***Me playing around with fiction. Never wanted to be a fiction writer.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
As I sat in the living room of my condo overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, sipping Nuni green tea, honey and what seemed like a pound of sugar, I thought to myself, ‘Who the hell is banging on my door at 4:17 in the morning?’ All the men I was dealing with either didn’t know where I lived or didn’t live in this city.
“Shana I know you’re in there, open this damn door,” he said with his distinct assertive voice.
Shit. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t home or sleep. The light in my living room and the Usher “Confessions” CD blazing through my speakers clearly gave away to the fact that not only was I home, but wide awake.
“Kevin, what are you doing here at this time of the morning unannounced,” I yelled through the chained locked door. “We haven’t talked in almost two weeks and I have nothing to say to you,” I said trying to convince myself.
“Shana I’m not going to ask again, please open this door,” he said calmly. “We need to talk.”
Knowing good and damned well I was tired of his lying, usually unavailable, always got an excuse ass, I let him in. At this point I didn’t know if it was his charm, undoubtedly good looks, intelligence, success, swag or my love for him. Or maybe it was how he put it down in the bedroom, on the kitchen counter and on the washing machine that kept me going back to Kevin for over six years now. But, whatever it was, I couldn’t deny the fact that I wanted some of it right then and there.
He walked in very slowly almost as if he was scared of what might happen next. For the first time in six years he showed up empty handed. No sexy Guia La Bruna lingerie. No plane tickets for two. Not even an exclusive unreleased released Birkin bag. Not exactly the start to the night envisioned in my head seconds earlier when unlatching the chain off the door. Patience Shana, patience is what I kept telling myself. Surely he came over to make you “Sweat it Out.”
Sitting on the couch with an expressionless look on his face, I remained silent. His strong chocolate colored hands were clasped tightly as if he was holding on for dear life. Clueless as to how to handle this situation I sat motionless on my Italian leather crimson and cream chaise. Finally I broke the silence.
“Kevin, what’s wrong?” I said. “You’re scaring me.”
In a matter of moments my head was spinning and I felt as if I was having convulsions in the middle of living room floor. Did he just say…?
“Shana I’m getting married. I’ve been dating Elise, that’s her name, for three years now,” kept ringing in my head. “I’m in love with her and we can’t do this anymore,” Kevin said very nonchalantly.
“And this condo I’m paying for you to live in is way too expensive. If you want to stay here you need to take over the payments or be out by the 30th. I’m sorry. I love her,” he finished.
Just as fast as he said it he was out of the door and I could hear the engine of his all black Lambo pulling out of my driveway. Just like that. Six years down the drain in seven fucking minutes. And to top it off it was the 24th and I had until the 30th to decide where I was going to live.
Who was this Elise chick? Why had he chosen her over me? And how could he have been dating her for the past three years without me knowing? Hell, in the past six years I knew and ran off every chickenhead he had ever dipped out on me with. Yet, I had never once imagined or ran across Ms. Elise.
Unable to move, too hurt to cry, I sat on that chaise for the next several hours. Over and over I replayed his words in my head. Consistently checking his phone, emails, having the keys to all three of his homes and still I could not come up with how I let this one chick slip my intuitive radar.
As mad and hurt as I was, there was one thing that repeatedly crossed my mind. After everything I had learned, how could I be so stupid? Stupid I had been, but not a fool. How soon Mr. Kevin Anderson forgot about the $250 million secret that I held so close for 1,825 days now. In the back of my mind I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but had planned for it just in case. This bastard was going to pay for every tear I had shed, every unborn child he forced me to abort and every minute of sleep I had lost.
It was time that Kevin reaped what he sowed; and this was something that I would handle personally.