Page 133 of Own It

PRESENT DAY . . .

When I heard the front door, I left my son AJ’s bedroom where he was playing, to meet who I knew was Ayan coming up the stairs. I’d just put Ayanna down to sleep for the night, and she’d given me hell all day, so I was thankful.

Ayan saw me as he reached the top of the stairs, but he didn’t say anything; he just continued toward the bedroom, so I followed him.

“Where have you been, Yan? I haven’t seen you in three whole days,” I said, wanting to yell at him but knowing it wouldn’t be good for my health.

“Don’t worry about where the fuck I been!” he roared, shocking me since I was speaking to him calmly.

“You can’t just leave for days and not tell me anything.” I sniffled, unsure of why I was already crying.

“Why I can’t?” He sized me up with a look of disgust as he pulled shit out to wear, and I remembered he had an event tonight that he and I were supposed to attend. Thank God I was usually on automatic and had already booked the babysitter as soon as he told me about the event.

“Because we’re in a relationship and have children together.” I walked up behind him and hesitantly touched his back.

Sometimes Ayan could be calmed down with a simple touch or me alluding to offering sex, but other times he would be too angry to care about being intimate with me.

“Fuck off me.” He moved from my hand and yanked off his T-shirt. “And bitch, how dare you run to that nigga trying to get some fucking help?” He sneered.

“I didn’t, I swear—” My words were cut off when he backhanded me, making me fall onto the bed.

As he charged my way, I attempted to collect myself and move, but he’d dazed me a bit with that slap, so naturally, he was quicker than me. Pinning me to the bed with one hand, he sent the other into my stomach, making me fold up and whimper.

“You fucked him, didn’t you!” He hollered in my face, and I could smell the alcohol he’d been consuming possibly by the boatload. “You be thinking ’bout that nigga while I’m inside you?” Ayan interrogated, erratic.

“No.” I cried, shaking my head. “I didn’t . . . I haven’t. Baby, I swear,” I pleaded, scared to death of the evil way Ayan was glaring down into my face. His eyes almost looked as if they bore no soul. “I love you.”

“You don’t fucking love me.” His mouth balled up while his eyes widened, bearing a demented nature to them. “You love that nigga and been fucking him this whole time, ain’t you? How dare you try to get saved by another nigga and him of all people!” He let my hands go and slapped the shit out of me.

“I didn’t!” I screamed. “I haven’t be-been with anybody else since we got together,” I lied, though it didn’t feel like one since the small slip with Rakim a couple weeks post prison release didn’t even count to me. We barely had sex, and I hadn’t touched anyone else since.

And thankfully, Ayan’s sex game had improved greatly making it easier not to crave his twin in the bedroom.

“Them probably not even my fucking kids!” Ayan barked, cocking his fist back.

I braced myself for impact until I heard “Daddy” from Ayan Jr., unknowingly saving his mother’s life.

Ayan froze, chest heaving as he glowered down at me, seemingly contemplating on if he should hit me or not. Finally, he dropped his fist and relaxed his shoulders before turning to face our son.

I sat up but then turned my face away from AJ so he wouldn’t see what damage had been possibly done to it at the hands of his father.

The last thing I wanted was for AJ to see this and repeat the cycle. Ayan had witnessed Nate beat their mother to a pulp, and now he was doing the same. I would die if AJ turned out to be anything like his father.

“What’s up, lil man?” Ayan questioned, forcing a smile onto his handsome but deranged face, still panting.

As he squatted down to talk to his son, who then led him by his finger to his own bedroom, I fell back onto the bed and wailed.

I hated my life and regretted leaving Rakim for his brother every single day. At the time, I was younger and had a somewhat foolish way of thinking. My mother had always taught me to go for the man who had the means and to never fall for a nigga who got it any other way than legally. So when Rakim lost it all and was forced to serve time behind bars, I started to spiral.

At first, the love I felt for him was so strong that I was willing to stick it out for the three plus years. But after a year of phone calls, a few letters, and occasional video calls, I realized I couldn’t do it. Sure, Rakim hadn’t slipped up on taking care of me, but it wasn’t the same. I’d become accustomed to having a man that was well known, and now, Rakim was infamous which was something totally different. I couldn’t deal.

His second year in prison, I started to kick it with Ayan. He’d had a fight coming up and invited me under the guise of making me feel included despite Rakim being away.

I could lie and say it was innocent, but I could tell from Ayan’s tone and choice of words that he was only extending the invitation because he was interested in me. From the night of that fight, we began hanging out, and it was mainly platonic; I swear. Ayan would take me to dinner, the movies, a few shopping sprees and more, so naturally, I began to fall for him.

Rakim couldn’t compete from behind bars. Yeah, calls, letters, flowers, and nice things sent via his younger brothers were cool, but it wasn’t on the level of the very much free Ayan.

Being held after a nice talk would always trump ending a nice talk by your lonesome. So for the time, I enjoyed both men. I accepted every call, letter and gift from Rakim, including him paying all my bills, and then got all the same shit from his brother without having to give it up to either man.