The Loss of Love and Truth

by R Kenneth Donaldson

  The Loss of Love and Truth

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2020 R. Kenneth Donaldson

  v1.0

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter One

  I wake up very slowly this morning because I have a murderous headache. I lift my head from the soft confines of my pillow and can taste what feels like cotton in my mouth.

  “Well, what should you expect?” I ask myself.

  As always after a night of boozing, I get a horrible coating on my tongue. Mostly because alcohol drives my sinuses into a frenzy causing me to breathe from my mouth instead of my nose.

  I sit up quickly, almost too quickly, for the pain in my head becomes almost unbearable. The pain, though, brings recollection of my escapades of the night before. A smile sneaks across my face as I remember my little night out at Club Fuchsia, a local night club. Then the smile washes away quickly as one memory stabs my brain with such fever that I quickly turn to the other side of my queen-size bed.

  I thought I could have wished this away, but no luck. There he was, lying next to me.

  “Damn!” I thought, cursing myself. “I really did not want this to happen.”

  But every time I have too much to drink it seems I always regret it the next morning; this morning being no exception. Maybe it would not have been so bad if this was some nameless trade that I picked up, but my luck could not have been so good. This happens to be my ex-lover. I really, really did not want this to happen.

  I was having a great time last night. After having dinner at one of my favorite restaurants with my best friend Marcus and a group of other friends, we arrived at Club Fuchsia around 1:30 in the morning. Last night was a celebration. A celebration because I just opened my very own detective agency three weeks ago.

  After long deliberation and many suggestions, I decided the name of my agency would be F.Y.I’s (For Your Eyes) Private Detective Agency. That alone was something to commemorate, but it was also the two year anniversary of my break-up with my ex. And I was going to celebrate like there was no tomorrow.

  I must admit I was looking pretty fierce. Marcus finally talked me into wearing this black bodysuit, which I wore with a pair of black jeans and black boots. I was kind of reluctant, but as Marcus insisted “Boy, you can’t keep a body like that wrapped under those tired preppy clothes. You better show it off.”

  At 30 years of age, I guess I’m pretty attractive. I mean I’ve always been “cute, I’m quick to smile and I have a boyish charm about me. I’m average height, 5’10”, and weigh a solid 185 pounds. I’ll admit I have a pretty decent body. I mean I should, I work out four times a week. I suppose after spending six years on the New York Police Department, it’s hard to get out of the habit of working out as often as I do. But I really just enjoy working out, especially running. I refuse to ever become one of those detectives who is just so out of shape that the only thing he can chase is a doughnut.

  The club was packed, the music was ovah, and the “boys” were phine. I must have danced for what seemed liked hours.

  I remember finally sitting down soaked to the bone from sweating and as I started to get up to head to the bathroom, there he was; looking like a chocolate Adonis. The boy did look good.

  Mitchell, my ex-lover, stands 6’4,” weighs close to 220 and has a body built for sin. His skin is the color of maple syrup and his lips are so soft; and yet so strong. He always wears his hair in a close fade. Last night he was wearing a pair of baggy blue jeans and a muscle T-shirt that accentuated his physique to the fullest.

  “What’s up Trev?” he finally says, licking his lips and looking me up and down as if I were on display.

  “Not much.” I reply. “Long time no see.”

  Then nothing but silence follows. I sit back down with my drink, not knowing whether it was the alcohol or Mitchell that was making me dizzy.

  “Is it okay if I sit down?”

  I nod and say “Hey, I don’t own this place. You can sit anywhere you want.” Again he looks me over, making me feel a little uncomfortable.

  “What? What is it?” I ask feeling a little annoyed.

  “Damn baby, you sure are looking good.” he says.

  I hold up my hand to immediately stop him; already knowing what was on his mind. “Look, Mitchell, I’m having a great time tonight and I don’t need you spoiling it,” I remarked with a smile on my face.

  “What? All I said was that you’re looking good.” he says with a smirk, trying to appear innocent.

  “C’mon Mitchell, don’t play with me, we both know what you do to me.” I piped in.

  Damn Freud and his “slips”. Instantly after the words flowed from my mouth I regretted it. “Why in the hell did I say that?” I ask myself; mentally beating my head against an imaginary wall. “It must be the liquor.”

  “And what do I do to you that’s causing such a problem, baby?” He asks slyly.

  I got up slowly and carefully, because I was feeling a little tipsier than I thought and said, “Let’s start with you calling me baby.” I then walked straight to the dance floor to see if I could find Marcus. I needed to put as much distance between Mitchell and me as possible. That man really makes me moist and he knows it.

  I finally see Marcus standing next to the bar talking to the bartender.

  “Marcus, you will not believe who’s here.” I yell over the loud, pulsating music. “Chile, I already know. Are you ok?” he yells back.

  This yelling back and forth wasn’t doing any good so I grabbed his arm and we started to walk towards the restroom.

  “What’d you say?” I asked more clearly.

  “I said, are you ok? I know how you get around that dog.”

  “No, no, I’m fine. I may need you to stay with me though, cause I had way too much to drink and I may end up doing something that we’ll all regret.”

  “You mean something that you’ll regret.”

  “Oh no buddy, if I fuck up and wind up miserable, you can best believe I’ll make your life miserable as well.” I say laughing.

  “Cool, it’s been a long time since I cock-blocked someone.” Marcus laughs. “I gotta go to the bathroom. Come with me.” I said.

  “
What for? Haven’t you mastered that trick yet?” “Go to hell Marcus. Go to hell.”

  Marcus and I both went into the bathroom. I went into a stall to relieve myself and Marcus immediately starts to talk to someone he knew, which happens to be anyone and everyone at any given time.

  I love that boy to death, but no matter where we go, whether it be in a “gay” or “straight” environment, he seems to know everyone, which at times gets on my last nerve, but that’s Marcus.

  I come out the stall and go to the mirror to make sure everything is “in place”. With my head bent, I feel a hot presence at my back.

  “You know, I’ve really missed being with you. You look sooo good. Damn” The heavy voice said, dripping with desire.

  I knew exactly who it was. Though the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, (because the man still excites me) the alcohol level in my body went down and I was not about to give this negro the second chance of catching me off guard.

  I turned around to face him, with my lips twisted in a smirk and one eyebrow arched, I say with feigned disappointment “Oh, I thought you were someone else.” I licked my lips, looked him up and down, then walked past him.

  I couldn’t find Marcus anywhere after that. He’s famous for just leaving me in a club, after finding himself a piece. But, I’m a big boy, I didn’t need anyone to hold my hand.

  One of my favorite songs started to blast over the speakers. I started to tap my foot to the pounding beat of the bass. Never having a problem with dancing by myself, I started towards the dance floor. Not to brag, but I am a fierce dancer. On more than one occasion, I was asked if I danced professionally.

  I was in the middle of the dance floor when Mitchell walks up behind me, grabs my hand and says “Why don’t you dance with me?”

  I look at him and start to laugh. “Sure why not. Since I’m already here.”

  We danced for about thirty minutes. My throat was getting a bit dry, so I told Mitchell that I needed another drink. He followed behind me with his hands around my waist. This black man was getting too comfortable. I need to go ahead and nip this in the bud right now. I turn around and say to him “Listen, Mitchell, don’t get me wrong…”

  Before I could get another word out he put his mouth on mine. And the damn man kissed me just like he used to; with so much passion it literally took my breath away. I pushed him away and said, “W-wait a damn minute, Mitchell. Shit, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Baby, you just don’t know, I’ve been miserable without you. I can’t eat, sleep or do anything.”

  “Well you sure as hell don’t look like you’ve missed many meals.” I replied sarcastically. “C’mon, Trevor. Why you got to be so shady? I’m trying to tell you that I miss you and what do you do, but slap me in the face.” Mitchell said heatedly.

  After two seconds of silence Mitchell’s tone softened. “Can’t we please go somewhere to just talk. I just want to catch up, see how’ve you been, you know.”

  The look on his face showed hurt and disappointment.

  Damn, damn, damn, I knew this was going to happen. I couldn’t say a word, though. I looked everywhere for Marcus for support, but of course his ass was nowhere to be found.

  “Look, if its going to cause a problem with your boyfriend, then forget it,” Mitchell finally remarked with a smile.

  This was Mitchell’s way of telling me that he knew I wasn’t seeing anyone seriously.

  I looked at him wondering how in the hell he knew. It didn’t matter though, because I wasn’t going to let him get the best of me. We were just going to talk, right?

  “Fine let’s go, but it’s just to talk and nothing else. And don’t call me baby. Cause I won’t be your baby tonight.”

  Yeah right! Now look at this situation I’m in. Here he is sleeping silently next to me without a care in the world and with this big ass smile on his face.

  A smile I put on him. I have to give myself credit, I am one fantastic lover. Not because I do anything outstanding in bed. I’m not an acrobat or a contortionist or anything like that. It’s just that I’m not a selfish lover. I take pleasure in giving pleasure, which is a rarity in men. They usually want to get their nut off and go to sleep.

  Mitchell had better be glad I was a little weak and more than a little tipsy last night. Because, in any other normal circumstance, he would not have had a snowball’s chance in hell with me. But you can bet your sweet titties that that’s it! I mean it. He won’t see this black ass ever again. Not to say the sex wasn’t good, cause the brotha can throw down. It’s just that sleeping with him brought back too many memories. Some of them good, but the ones that hurt are the bad ones. And the bad ones I cannot forgive, let alone forget.

  I was in love with Mitchell once upon a time and it took me a long while to get out of love with him. He was the first man who ever really treated me like I was supposed to be treated: with love, respect and trust. Well, at least in the beginning. Of course things changed later on in the relationship, but for the most part I was happy and content. Mitchell had two problems that tore us apart. The first one was he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

  Now, being a man, I know that temptation can be a potent thing. I also know that every man is born with doggish instincts. I don’t care if you’re gay, straight or bent like an eight, if a juicy bone is wagged in a man’s face he’s gonna be tempted. But I’ll be damned if I’m wrong for feeling that you don’t have to follow up on those instincts. I mean I’ve had my share of temptations, more than I would like to admit, but I thought being in love meant that when you have the urge to merge, you take that shit home.

  Even after finding out he was fucking around, I found it deep, deep, deep in my heart to forgive him. God knows he begged enough for my forgiveness. It was just that I couldn’t deal with how the whole ordeal made me feel: insecure, distrustful, paranoid -• three things I swore I would never feel again in any relationship. Like my grandmother used to say to me ‘Baby, if the shoe don’t feel right, then you gotta take it off.’ And that’s exactly what I did. And as much as I was willing to forgive him for his “infidelity”; I couldn’t cope with his other problem, drugs.

  Crack changed him. He became a different person. He was secretive. He would leave in the middle of the day and not show up for three days and lie about where he was. On one occasion he became violent. Glasses were broken, he even smashed my stereo with a baseball bat. But he knew better than to put his hands on me. As big as he was, he knew I could stomp another hole in his ass.

  It’s been two years since we broke up and we’ve seen each other every once in a blue moon. If it wasn’t for last night, we wouldn’t have slept with each other since our break• up either. Which leads me back to my current situation. I am curious as to what he thinks this means. Whether he feels that after one night of passion I would beg him to take me back. Yeah, imagine that. But that’s how cocky Mitchell is. To tell the truth, I don’t know what this means. I just had an itch and Mitchell was there to scratch it. Long and hard.

  I get up slowly so I wouldn’t wake him. I walk past the bed and stub my toe on the bedpost. “Shit!” I scream. I cover my mouth quickly, but Mitchell doesn’t move an inch.

  Boy, I forget just how much of a rock sleeper he is. I walk into the bathroom and open the door to my glass-enclosed tub and step in. I take my time in the shower; lathering myself very slowly, trying to wash away this deep feeling of disappointment with myself and trying to think of what to say to this man. As I debate on what I should say to dismiss last night, I realize that I haven’t heard one peep from the bedroom.

  After my days on the force, I tend to be overly sensitive to noise or the lack of it. “It’s just your paranoia,” Marcus would always tease.

  “I must have put suhin’ on him to put him in this coma.” I laugh, thinking to myself. As I turn the knob of the shower faucet off, I can’t help but laugh about the unusual predicament I’ve gotten myself into. If Marcus knew what I did, he would
be all over me. I can just hear him now.

  “Chile, I know the dick was good, but damn. How could you go back to sleeping with Rover?” Rover was Marcus’ nickname for Mitchell, Marcus always said; “Mitchell’s nothing more than a two-legged dog. “

  I get out of the shower and look over my naked body in the floor length mirror behind the bathroom door. “I really need to work on my abs during my next workout.” I ponder rubbing my stomach. With a towel draped around my midriff, I walk into my bedroom to get dressed.

  Even though it was Saturday, I figured I would go into the office to do some organizing and some leg work on my first case. My first assignment is pretty elementary and I will probably finish it quickly (that’s just how good I am).

  A very beautiful, yet aging, forty year old woman was going through an ugly divorce and her husband was trying his damnedest to leave her with nothing or close to it. The bastard had over a hundred and thirty million dollars in cash and assets, but he kept his finances so well hidden that he was claiming he was only worth $175,000, which basically meant that she wouldn’t get as much as she should. She helped him build his empire. Put her youth, blood and tears in his business and now he was trying to leave her high and dry. She also suspected that he had a little “bitch on the side”. Since the courts needed photos of them actually fucking, I needed more than her husband and his mistress just walking hand in hand. “I want to see the cheeks of their asses.” she so animatedly told me during our initial interview, when she forked over her five thousand dollar retainer. I thought this woman was handling the situation like a champ. It was only a small job, but it was my first case; so I was extremely excited.

  I look at the clock and notice that it’s 11:00 am. “Shit! I was planning to at least be out of here by ten.” I mutter to myself.

  “Al right, c’mon Mitchell, I know I was all that to put you in a coma, but I really need to get ready.” I say rummaging through my dresser for a pair of underpants. He didn’t move. I put on a pair of black jockeys and walk over to the bed. “Come on Mitchell, wake up, rise-n-shine, get the lead out.” I jump on the bed. He still didn’t move. What the hell is going on here.