by Ivy Symone
Hate to Love You
Copyright 2016 © King Publishing Group, LLC
Copyright 2016 © Ivy Symone
www.kingpublishinggroup.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events 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.
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Chapter 1
I would be lying if I said I hadn’t ever wished death on my husband. I was guilty. And I used to not feel bad about having those feelings. My husband was evil and most days I hated him. I used to come up with outlandish schemes in my head to get rid of him without evidence coming back on me. I’ve watch Snapped many times. You had to play that shit careful or a jury wouldn’t believe your word.
Ironically, now that my husband Marcos Beauchamp was laid up in the hospital, hanging on for dear life, I kind of felt guilty about my vindictive feelings. Did all of my hopeful wishes bring this about? I can’t lie; a part of me was laughing inside; not a giggle laugh either. It was one of those deep from the belly that worked its way up to the throat and came out forceful like you had heard the funniest shit ever. That’s wrong; I know, but you don’t understand. This man has taken me through hell and it serves his ass right.
Four days before was our twin boys’ sixteenth birthday. So of course we went all out for Bleu and Azul. We threw them a party that would definitely go down in their high school class as one of the best parties. Marcos booked some local rappers that I’ve never heard of who were affiliated with Cashville Records (Although once they started performing I realized my sons had me listening to them for quite a while). I left that kind of stuff up to Marcos. I focused on the decorations, food, and the big ass cake they had. The party was a blast. Our eighteen year old daughter Marcena was being salty because she said her sixteenth birthday celebration wasn’t as good. I beg to differ.
In the middle of the party I noticed I hadn’t seen Marcos. I asked everyone had they seen Marcos. Whenever his friends act evasive I knew they were trying to cover for him. So I went searching for him.
The party was being held in the banquet hall of the Adele Beauchamp School of Music and Theatre. It was ours. Beverly Beauchamp was the acting CEO, President and Chief Instructor of the Adele Beauchamp School of Music and Theatre. The school was a nonprofit organization for low-income families providing quality theatre and music instructions to youth who otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford it. Beverly was Marcos’s mother and Adele was Marcos’s great grandmother. It was the women in his life that got him and his siblings into the fine arts of dance, theatre, and music; therefore, when Beverly opened the school she named the school after Adele in honor of her. The school has been running strong with a well-known reputation in the community for the past fifteen years.
After I earned my degree in Urban Studies with a minor in Nonprofit Management and Leadership, I wanted to come on board with the operations of the school. I was chief vice president and COO. I was actively involved with the program. Sometimes, I think I was more passionate about the school than his mother was. Dancing and drama was more to me than a passion; it was an outlet. I used it to escape my sad life with Marcos.
Speaking of Marcos. My woman’s intuition told me he was somewhere doing something he had no business doing. The first place I went to was the wing of administrative offices. I went from office to office in search for him. I didn’t see him. With the loud music in the background I stepped in the middle of the deserted atrium pondering on Marcos’ whereabouts.
Then, I heard it. Not it. Them. I heard them. Coming from one of the kids’ lounge rooms. I slowly made my way toward the room. Wasn’t this some shit? They didn’t even have the decency to shut the door all the way. I stood at the door watching as Stacy pumped her pancake on Marcos’ sausage. They were on the sofa; a sofa that the kids of the school had to sit on. That pissed me off.
Marcos held her around the small of her back as she rode him. He was saying something to her but I couldn’t make it out because it came out in whispering breaths. I stood there contemplating if I should yank Stacy off of him. What made it bad was that Stacy was an instructor there at the school. Needless to say she no longer had a job now.
“Marcos,” I spoke calmly. “When you’re finish can you please come back to the party. We’re about to bring out the cake.”
Stacy gasped and tried to jump off of his dick. Marcos held her still. He said to her, “Don’t move,” he glared at me like I was the one caught doing something wrong. “I’ll be out there. Now get the fuck out.”
I frowned at his lack of respect for me. I said, “Stacy…you’re fired. And when you’re done you need to leave the party.”
“I’m so sorry Neph—” she was trying to say, but Marcos made her be quiet.
He looked at me. His facial expression softened as he began pumping his dick in and out of Stacy. I could tell she felt ashamed and her pale white skin had turned red. But it didn’t stop her white ass from moaning.
Marcos continued to look at me as he got rougher with her. A sinister smile spread across his face. Sick bastard. I hated him.
_____
Later that night he got in bed after showering like nothing had happened. I stared at him. His muscular back was to me as he hugged his pillow pretending to be so tired. If I had a knife in that moment, I would have had to make a choice: stab him in the head or stab him in the back. I know! I would stab his ass straight in his butthole.
“Marcos?” I called softly.
“What, Nephia?” he asked with an attitude.
“Why would you do that at your children’s birthday party?” I asked.
“Man, leave me alone with that shit,” he grumbled.
“It was disrespectful; to me and to the twins.”
“Who saw me but you?”
“For real, Marcos?” I asked in incredible disbelief.
He shifted in his spot but never turned around to face me. “Go head on with that shit, Nephia. I ain’t in the fuckin’ mood.”
“How long have you been fucking her?” I wanted to know, ignoring the warning tone of his voice.
He abruptly turned around and was on me so fast I didn’t have time to react. I cowered under him blocking my face from any impending flying fists. He punched me upside my head and snarled, “Bitch, didn’t I tell you don’t fuck with me tonight?”
“Okay,” I said weakly. I was always fine until the first blow. The first blow always weakened me and reminded me I was no match for him. It reminded me that I needed to shut the fuck up. Shit, Marcos was about two hundred pounds of rippling muscles. He stood right at five ten. I was five two and about a hundred and thirty pounds. What could I do to him?
He hit me on top of my head again. “I’m getting tired of your bitch ass asking…” he hit me again, “Mothafuckin questions!”
This is when I start to cry. I can see the fire in his eyes as his rage continues to grow. I shrink even more.
Marcos got out of the bed. “Fuck this shit! You always wanna see me angry and shit. I’m finna go a
nd don’t fuckin’ call me.”
“Wait,” I cried. “I’m sorry. I won’t talk no more. I promise.”
Pitiful, huh? Yeah, I know.
“Fuck you, Neph,” he spat. He disappeared into our huge walk-in closet. I sat there crying, softly. When he reappeared he was fully dressed. He was still mad.
When he left the house I knew where he was running to. And it wasn’t to Stacy’s. It was to his other baby mama’s house; Terra. She was another white girl who he had a nine year old daughter with. Her name was Brittani and I liked the little girl. Her parents weren’t worth shit so when she did come over to the house I treated her like she was my own.
Before he walked out of the room he said under his breath, “Pitiful ass bitch.”
That’s what I was to him; a pitiful ass bitch. To others, I was a pitiful ass woman for putting up with his mess. I’ve been dealing with Marcos for nineteen years. Nineteen years of hell.
At 5:13 that morning I received a call from a frantic Terra. I couldn’t make out anything she was saying. “Calm down! Now what?”
Terra tried to calm herself down. She was still sobbing. “It’s Marcos. I think he ain’t gon make it…He was in an accident.”
“An accident?” I asked fully sitting up. “What are you talking about?”
“Marcos!”
I was hearing her right. I just didn’t care. I said, “So, why are you calling me?”
“You’re his wife. You have to make decisions for him.”
“I don’t care what they do. He can die,” I said carelessly.
“Marcos was right about you. You are a bitch!”
Fuck Marcos and his white bitch, I thought. Although Marcos referred to me as a bitch, I really wasn’t. It’s just some of the things that he did caused me to behave outside my natural self. For instance, not caring about him. I wasn’t a heartless person. As a matter of fact, I was too kind and understanding. I sighed, “What hospital?”
“Vanderbilt.”
I ended the call with her. Did she say he might not make it? Was this my lucky day? I got up and quickly dressed. With my purse and keys in hand I went to the twins’ bedroom. I tapped Azul, “Zuli…”
He was so sleepy. They, meaning the twins and their five other friends sleeping over, probably had just went to sleep. “Zuli, I’m leaving, but I’ll be back.”
“Where you going?” he asked.
“I’ll call you,” I told him. I wanted to wait to see how serious things were before alarming the kids.
“Okay,” he said.
Bleu stirred in his sleep. “Where you going, Mama?”
“Go back to bed. Y'all look after the house until I get back.”
When I arrived at the hospital Terra was so distraught. She and Brittani were waiting in the emergency operating room waiting area for family and friends. She explained to me that she was notified because her number was the last few calls in Marcos’ phone. That was all she was able to tell me before I was being pulled aside by the police that were called to the scene of Marcos’s accident. Apparently, Marcos lost control of his truck. It done a couple of flips and landed in a ditch. Marcos had been tossed out of the truck though. He wasn’t wearing his seat belt, as usual. I’ve always told him to put his seatbelt on. Fortunately, no one else was hurt.
Marcos was still in surgery. They explained to me with little detail that he was banged up pretty bad and to prepare for the worst. Wow. I didn’t think the police would tell someone that.
I kept calm. I didn’t cry because deep down inside I was hoping for the worst. I got on the phone and called Beverly, Christina his sister, Gogo his cousin, and his best friend Quan. They all met up with me within forty minutes.
After a few hours of operating a team of doctors came out to inform us that Marcos had suffered several injuries as a result of him experiencing a hemorrhagic stroke secondary to the brain aneurysm that occurred while he was driving. After further testing, they discovered that Marcos had PKD, polycystic kidney disease. I was not aware of it and wondered if Marcos was aware of it and just hadn’t told me.
Well, as a result of his car accident, his right leg below his knee had to be amputated. That would suck. I don’t think Marcos would like that very much. He’d probably want to be dead. The doctor also explained that they would know definitely how much damage the stroke caused once Marcos awakened and they could perform further tests. One thing for sure was that he would have to undergo an intensive therapy regimen and treatment plan for both the stroke and PKD.
I was doing the happy dance in my head while the doctor was talking to me. I couldn’t let everybody know I was ecstatic.
Now here I was at his bedside feeling guilty about hoping he would die. I mean, I had seven kids by this man and then there was Brittani. As bad as Marcos was, the kids still loved their father.
But I still wanted him to die.
_______
It was now the third day and I found myself back at the hospital, right at his side once again. Was I doing this because it was expected of me to show concern? Not really. Everyone knew Marcos was one of my least favorite people. To be honest, I’m not sure why I felt a need to be at his side.
Minutes passed as the machines played their usual beats creating a harmonious tune of life support. I listened and even kept up with the exhalation and inhalation of the ventilator pumping his damaged lungs with air.
I felt my face screw up with disgust as I glared down at him. I snarled in a whisper, “I hope you die.”
This time he wasn’t able to respond with hurtful damaging words. He just lay there. Maybe if I accidentally trip over one of the power cords of one of these machines and pull it out of the socket…Hmmm, sounded tempting.
I said to him, “I read somewhere that one of the most painful things a comatose patient endured was the sound of a loved one’s voice. They said it triggered the pain sensors of the brain and compared it to being dropped in a vat of hydrochloric acid then rolling around in salt. Now if that’s the case, I guess I should get comfortable and talk to you all day.”
I grunted a stifled laugh. I looked over at Marcos. Despite the accident, I could still make out that he was indeed a handsome man. Actually, he was quite pretty with pretty boy ways. I wasn’t sure of how this accident was going to change his outer appearance, but knowing him, it wasn’t going to do anything for his inner being. Marcos was hateful and downright horrible. It would take more than an accident to change him.
“And even if you did change, I wouldn’t care. You know why?” I said as if he would answer. When he didn’t, I continued, “Because it’s too late, Marcos. I don’t love you. I don’t think I ever did; it was just me feeling lost and needing comfort. And what comfort you provided me! That’s hilarious.”
Leaning on the bedrails with my arms and hands clasped together, I let my head fall as if I was about to say a prayer. I couldn’t think of anything to say. My mind went blank.
“Knock, knock, knock, knock.”
Without having to look up, the soft raspy voice was comfort to my ears.
“Bitch, I know you ain’t in here praying and crying,” Corvell teased as he neared me.
I lifted my head snickering. “No. I can’t believe you came up here for real.”
Corvell pulled me into an affectionate embrace. “Girl, I told you I would be here for you,” he cut his eyes towards Marcos. “I ain’t here for his ass.”
“I appreciate it,” I told my childhood friend.
“So, he ain’t woke his yella ass up yet?”
I frowned a smile as I studied Corvell’s long locs. I could have sworn he was rocking a fade last week. “What’s this on your head?”
Corvell grinned and tossed his synthetic locs over his shoulders. “You like ‘em girl? Lita put them in the other day. Instant locs. Baby boom!”
I laughed. Corvell was so damn animated. I examined them closer. “She got some skills ‘cause she grabbed every strand of your hair up. Do they hurt?”
“No more than getting my cherry busted for the first time,” he joked.
I winced. “Spare me the visual.”
Corvell looked back at Marcos. “So what happens if he doesn’t wake up?”
I shrugged. It was inappropriate but I said, “I guess I’ll be picking out what coffin to stuff his ass in.”
Corvell narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. “That’s what you want anyway.”
“For me; yes. For the kids; no.”
“Well, look at it this way; if he wakes up at least you know you can outrun his ass now,” Corvell laughed in reference to Marcos’ amputated leg.
I punched him playfully in the arm. “Boy, stop that.”
Corvell pretended as if my punch actually hurt. “Girl, that hurt. You know I’m sensitive.”
“That ain’t what you be telling Reuben,” I shot back.
Corvell scrunched his nose up in disgust. “Fuck Reuben. I got me a new man. Baby boom!”
“Do tell,” I prodded.
Corvell glanced over at Marcos. “Not in front of him. I’ll tell you later.”
“He can’t hear you.”
“People in comas can hear girl!”
I laughed. My eyes landed on Marcos’s and my smile instantly disappeared. The ventilator began to sound off alarming the nurse’s station.
“What the fuck?” Corvell said in a panic.
That’s what I was thinking as I stared back into Marcos’ deep brown eyes. I was stuck, immobile. I know I should have rushed out of the room to flag down a nurse or a doctor but I was shocked that he was awake. I really expected for him not to ever open his eyes again. Doom seemed to form into a grey cloud and found a spot over my head.
Would I ever rid my life of Marcos Delgado Beauchamp?
Chapter 2
Nineteen years prior….
My mother was Filipino. No lie she came to live in the United States because of sex trafficking. The highest bidder was a white male from America. He actually married her when she was eighteen. She gained her citizenship three years later. He ended up divorcing her once he realized she couldn’t produce children and was a drug addict.
