hum, hum, hum…” until little Darius’s round hazel eyes became heavy, heavier, then gently closed. Their son was the new love of her life. His golden-tanned complexion was a perfect blend of her pale and Darius’s melt-in-her-mouth caramel-sugary skin. The shape and color of their son’s eyes were an exact replica of Darius’s mom’s.

“Wait here, my precious baby,” Ashlee said, rubbing his hand.

“Mommy’ll be back soon. This time with Daddy.”

Leaving the black rental SUV in Darius’s circular driveway, Ashlee grabbed her purse, quietly closing the car door. “Oh no.” Reopening the door, she lowered the window a half inch, then reclosed the door.

A few steps toward the front entrance, Ashlee yelled, “Ooohh,” then covered her mouth while shielding her eyes. Blinding lights beamed across the lawn. Kneeling on the GO AWAY mat, she rummaged inside her purse.

“Okay, wallet, credit card holder, lipstick. Shit!” The teeth of her comb lodged underneath her fingernail. Ashlee sucked her middle finger, then pulled out her keys.

“Please let this work.” Boldly she shoved the silver metal ridges into the lock, twisting to the right.

Click.

“Yes!” Entering Darius’s home through the front door, Ashlee stood in the foyer. An enormous topless painting of Fancy hung on the wall above. “Uuhhh. How disgusting!” Critiquing the image, Ashlee thought Fancy was as beautiful as the day she recalled meeting her for the first time at a fund-raiser Darius had taken Ashlee to. And while Ashlee would love to say the painting was airbrushed, she knew it wasn’t. A woman that gorgeous, another woman never forgot.

Long breezy hair fluttered side to side with each sensuous sway of her shoulders. Immaculate glowing skin. Peachy, perky, gravity-defying breasts that stood alone separated by nature. Sexy engaging brown eyes with hypnotic lashes batting like she was taking snapshots of Darius. Darius had pretended not to notice Fancy’s perfect size 7. Now he claimed she was carrying his baby. Fancy was probably the reason Darius had dropped Ashlee off in such a hurry, then left that night to return to the fund-raiser after-party.

Was that seventy-five-thousand-dollar check Darius donated and Ashlee had placed in Fancy’s cotton-soft meticulously manicured hand for Fancy? Or Byron’s philanthropic organization?

A man could easily pass another woman off as a friend or pretend she was a stranger, all along knowing he’d fucked her before, sometimes the night before. Ashlee had been that woman once when Darius had introduced her to Ciara. Had Darius fucked Fancy while Ashlee was living with him? What difference did that make now? Fancy had everything, including Darius.

More curious about Fancy than Darius, Ashlee roamed about Darius’s home in search of what she didn’t know. Anxiety, fear, and trepidation tripled-attacked her as she impatiently awaited his arrival. What would she say? How would she react if Darius was more concerned about Fancy’s feelings? Ashlee was already on the edge, and any form of rejection would push her into insanity.

“Why can’t I turn off the radio?” rang from her cell phone, indicating that Darius was calling. Hastily she answered, “Hey, how are you?”

Reclining on Darius’s plush golden suede sofa, Ashlee entertained his pathetic attempt to control her again. Not this time. Terminating their conversation, she said, “I’ll see you when you get home. Bye, baby,” then ended the call.

She rose angrily from the couch, and then the beaded train on Ashlee’s wedding gown traced her footsteps throughout the house. Cautiously entering Darius’s weight room, Ashlee froze in front of the ceiling-to-floor mirror. Tension wrapped her chest and shoulders in an invisible harness. Disappointed, she scolded herself, “I shoulda made a beautiful bride. Coulda been the perfect wife. Woulda become a fantastic mother.”

Mother, mother, mother, echoed in her mind. Fancy was carrying Darius’s baby. Was it a girl? A boy?

Gripping the cold iron bar propped parallel above her head, Ashlee reflected on the first time—over a year ago—when Darius screwed her in the same room she now stood in feeling dejected. Tears flowed over her cinnamon lipstick into the crevices of her mouth.

That evening, a while back, Ashlee had entered his workout room. “Darius, Ciara is on the phone. She said it’s important that she speaks with you right now.” Ashlee handed Darius the cordless.

Darius coldheartedly answered, “I’m busy. Let me call you back,” then tossed the phone to the floor.

When Ciara called back, Darius said to Ashlee, “Don’t answer that. I’ll call her when I’m done. Come here. Let me teach you how to work on your upper body.”

“No, thanks. I have to get dressed. Maybe next time,” Ashlee said, rejecting Darius’s offer.

“It’ll only take a minute. Hold on. Grab each side.”

With the bar suspended above her head, Ashlee did as Darius had instructed.

Unexpectedly Darius cupped her breasts. Brushing her hair aside, he pressed his lips gently against the nape of her neck. Then he whispered ever so seductively, “I want to make love to you, Ashlee.”

How could she deny him? Darius was every woman’s dream came true.

She remained silent. Her fingers loosened, but not wanting to sever his touch, she didn’t release the bar. Her hips curved backward into Darius’s thighs as Darius pressed his long hard dick into her spine.

“You won’t regret it,” Darius whispered. “I promise.”

Lowering the spaghetti straps on her silk nightgown, exposing her breasts, Darius teased her pink nipples, then passionately made love to her from behind on the weight bench. Straddling his muscular thighs outside hers, Darius massaged her clit with his long fingers. The head of his dick navigated through her pussy as if he’d been there before. But he hadn’t. He poked, then stroked, her deep, inside and out, until she came at his command. “Aw, damn. I’m cumming Ashlee. Cum with me.” She had cum and somewhere along their blissful journey Darius detoured leaving her for another woman.

Staring in the mirror at her tattered image—dressed in all white—Ashlee knew if Darius had showed up at his wedding, he wouldn’t have married Fancy. Ashlee had prepared her “if anyone knows why this man and woman should not be joined in holy matrimony let him speak now” speech. But no, Darius ruined her presentation. His limo never arrived.

Taking a brief intermission from the video replaying in her head, setting her purse on the floor, and picking up a twenty-pound dumbbell, Ashlee stepped back from the mirror, once, twice, three times, then resumed her thoughts. “I do,” she would’ve said, entering through the church doors, posing in the back aisle with a veil hiding her face.

Every guest would’ve turned. Stared. And in unison would’ve said, “Aahhh.” Then the mumbling would’ve started. At a snail’s pace, she would’ve commanded their attention as she stepped, then paused. Stepped, then paused again all the way down that aisle, the aisle she should’ve graced instead of Fancy. Standing face-to-face with Darius, Ashlee would’ve politely uncovered her face and said, “This man is already married.”

He was. To Ciara Monroe-Jones. Darius had married Ciara before changing his last name, but legally Ciara was his wife. For the longest time, Ashlee had no idea Darius had married Ciara, and he had no intentions of mentioning his little secret. Fortunately for Ciara, she discovered Darius’s motivation, to gain control of her casting company, before it was too late. Darius needed Ciara’s Hollywood contacts more than he needed her, but now that Darius didn’t need Ciara anymore, he had moved on, letting his father Darryl take over his movie-production company while Darius prepared to play in the NBA. The most fearless cat wasn’t luckier than Darius Jones-Williams.

Ashlee blamed herself for falling in love with Darius. Believing she was different. Special. And Darius would protect her, never disrespect her. Ashlee should’ve spared herself countless heartaches and left when she’d discovered the truth about Ciara. One day, Ciara had showed up unannounced at their front door at nine o’clock in the morning.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Opening the door, Ashlee had asked, “Ciara? Is that you? Why are you knocking on our door so hard?”

Ciara bypassed her and entered the house. “Why are you here?”

“I live here. Well, at least until I find a place. But Darius isn’t here. I don’t know where he is.”

Ciara said, “Don’t lie to me,” then stormed into Darius’s bedroom and froze. Ashlee watched in amazement too.

“Ow, baby mama’s cumming,” a woman’s voice muffled from underneath a pillowcase. The woman’s hands pulled Darius’s face closer to her pussy, and then she rotated her hips on his lips. As Ciara and Ashlee watched, Darius’s face rose from between two chocolate thighs. His mouth looked like he’d been lapping in a bowl of milk.

Wiping his mouth with the sheet, Darius said, “What the hell are you doing coming to my house?”

On a return visit, Ciara threatened to kill Darius. Now Ashlee understood why: A woman’s heart was a terrible thing to break.

Lifting her arm, Ashlee hurled the metal weight toward the mirror. “Ouch! Fuck! Oh my God!” Ashlee yelled, limping. “I think I broke my toe!”

The edge of the dumbbell had landed on her little toe. Removing her shoe, Ashlee wiggled all her toes. If she had the courage, she’d pull the stake out of her bleeding heart and return the favor to Darius. Ashlee would one day kill Darius. No, she wouldn’t. She loved him too much. Her only true desire was for Darius to love her back. Was that too much to ask for?

“Owwww! Shit!” she cried, hopping on one foot, gown in one hand, shoe in the other.

Despite her heartbreak, the positive side was that Ashlee still had a chance to convince Darius not to marry Fancy. Ignoring the pain, Ashlee limped to Darius’s room and rolled around in his lush king-size bed, ruffling the rich purple velvet duvet. Darius loved big things. Twelve hundred square feet, larger than most peoples’ entire home, covered his whorish bedroom, complete with a stripper’s stage, dance pole, sex swing, and moonlit ceiling engulfed with simulated stars.

Leaving the bed ruffled, Ashlee slowly opened the top dresser drawers. They were all filled with expensive imported lingerie sets: peach, pink, orange, banana, candy-apple red, plum.

“How dare he move her into my space!” Ashlee yanked and ripped until all the frilly dainty items were shredded, and then she politely tucked them back in the drawers, closing each one tight. Peeping in the bottom drawer, she saw a pink leather strap with flaming red embroidery that read Pussy Whip.

“I bet,” Ashlee said, retreating to what used to be her room. Her chin dropped as she gasped, “Wow.” Everything was exactly as she’d left it. Lime-green comforter, with matching pillows, and satin sheets. Removing her other shoe, Ashlee eased under the covers, careful not to tangle the train on her gown or smash her throbbing toe.

“Oh, shit.” Ashlee jumped from the bed, hiked up her dress, then swiftly ran toward the door. Looking back, she yelled, “Goddammit!” watching her train hook the bedpost.

Wham!

Her face smashed against the floor. “Huuuhh.” Ashlee sat in the hallway for a moment questioning her intentions. Maybe this was a sign for her to forget about Darius.

“No way.” Ashlee stood, ripped her train from the bedpost. Beads fell to the floor. A patch of satiny material remained between the wood and the carpet. Barefoot, Ashlee dashed outside and parked the SUV one block away, grateful that little Darius was quiet. His eyes were open wide. “Here, sit in your car seat. Is that better? Daddy’ll be home soon,” Ashlee whispered, placing the blanket beside his head. “And when he gets home, Mommy’ll come and get you right away. Okay?” she said, kissing him.

Her baby was sniffling, his mouth gapped open. Ashlee had seen that look before. That facial expression meant there was a matter of seconds before the sniffing would end and the wailing would begin. Remotely locking the doors, racing downhill, Ashlee tripped, rolled into a snowball, entangling herself in the train, thankful and sorry that the palm tree stopped her. “Shit!” Tussling with the satin, finally she freed herself, then hurried inside, locking herself in her bedroom.

She hadn’t even broken the stupid mirror and she’d already started having bad luck. Glancing at her image, she saw her hair scattered about her head. A few stems and twigs intertwined in it. Her face was flushed with dirt on her left cheek. Ashlee nodded. “I look pretty tough.”

Was she tough enough to move in? Darius’s house was huge. If it weren’t for the baby, she could live there without Darius knowing. Maybe she would. Nah, staying wasn’t a good idea, but coming back was.

Ashlee removed the gown, threw it across the bed, went to the closet, and eased into a size 5 of her stretch-to-fit jeans. Scanning the neat cotton blouses, Ashlee shook her head. “No more prim and proper. I like this rough and rugged look. And no more being nice. Nice women always get fucked.” Anally.

Marching back into Darius’s room, Ashlee put on one of his wife-beaters, tied a do-rag over her head, and put on one of Darius’s button-up shirts but didn’t button it up. The shirt hung below her knees. Staring at the ruffled comforter, Ashlee smiled, removed her soiled white lace panties, slid them underneath the sheets toward the middle of the bed, pulled up the covers, and deviously smiled.

“Where in the hell is he? He said he was close.”

Restless, Ashlee circled the living room, then preset the radio alarm on it highest volume to go off at six in the morning, which was only a few hours away. She programmed the television for six thirty. Just enough time for them to go back to bed and get cozy. Still bored, Ashlee stumbled to Darius’s kitchen. Her toe ached again.

“Toughen up,” Ashlee grunted, inspecting the contents inside the refrigerator. Juice, juice, and more juice: cranberry, aloe vera, Noni. “What’s Fancy calling herself doing? Her ass is trying to turn my man into a vegan with all this crap. Darius doesn’t like all this stuff.”

The juice reminded Ashlee of what she’d almost forgot. Retrieving her purse from the exercise room, she returned to the kitchen, filled a glass with orange juice, downed two of the prescribed pills in her purse, then poured out all the beverages, placing the empty containers back in the refrigerator.

How could she forget to take her meds when that was the one thing that kept her sane? But the side effects often drove her insane. Lethargy. Memory loss. Severe mood swings.

Picking up a bottle of veggie tablets, Ashlee said, “CKLS. What’s that?”

Slamming the refrigerator, she considered refilling the bottles with poison. What could she use? Ashlee searched below the kitchen sink.

“Let’s see, bleach, ammonia, detergent. All of this stinks and probably would only make them sick to their stomachs. That was if they’d even take a swig. I know what, I could scare the hell out of them when they walk in all happy.”

A smirk emerged while Ashlee’s eyes widened. She went back to Darius’s bedroom, continuing into his bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, shook all the headache tablets into the toilet, and flushed. Ashlee removed the aspirin-looking abortion tablets she’d stolen from her doctor’s office on her last visit when he said, “Ms. Anderson, I’ll be right back,” before leaving her alone. Ashlee wasn’t having sex, so she definitely wasn’t having another baby. Didn’t want to raise the one she had. At least not by herself. One at a time, she dropped all eight of the abortion pills into the empty red and white bottle.

“Perfect,” she said, smiling.

Ashlee raced to the living room, opened, then quietly shut the heavy cherry-wood door. Darius’s limo was creeping up the driveway. Ashlee’s heart outraced her footsteps as she dashed to her bedroom, then locked herself in.

“No, that won’t help me escape without being noticed.”

Carrying her white shoes, Ashlee quickly turned off the lights, then hid in the garage.