Reach Out And Touch
My mind was put at ease when I decided to move in with Mark. His house was nice and located five minutes closer to our job. Tami thought moving in with Mark was a good idea. She said I would feel safer with a man around. I had to admit that made me feel better about the move. I had one week left in the apartment with Tami and I knew I was going to miss her.
At first I was mad, but I knew I couldn’t stay mad at Tami for abandoning me. It wasn’t her fault she was lucky in love. I couldn’t have really believed we were going to live with each other forever. One of us was going to eventually go off, get married, or at least shack up with a guy. I wanted to marry one day, although statistically forty-eight percent of African American women will never get married.
I had almost everything packed. I was taking a few things at a time because Mark was helping me and there wasn’t this rush to do everything in one day because I was waiting for my landlord to give me a key.
Mark made me a key two weeks ago so I could come over and bring a few things when the mood hit me. I didn’t move much because Mark did it for me. He grabbed some of my clothes and shoes. He left with my things a few minutes ago so when I heard the knock on the door I knew he was coming back up for something.
I jumped off my bed and hurried to the door. Almost all of Tami’s stuff was gone from the apartment, but she was still coming here every day to chill with me. I opened the door without looking through the peephole. Something I was going to take note to stop doing in the future.
I opened the door, and he was standing there. He looked the same, but he hadn’t shaved in a while. My temper instantly flared, and it was taking every single bone in my body to remain cool and calm. I had the urge to claw his eyeballs out of the sockets.
I wanted to Carol Baskin this bastard. I was only two-thirds a savage. I was the classy and bougee part, but I was missing the ratchet. This was one of those times I wished I was ratchet.
“Tanya.” My name came out of Brandon’s mouth in a husky whisper. “Tanya.”
I just stared at him. I was staring through his hurtful bald-headed ass. What was it about me that made exes show up at my door?
“No.” The words didn’t make much sense but his abrupt departure from my life didn’t either so whatever.
He frowned. “Tanya.”
“No, I’m done.” I couldn’t believe I had the courage to say that. I did, and I was proud of myself. It had been a little over two months. I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say.
“You’re done with me?” His cocky attitude came rushing through my doorway.
“Yes, I am.”
“Fine.”
My shoulders popped up. If he thought he was bold. I would be bolder. “Cool, now leave.” I tried to close the door on him, but his hand quickly stopped my actions.
“Not so fast. I left some things here.”
My mind thought about it and he was right. He had a few things in my bedroom, a few t-shirts, a pack of underwear, some socks, deodorant, and a toothbrush.
“Wait here. I will get your stuff.” I glared at him and tried to close the door again. He stepped into the doorway.
“Go get my shit.”
Please explain to me how a man that walked out of your life could be such a bold and brazen asshole. I did nothing to him and he was here acting like a whole bitch over a few items.
I stormed away from the open door, leaving him standing in the doorway. I headed straight into the kitchen. I searched the bottom cabinet for a plastic bag. I needed something to toss his bullshit in. I ducked out of the kitchen and walked down the hall to my bedroom.
I felt a presence behind me, and I turned to him. Brandon was standing in my bedroom with an unreadable expression on his face. He was blank, but I wasn’t. I was fuming.
“Get the fuck out of my apartment! I’m getting your shit.” I opened the second drawer of my dresser and started tossing his balled up socks in the plastic Target bag.
“You’re getting my shit? You are mine. Are you going to jump inside that bag too?”
I fought the urge to turn around and slap him with the bag. I continued to put his things in the bag until I couldn’t do it anymore. He grabbed me from behind and lifted me off of my feet. He swung me around. My legs flailed and kicked out at the air. My arms were glued to my sides. Hid grip was tight. I had to drop the plastic bag.
“Let me go!” Kicking and screaming seemed to be my only options. He had me in a tight bear hug and I could barely move. “Let me go!” I yelled out bloody murder.
He loosened his grip so he could forcibly push me down on my bed. I wished I had put my bed in storage. I landed face first on the mattress, but he flipped me over on my back before I could make any sudden moves. He jumped down on top of me.
“Get off me!”
He covered my mouth with one hand. My next scream was muffled under his warm palm. He weighed too much for me to buck him off. My hands were free, and I clawed at his forearms. My nails didn’t seem to bother him, although I knew I had drawn blood.
“Tanya, stop!” He roared and something about his tone made me stop moving, talking and clawing at his tattooed skin.
I was exhausted from the fight. I had no
