Page 2 of Session 25

“What should I do?” I damn near pleaded with her to give me an answer.

“You know that’s not how this works. I can and will not tell you what to do. That’s something-?

“So, what the fuck are we even doing? Why the fuck am I in therapy if you aren’t gonna help me? I pay your ass two hundred dollars every session and you mean to tell me you not gonna bend the fucking rules a little?” By now I had hopped up from the recliner I was sitting in.

“Koi, you and I both know-”

“Fuck it.” I cut her words short. “I’m gonna figure this out on my own, and then I’ll book my next appointment.” I shrugged, lips poked out. “Is that cool or nah?” The around the way girl attitude had come out.

“If that works for you, Koi, then…” I closed the laptop. Rae wasn’t a bitch, but when I was livid, there was no calming me down. I probably should have opted for my ‘happy’ pills instead of the bottle of red wine, but what’s done was done.

On the verge of losing my shit, I heard the familiar sound of keys jingle in the doorway. My mouth became dry as I tried to swallow the last bit of pride I had.

Marcel walked in with his phone in his hand and a smile plastered across his face. I stood still, watching him like a hawk until he finally looked up, stunned.

“Fuck. Koi, why are you standing there like that? Scared the shit out of me.” He dismissed everything about my appearance. “Wine? This early in the day?” He kicked off his wheat construction boots, set his phone down, and pulled off the hooded sweatshirt he wore.

My pussy throbbed as I gave him the once over. Sex was never an issue with us, so whenever I caught wind of another bitch, it always set me off. “Not today and not now,” I mumbled low enough for only me to hear.

“I thought you would have been out working or something.”

“We need to talk.” Nothing more needed to be said. The pleasantries he tried to throw my way didn’t sway me from what I had to say. Marcel was used to me backing down, but not today.

“About what? I’ve been out all night and the minute I come home I can’t even get my dick sucked before you start the ‘we need to talk’ bullshit.”

“Get your dick sucked? The same dirty ass dick you've been dipping in these bitches’ pussy. Condom or not! Fuck that! You should have gotten ya’ dick sucked while you were with that bitch!” Marcel wasn't prepared for the book that once rested on the countertop to be tossed in his direction. It smacked up against his chest, enraging him more. “You’re lucky I’m over here or else I would have thrown it at your fucking face, you bastard!” I was now yelling at the top of my lungs.

Marcel made it across the room swiftly, grabbing me by my arms, pushing me against the counter, closing the space between us. I tried to fight him off, but his grip was too strong. Our faces, just inches from each other.

“Keep playing with me, and I’m going to fuck you up!” I watched his jawline tense up from clenching his teeth together.

In the past, this behavior would have straightened me out or scared me, but today, I was fed the fuck up. I lifted my leg, kneeing him in his dick.

“You played with me for the last time.” Marcel backed up, crippled over, yelling out obscenities. I ignored all the “you bitch, ima fuck you up”, slander. He had me fucked up. Things had been rocky for some time, but this was what I was feeling for him, and with my intuition screaming "cheater," I had to let this go. My sanity was where I drew the line, and before I chose to fall victim to losing my mind behind a man, he needed to leave.

“Watch! You think I’m playing?” I heard him yell to my back as I made my way to our bedroom. Ready to take my anger out on something or someone, I forcibly rummaged through my drawers. I needed to find an outfit and fast. If Marcel thought I was gonna continue to sit around and play these childish games with him, he was sadly mistaken. All these years and I only had an engagement ring, no marriage, but he got fucked, sucked, fed, and came home to a clean house every damn night. Something wasn’t adding up, and the blinders I had been wearing were finally coming off.

“You think you going somewhere?” Marcel stood in the threshold of the bedroom. “Nah. You staying your dramatic ass right in this house.” Before I could react, he had closed and locked the door. “And since you want to talk! Let’s talk!” The way he said “talk now” made me understand how people who live outside of New York explain how we say it versus them.

“Why you always cheating on me?” My chest heaved up and down from the strenuous activity. “Matter fact, don’t even answer that!” I don’t know what football team I thought I played on, but when I tried to tackle Marcel, he showed my five foot five inch frame no mercy when he grabbed me, pushing me back. The bottom of my slippers didn’t have any grip as I slipped right into the king sized bed frame.

“This isn’t a fight you gonna win.” Marcel was right, but that wasn’t gonna stop me from trying. “Bring your feisty ass over here again, and Imma pop you right on ya big ass forehead.”

“Fuck you and leave my forehead out of this. Me and Rihanna could have been twins with how big our foreheads were. He knew that was an insecurity I had. Which is why my short platinum blonde hair stayed covering it.

“Make me.” This was a sure indication that he wanted to stop fighting, but I wasn’t falling for the shit.

Like I said earlier, sex was the center of our relationship when shit hit the fan. He would have me in any and every position, apologizing, and my stupid ass would give in as soon as he had me creaming all over his dick. The dick that he was so freely giving away. The same dick he just asked me to put my mouth on. Nope. But I was gonna play along because today, I was leaving this damn house.

“What? With some pussy? I don’t want no dick, especially not from you.” Marcel’s cocky grin pissed me off further. “Move. I have therapy, and if I don’t go, I’m going to burn this fucking apartment down!” I thought quickly on my feet.

Marcel wasn't stupid. Therapy equated money, and losing money wasn’t something he was too fond of. That was an automatic argument.

“Whatever yo. Bring your yella ass back home right after!” He unlocked the door, turned on his heels, and cocked his head to the side as if he was thinking. “If I find out you lying, I’m going to drag your red ass back to the crib kicking and screaming.” I rolled my eyes dramatically. Marcel was far from abusive, but he didn’t play that hitting on him either. Which I was happy about, but I did know a thing or two about him being upset. I had gotten dragged once or twice out of a club or lounge back in the day.

“Yea yea.” I didn’t have shit else to say to him. He left out, leaving me alone in the bedroom. I opened up the walk-in closet, pulling out my Louis Vuitton Speedy 35 Damier, tossing in two pairs of panties, a pair of leggings and a tee, some socks and a bra. If he suspected I was packing an overnight bag, he would have shut down my escape, so an oversized purse would be my choice for the day.

I hurriedly showered, tossing on a black pair of biker shorts, a red crop top hoodie, and my Gucci sneakers. The Gucci fanny pack I wore hid the extra skin that was exposed. My wet curly hair was slicked down on the side, giving me more of a Mohawk look. I grabbed my oversized Gucci sunglasses and wallet before leaving the room in search of my phone.