His hand caressed my thigh while his other one was tangled in my hair. My nails ran down his back each stroke that he pushed. I kissed his neck and ran circles around his skin with my tongue. His warm breath hit my neck and sent chills down my spin. I pushed him over onto his back and positioned myself on top of him. I sucked on his finger while riding him slowly and then faster as time progressed. He moaned my name and asked me to slow down but I didn't. He gripped my thighs and dug his nails deep into my skin.
"Slow down, damn." He says, again.
"Shut up." I moan. I grab a handful of my own hair and ride back and forth and in circular motions. I bounce my ass up and down and grab hold of one breast with my other hand.
"I'm about to cum. Dude, slow down." He says through gritted teeth. Calling me "dude" pissed me off even more. So I rode faster and faster and finally stopped. I got off of him and stepped off of the bed. I wrapped my robe around me and walked straight to the bathroom.
"What the actual fuck, Ashley!" He shouts. "I need in this damn bathroom. That was fucked up as hell." He shouts. I look at myself in the mirror listening to him complain but I tune him out after a minute.
How could I let it get this far? I let my emotions in the way of setting things straight. Of finding out the truth. But the more I interact with him, if I have sex with him, the more my feelings for him grow. 4 years of nothing but memories. Good ones, bad ones, happy and sad. I don't know why I do this to myself.
I tune back in when I can feel the vibrations of him banging on the door through the bathroom counter. So, I will over to the door and open it. There he stands, covering himself and looking me in my eyes. I couldn't help the tears. They just began to flow over.
I push past him and shake my head. I grab a duffel bag out of my closet and began to pack my clothes.
"Woah, woah. What are you doing? Where are you going?" He asks, putting on a pair of boxers. I stop and turn around, biting my lip trying to figure out what to say.
"You know, ever since I lost the baby, nothing has been the same. And you treat me as if the entire situation was my fault. Yet, I did everything I could to keep that baby. Now, you work 24/7. You come home and go straight to bed. You leave before I can wake up. You don't talk. You don't eat. You don't even love me anymore!" I shout. I stand there in shock, saying nothing but looking at the bag.
"I am stressed out." He says. I laugh.
"Oh! You are stressed out? Did you carry a baby in your fucking body for 5 months and then one day go into early labor? And as you push in the bathroom and scream in pain knowing what was happening, all you see is blood? And then a fucking fetus?! I held that baby in my arms! It wasn't even fully developed! I did this! And now you don't love me anymore!" I scream. He nods his head and walks closer to me with his fists clenched. I glance from his face to his hands and back up.
He stops in front of me and bends down, grabbing my duffel bag. He empties it out on the floor and begins to pack his own clothes.
"What are you doing? Stop. I am the one leaving. Not you." I say but he ignores me. "Emerson!" I shout. I try to grab the bag but he elbows me away. I walk to the side and grab the bag with two hands and start pulling. I pull with all of my strength.
"Please, just let it go!" I say through tears. I tug one last time and he lets go, sending me flying into the corner of our metal bed frame. I shriek in pain and lie on the floor, holding my back and trying to regain my breath. A warm liquid oozes from my robe.
Emerson walks over to me and kicks the tip of his boot into my face. I scream and my head hits the wall. I hold my face and ball up on the floor.
"I told you not to try me a long time ago. I just thought you would have listened." He spits out. He packs his things and walks through the door, leaving me in a pool of blood on my bedroom floor. I try to open my eyes and see but I could only barely see out of my right eye.
I search the room with my eyes for my phone which I found sitting on my dresser across the room. I crawl towards the dresser and every move I make sends more pain showering through my body. I wince and cry and scream until I finally reach the dresser.
I pull myself up it and grab my phone, dialing a number I had memorized.
"Pick up. Pick up." I whisper.
"This is Rashaad." He answers.
"Rashaad." I say through gritted teeth as I sit back down. I pull myself together for a moment and look at the ceiling. "It's Ashley." I say.
"Hold up a minute. Ashley Black?" He says.
"Yes. But Rashaad, I need to know where you are right now."
"Hell, I aint too far from your house right now, actually. What's up?" He asks. I bite my lip and stand up, slowly limping towards the bathroom.
"You were right about Emerson. But I this time, I can't fix it by myself. I need my boys." I say. The phone goes silent for a moment and I reach the bathroom sink. I place the phone on speaker and set it on the counter. I grab peroxide, an ace bandage, and a couple small towels.
"Alright. Imma have to meet you tomorrow, though. You know what's up. Can you be at Spot at 8?" He asks.
"Yeah. I can. I will see you then."
The line dies and I turn off my phone. I take off my robe and look at my naked body in the mirror. I have blood smothered all over the backside of me and my face is bleeding as well as swollen and already bruised. I take a rag and drench it in peroxide. I squeeze it over my back and then take the ace bandage, wrapping it around my body to keep the rag in place. I take a small towel and run it under some warm water and hold it over my eye and look in the mirror.
You look pathetic. You let him beat you up like this and it is no one's fault but your own.
All I could hear were my mother's words replay in my head over and over.
I rip the towel hanger off of the wall and slam it into the mirror over and over again until it shatters. I push everything off of the counters and kick in the shower door. I then stop and look back in the mirror and shake my head.
I take my red lipstick and write on the mirror. I know he will come back because he didn't grab his work boots.
I take a deep breath and lay in the bed. As I close my eyes, I picture his face as he sees my note:
Consider yourself tried.