“Then tell me the truth,” I sit up in the bed and cross my legs, “How many men are you fucking, huh?”
“Why? It’s not important.”
“It is important. Why won’t you tell me?”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” You sit up also and climb into my lap, wrapping your arms around my neck, and holding me close to your heart.
I respond with my arms around your waist, “This hurts me, Villana. It already hurts. Tell me, please just tell me. How many is it?”
“I don’t know. A lot.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“So why don’t you want to have sex with me anymore?”
“Because I actually like you!” You jump up and storm across the room to the window and peer through the curtain, “I fucking like you. I want more. I’m discovering myself. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. You are different. Kind. Sweet. Real. You’re real. Understand?”
“Do you understand? I have fucking feelings.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Villana. Just tell me the truth…how many…is it?”
“Ten.”
“Jesus.”
“See! You’re judging me!”
“I’m not judging you. I don’t care. But…I love you. I cant even think about another making love to you.”
You turn to face me. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and glare at your silhouette.
“I don’t make love to them. I just let them fuck me.”
“Stop.”
“And maybe I suck their dicks sometimes.”
“Stop it!”
“And I like it in the ass.”
“Will you stop it.”
“You said you wanted to know. So there it is. All my dirty laundry, Dauhd.”
I sigh. I walk over to you and stand inches away from your face.
“How can you tell me you love me,” I whisper, “When you share yourself with so many. People who don’t matter. You’re getting married next month. When you gonna call it off?”
“I’ll do it now. I’ll call him and do it now.”
“Then what?”
You stare into my eyes as though I just slapped you in the face.
“I don’t know. We can be together.”
“I don’t want to be with you, Villana, now that I know this.”
“See that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“You didn’t want to tell me the truth?”
“You tell me the truth. How many women have you been with?”
“In my lifetime?”
“In the past two months, Dauhd!”
“Stop yelling at me.”
“Tell me!”
“Tell you what!”
“How. Many. Women. Have. You. Been. With,” you muffle through clenched teeth.
“Several, Villana, because am I supposed to wait around for ten men to gets their nuts off?”
“Fuck you, Dauhd.”
“Fuck me, Lana, cause that’s the only thing you ever want to do.”
“I’m leaving.”
I watch silently as you spin around the room gathering your belongings and stuffing them in your duffle bag. You start toward the bathroom, but the darkness reveals an item on the floor that causes you to slip and fall. I run over to you as your body hits the floor. You break out into a sob, curling yourself up into a fetal position.
I put my arms around you and hug you tight.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I shouldn’t have asked, “Where are you going to go? It’s 2:00 a.m.”
“Away from you,” you say between whimpers.
“Please. Don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Shutup, Dauhd.”
“I’m serious. I’m sorry. Please. Come lay with me. At least let me make love to you before you go.”
I scoop you up and carry you to the bed. I lay you down gently and begin to kiss all the tender spots of your body: your cheeks…your chin…your neck…your chest…your abdomen…
I see your body start to relax and moans escape from your lips. You massage my shaven head as I kiss you.
“You’re right,” you state quietly.
I stop and look up at you, “What?”
“You’re right. It’s disgusting that I’m fucking that many men. You don’t deserve that.”
I crawl up next to you and slide my arms around your body and pull you close to me. Our breathing is in-synch. I can feel your heart beat on my chest. Silence embodies our auras in the dark room. The crickets harmonize outside the window. A couple down the hall argues and a baby wails.
“Villana, should I get tested?”
“Yeah…”
“Are you protecting yourself?”
“I don’t know. I been drinking a lot,” you sniff and wipe your eyes with the palm of your hand, “I been drunk Dauhd, I don’t remember.”
“Lana…”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could stop, but…I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know—I—“
“How long you been drinking again?”
“Maybe six months…” your voice trails.
“Are you drunk now.”
You begin sobbing again. I tighten my hold on you. Your tears run down my skin and your shoulders heave.
“Just tell me. This is our life, right? Are you drunk?” I demand your gaze with my own, “Tell me, baby. I’m not mad. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m drunk, Dauhd. I’m always drunk. I’m so stressed! School is fucking killing me! Work is stringing me by the throat! I’m always drun—“
“Alright…alright. It’s okay. Okay? It’s okay. I love you. It’s okay.
I hold you and time passes as you weep in my arms. I close my eyes and listen to your breath. I rub your back and kiss the top of your head over and over.
Once your emotions start to slow I say, “Let me take you home so you can rest.”
“He’s there.”
“I know, but you need to sleep it off and take care of yourself. Okay…?”
“Okay.”
Inside The Mind of a Black Artist 