An Insane Love

by Bianca

  When Mayhem came over, I told him the situation. Mayhem never answered me directly, but he told me that he didn’t like him, and he was only working with him as a favor to me because he needed to take care of Raylee. He promised me that he would talk to him, but I didn’t expect him to beat him up. I felt so bad that Mayhem had beat him up, but I should have known that would happen because Mayhem didn’t play that shit. I should have called Malice because he thought more logically than Mayhem did. Mayhem would knock your ass out and then sit you up and ask questions.

  “Mom, Dad said that we can have pizza tonight,” Raylee said without looking up at me.

  “Okay,” I responded to her.

  Walking into the bathroom, I thought that he would be getting out the shower, but he wasn’t. His clothes were balled up in front of the sink. I picked them up, and his phone was slipping out of his pocket. I caught it before it hit the floor. We had our bathroom redone the way that I wanted, and it was something out of a magazine. The shower wasn’t near the sink, so I was sure that he didn’t even know I was in the bathroom. I toyed with his phone in my hand. The thought of going through his phone came to mind. I wanted to go through his phone, but would I want to know the answer? Was I ready to leave him? Hell, would I leave him if I found some dumb ass shit in his phone? Those are all the questions I had to ask myself before I went into his phone.

  Against my better judgement, I opened his phone. I went straight to his pictures first. There were none in there but of Raylee and us. I smiled at how much he loved and adored our daughter. I went into his messages, and I scrolled, looking for any bitches’ names, but there were none. I noticed this one person had a ‘Do Not Disturb’ dot next to their name. I opened up the message, and my heart hit my feet. There were only three messages in the thread.

  Al: Bash, we need to meet.

  Al: What are you doing? Can we meet tonight?

  Al: Why the fuck are you ignoring me, nigga?

  I went into his call log, and that person had called close to twenty times. I couldn’t wait until he got out the shower for the answers that I wanted. I walked around the bathroom to the shower, and it was filled with steam. I slid the glass back and showed him the phone.

  “Bro, you getting my phone wet, mane? What the fuck is that?” he asked with one eye open and one eye closed.

  “Nigga, open your fucking eye. Ain’t no soap getting in your damn eyes,” I snapped. “Who the fuck is Al? What is Al short for?”

  Not skipping a beat, he replied, “Al is short for Alvin. Alvin is a fiend. A rich fiend. He can’t be seen in certain parts of Chicago or it will look bad. That’s it… That’s all. Why you keep looking for shit? I told you I ain’t cheating on you, man, damn.”

  “Why the fuck is a fiend texting your personal line and not your work phone?”

  “Rubee, because he is a nigga that I don’t wanna miss when he needs shit. That nigga spends at least two thousand dollars with me every time he calls me. Get my phone out the shower and look him up yourself. Damn!”

  I moved back, and he closed the shower door. See, my friends always said when a nigga told you to do something, nine times out of ten, they were secretly hoping that you were not going to do it. So, I went back into the kitchen where my phone was and picked it up. Into the search bar, I typed Alvin and Chicago. A man by the name of Alvin Gamble pulled up. There he was, loud and proud, face of the Black Lives Matter movement, interrupting meetings with a mob of people. He got all this shit on the internet, and this was what he was doing. I immediately got up to go apologize to Bash, but he was walking in the kitchen. He was still sexy, even though his face was swollen.

  “Dad, did you and my uncle Mayhem get into a fight?” Raylee asked him.

  Being around Kam’s kids and Olivia’s son, she started calling him that. I have told her numerous times that Mayhem was not her uncle, but she refused to listen, so I let it rock. Bash only corrected her when Mayhem wasn’t around. I am so surprised that Mayhem didn’t have more kids, because he loved them so much. I am one and done.

  “That ain’t your uncle,” Bash corrected her. “Nah, we ain’t get into a fight.”

  “Well, why is your face looking like that? You look like you got into a fight to me.”

  “Don’t worry about me, little girl,” he said to her.

  “Babe, I want to apologize to you for… ya know,” I said to him.

  “Order the pizza,” he said in response to what I said.

  He pulled Raylee into his lap and started helping her color. I slid my laptop in front of me and opened it up. While I was ordering the pizza, I kept stealing looks at him over the top of the laptop. I loved him so much, more than anything, honestly. I wanted to marry him, and I hoped that one day soon, he got on his knee asked me to be his wife. I wanted all that with him, but I couldn’t ignore this gut feeling that I got about him sometime. For now, I’d stop searching for things and just let God reveal everything to me. If I didn’t know anything else, I knew that whatever was done in the dark would come to light. It was only a matter of time.

  Taiwan Dalton

  Italy…

  Sitting in this suit shop along with my bodyguard, Miguel Santiago, waiting to pick up Romero’s new suits, had me contemplating life and where I been and where I wanted to go. I’d be thirty soon, and I felt like I had nothing to show for it. The only real job that I have ever had was being a sugar baby to rich old niggas. Do not get me wrong; the money was good, but it was getting old. I wanted kids and a nigga to settle down with. At this point, he didn’t even have to be rich. He just had to be stable and could take care of me. Well, not rich rich like Romero, but maybe like Mayhem rich because I still had a lifestyle to keep up with. A couple millions was fine with me.

  I started being a sugar baby when I was just eighteen years old. I was smart as shit; I just hated school and everything to do with it. I loved fashion and everything to do with fashion, but if I wanted to be someone’s stylist or whatever, I had to go to school, so I was like fuck that. I knew I could dress and everything because the millions of followers that I had on Instagram followed me because of the way that I dressed. I was also a foodie, a person that tried out different restaurants in difference places and posted them for the people to see. So, most of my Instagram posts were of clothes and food. Those millions of followers were how I get money outside of Romero.

  My parents hated that I was a sugar baby. Listen, let me tell you something; I tried college for one week, and I dropped out. There was no need in wasting my parents’ money if I wasn’t going to go. I was minding my business in this boutique when I overheard these little white chicks talking about being a sugar baby and how old men be paying them hundreds and even thousands of dollars for pictures or even going on a date with them. I didn’t catch the website, but the internet had everything. I looked it up, and the website popped up. I made a profile, and I could choose the salary of the men that I wanted to fuck with, and of course my money hungry ass pulled the meter all the way to the highest amount. You could also put in how much salary you would like to receive, and I clicked between five and ten thousand. My profile picture was me on my eighteenth birthday. I had on a white jumpsuit with a very deep v-cut with a pair of open toe shoes. My 36B cups were sitting pretty, and because I had on a thong, my ass was sitting up like crazy. The angle I had taken the picture had everything on display. My profile wasn’t up for two hours before I started getting messages from them.

  The first man was Romero. Romero had sent me a message and told me how beautiful I was and that he was wanting to take care of me. He told me that he could offer me seven thousand dollars a month to be his baby girl. Listen… seven thousand dollars a month just to fuck… I knew I could do that. After chatting with him for a few days, he was eager to meet me. He didn’t have his picture posted online, so I couldn’t see how he looked, and he wouldn’t send me one. He didn’t tell me much about him at all, honestly. All his profile said was Romero—no last name or anything. I thou
ght that he was probably ugly, but for seven thousand dollars a month, any nigga could be pretty to me.

  After finally setting a date to meet, I began to get nervous. I told Olena what I was doing, and she went crazy on me. She told me that I was making a huge mistake, and she would not support me. That low key hurt my feelings because I would have supported her if she wanted to do something like that. She said that it was like selling my body to the highest bidder, like she wasn’t doing somewhat the same thing. At the time, she had just broken up with that creepy ass dude who was pretending to be our age, so she was out fucking a lot of a niggas. She told me that it was different because she was having sex because she loved to have sex, not having sex and getting paid. She said it is different because if I didn’t fuck, I wouldn’t get money. After that, I saw her point, kind of. I was still pissed about it though.

  The night had come for us to meet. I had double checked my overnight bag to make sure I had everything he told me to bring. It was a change of clothes, my ID, and passport if I had one, but I didn’t have one. A limo had pulled up outside, and I went outside, and a man held the door open for me. When I got in the limo, an ugly ass white man was staring back at me. I wanted to bolt from that limo. I’d never forget the day.

  “Ms. Dalton, how are you doing today?” he asked me.

  I didn’t reply as I sat there staring at him and wondering if seven thousand dollars was even enough to fuck him. I would have to place a paper bag over his head or close my eyes and think about fucking someone else or something.

  “Ohhh! I’m not Mr. Santiago,” he said and chuckled.

  I let out the breath that I didn’t even know I was holding.

  “I get that reaction a lot,” he said.

  A lot? Of course, a lot. He’s rich as fuck, so of course he has had sugar babies before me.

  “Hmmm. Where is he?” I queried, thinking that I may had been set up because it seemed like he was being so secretive.

  “We are on our way to him right now,” he replied.

  He started taking paperwork out of his bag, and then he handed me the folder. I opened it, and my profile picture was paper clipped to it, along with everything on my profile.

  “I want you to flip over your profile and start reading Mr. Santiago’s contract for you. I’m going to need your right hand. I have to take your fingerprints. I’m also going to take a picture of your eye,” he said while fumbling with gadgets in another bag.

  “Excuse me, mister man who has not identified himself with me. Why is all this necessary? We are just going to be fucking and going on about our business. Why the hell are you doing all of this? I don’t understand.”

  “Well, your contract will explain most of everything, and Mr. Santiago will answer any questions that you may have when we get to him. For now, hand me your right hand,” he said.

  He took fingerprints from my hand and my whole handprint. He took pictures of my eyes, damn near blinding me. I had to blink a few times before I could even start reading the dumb ass contract.

  Terms of Agreement for Romero S. sugar baby.

  Sugar baby will adhere to all of Romero S. rules, including but not limited to

  -being able to go to and from Italy whenever he calls… (or will move to Italy)

  “Italy better be a city in Chicago that I don’t know anything about,” I said to the man who was now typing furiously on his computer.

  He didn’t reply. He kept his head down in the computer. I waited for a few more moments, and he still didn’t reply, so I started back reading the rules.

  -have her own separate line of contact for Romero. (A line that only Romero S. has the number to.)

  -will not speak to anyone about anything dealing with Romero, including best friends.

  -will not speak to his wife about anything unless Romero gives permission.

  “Excuse me, Romero is married?” I asked the guy.

  He ignored me again, and I wanted to punch him in his face. Since I knew I was being ignored purposely, I started back reading this dumb ass contract for a married Italian that I have yet to see.

  -will not have any other sugar daddy during the duration of being Romero S. sugar baby.

  -will get a one-time full body physical and get on birth control.

  -will NOT!!!! have sex with anyone else.

  “The nerve of him to demand someone not have sex with anyone else and he has a wife. He got it up there in big and bold letters too,” I mumbled to myself and cracked up.

  -will only speak to the staff that is assigned to sugar baby.

  -will not be out of her living corridors without Romero S. permission.

  Sugar baby will agree to seven-thousand-dollar monthly allowance, not including gifts and traveling expenses from Romero S.

  By the time I made it to the last page, we were pulling up to a hotel. That man had a list of rules that I was sure he’d have to remind me of so many times. Black trucks were lined up all around it. The guy helped me out of the limo. We walked in sync inside the hotel and into the elevator. He pressed in a code which meant we were going to the penthouse. The moment the elevator door opened, men in suits rushed into the elevator and started patting me down.

  “If you don’t get your mothafuckin’ hands off me!” I snapped and kicked one of the dudes in the balls and punched another dude in his face. “Y’all got me fucked up. I ain’t come up here for all of this shit.”

  Another man approached me, but I had balled my fist up and got into a fighting stance.

  “You run up on me again and I’mma crack your shit wide the fuck open, fam,” I told the dude.

  “Wow, such a filthy mouth for such a beautiful young woman,” I heard a heavily accented voice say.

  I took my eyes off the suited guy, and I laid my eyes on the guy who must have been Romero Santiago. He was handsome as hell. If I calculated correctly, he was probably a little taller than six feet. Clad in a tailored black suit with a red tie, I couldn’t help but to take him in. I could tell under his suit that he was a very toned man who probably had little to no body fat. He had a head full of silky black hair with a few silver strings throughout, which let me know he was an older gentleman. His beard and mustache were cut in a faded style and the same color of his hair—black with a few silver strings. Even if he hadn’t spoke, you could tell that he was a foreigner… just from the color of his skin. He looked Hispanic. If I had to guess, he looked like Benjamin Bratt, the actor.

  “Ms. Dalton… come!” He beckoned for me. “Leave your bag out here. Thanks.”

  “Why are you so paranoid? Gosh,” I said and dropped my bag.

  I followed him into the bedroom where he closed and locked the door. We walked through the very nice bedroom and out on the patio. He placed small black gadgets on each of the railings before he pulled a cigar out of his jacket pocket.

  “What are those?” I asked him.

  “Just a little static interference, in case someone gets a little nosy. So, what brought you to that website?” he asked me while lighting his cigar.

  “Um, school is not for me, but I love to shop, eat, and travel. I figured I could do this for a little while until I figure out how to do something else for money instead of fucking.”

  “You think that’s all you will be doing… fucking?” he questioned, and then eyed me while blowing smoke out of his mouth.

  Suddenly, my cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. I looked down at the city under us and ignored his questioned.

  “If you’re married…”

  “No questions about her. Did you read the contract?”

  “Yes, but it’s not signed… so,” I said and turned and looked at him. “Your wife doesn’t care about you shelling out… eighty-four thousand dollars a year?”

  “Baby girl, she spends more than that in a month,” he said and got quiet for a few minutes. “In that moment of silence, I just made a hundred thousand dollars. I think we’re just fine.”

  “She doesn’t care about you… yo
u fucking with other women? Young women at that? How old are you? If you can make a hundred thousand dollars in three minutes, what is it that you do for a living?”

  “Wowwww! You are very, very, very inquisitive. That is a good thing, but in this case, knowing a lot is not a good thing, baby girl… But what I will tell you is that I am forty-two years old, and my wife is okay with me fucking other women. We didn’t marry for love, baby,” he said and smiled, while giving my cheek a little pinch.

  “Now, do you have questions about the contract? Will you be able to follow all of those rules?”

  “Yes, I think that I can do that.”

  “Great…”

  That night, I thought that we were going to fuck, but we didn’t. I wore my good panties for nothing. We had a nice little chat, getting to know one another. I thought that I was going to be doing this for just a year, but boy was I wrong.

  “Ms. Dalton,” the man called my name, bringing me back to the present.

  “Ah, yes! Sorry if you called my name more than one time. I was daydreaming,” I said, and smiled.

  He smiled back at me while handing me five of Romero’s suits. I walked outside to the truck, and my driver was waiting for me and my bodyguard.

  “You were in there for a little while. I thought that you had gone behind the counter and had to steam press them yourself,” my driver, Emmanuel Santiago, said and chuckled.

  Once Miguel and I were in seated in the truck, Emmanuel walked around to the driver side and got in. We headed toward the Santiago Estate. These were the only people that I was cool with, and they actually respected me. When I first became his sugar baby, his family hated me… the women especially. Emmanuel and Miguel were hired for me, so we’d been cool since day one.