Love… Maybe?

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During class one week we needed to create a “Tension” piece. I hate to admit this but this is the first post where I have worked on it for more than one sitting. Everything else I’ve published has really had no thought behind whatever environment I was in at the time. Please let me know what you think in the comment box below, as feedback is always appreciated. Thank you!

I hear the keys jingle as he floats towards the door for the third time this week.

“Have fun,” barely escapes through my clenched jaw. My eyes were almost shut, not interested in making eye contact with him.

“Thanks babe. I won’t be gone too long,” bounces back from behind Carter’s full pink lips exposing his naturally beautiful teeth. He was wearing the denim button up that I just bought for his birthday. It fit him all too well. His camouflage pants are pressed and he has on my favorite red Nikes. I can smell him from our loveless loveseat, Gorgio Armani: Acqua Di Gio. My eyes widen as fast as they return to a nothing but sliver.

“Yeah, sure.”

“You alright?”, he asks while arching his left eyebrow. Standing underneath the kitchen lights, glowing, looking too delicious to be leaving me for his boys. The left part in his bright, tamed, red hair demanding my attention begging that I move them all out of place. His beard is getting long. He could go for a clean-up, but he knows I like when it’s a little rough. There is nothing to fix. Nothing in need of my readjusting. Nothing in need of my touch.

“Mhmmm,” triggers my eyes to roll on command, but they shoot back to him. Standing at 6’2”, it still takes me a while to look him head to toe. If you make it past his eyelashes that create tsunami’s in Hawaii every time he blinks, you can’t disconnect from his bright-green and hazel eyes if you wanted to… You wouldn’t know how toned yet pale his arms are. Or how long the scar is down the center of his chest. Or how his heart makes a tinking sound when it beats. Or about the tucked away tattoo’s that whisper about his life.  Although, I was beginning not to remember any of that myself.

“Ok, what’s that supposed to mean?” strolling in the living room with his head cocked to the side. Finally within my reach as he sits on the arm rest. His cologne says “tackle me”, my ego says “no”, my heart is sad, and my body pissed.

“It means enjoy yourself.”

“You know what I mean smart ass!”. His words and jawline rush past the thick of his beard. My heart is attempting to leap from my chest to his. He continues, “If we’re not doing nothing,” he starts while putting up one finger, “And the guys want to hang,” bringing up finger number two, “What’s the problem?” he quizzes, leaning towards me with both of his palms raised awaiting my answer.

“I miss you.”

“I see you every day, babe.”

“No, I miss you.”

“You could always just come out. You know that.”

“I don’t miss Jason and Donté and DJ and whoever the fuck else. Just you.”

“You been acting weird all day. I really don’t know what you’re really tryna say.”

“But you’re still leaving…”

“I wouldn’t cancel on you, so why would I cancel on my boys?”

“I’m not ya damn boy! I AM YOUR FIANCÉ! I deserve to spend way more time with you! When was the last time we went on a walk? To a movie? I’m not talking about no double-date shit with AJ and his current fling. How about just staying in? We used to cook together every Sunday, watch a movie with a 12-pack and smoke a joint. Do you remember that?”

“Look, Keyana. You should’ve said all of this earlier. Not as I’m half way out the door. I hate when you bottle shit up and then explode on me. How many times have I asked you to talk to me? You must think I’m some kind of mind reader.”

“You’re never h—“

“Did I interrupt you??”

“Carter! I’m lonely!” Just like that, without so much as a kiss, or an I love you, the front door closes behind him.

New Text from Hubby: We can talk when I get home.

Reply: Sure.

Outgoing Text: Hey, you up?

Incoming: Never sleeping on you

Outgoing: Pick me up?

Incoming: On my way