Damn, I forgot this niggah had a key, Monica thought. Sharief stumbled inside but tried to play off his clumsiness by holding on to the door. “Yo,” he said, looking at Listra with bloodshot red eyes and a dripping wet lip. “Time na roll, home girl. Y'all li'l fuck-that-niggah session is over.”
“Don't talk to me,” Listra snapped.
“Listra,” Monica said.
“What? Fuck him. Can't you tell he's drunk?”
“Whooo,” Sharief slurred, “am I fucking you and you forget to tell me? Whether I'm drunk or not is none of your business. Better fall the fuck back, broad! Don't worry about me, I'm good.”
“Have you been drinking, Sharief ?” Monica asked.
“Yo.” Sharief chuckled. “Don't do that, ma. Don't play me in front of ya girl. Don't.”
“Have…you… been… drinking?” Monica repeated.
“Yeah, I had something to drink, and what?”
“I can't stand this pussyclot!” Listra rolled her eyes.
“Pussyclot my ass, speak fuckin' English!” Sharief snapped. “Don't say that, Sharief,” Monica said, annoyed. “And Listra, please.”
Sharief looked at Monica and ran his hand across his head. “I need…I need…to talk to you.” She couldn't help but stare at his body. She hated the fact that he always turned her on. Sharief was dressed in baggy jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt, and Tims.
“What the hell is wrong with you coming to my door drunk? Are you fuckin' crazy?”
“You want me to embarrass you? Now, I said I wanna talk to you.”
Monica sucked her teeth. “Listra, let's just—”
“Don't say no more. It'll be my pleasure.” Listra picked up her purse and kissed Monica on the cheek. “Call me.” She rolled her eyes at Sharief as if to say, Fuck you.
He looked at her and frowned, catching her drift. “Yeah, you too.”
Watching Monica lock the door behind her friend, Sharief said, “What's her problem?”
“It's you,” Monica said.
“Why?”
“I'm fucking you and you're my sister's husband.” Monica frowned, sitting back down on the couch.
“You telling that chick our business?”
“What difference does it make now? Your drunk ass wasn't speaking in Morse code when you stumbled in here.”
“Whatever,” he said dismissively. “What I wanna know is when you start lyin' to me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don't play dumb. You know what I'm talking about!” He flicked his hand across her stomach, pointing out her unzipped jeans, her T-shirt tucked under her breasts, and her semi-hard and protruding pouch. “Look at you.” Sharief took the back of his hand and wiped the beads of sweat popping on his forehead. “Of all the goddamn things to do, how did you fuck around and get pregnant?”
“What?”
“You heard me. You told me that you couldn't have kids? I can't have kids. I suffered from fibroids-blah-blah-blah… That ain't no damn fibroid you carrying—or is that the new lie that bitches are telling now?”
“Bitches?” She felt like slapping the shit out of him. “You the bitch!”
“Oh, now I'ma bitch. After you've lied to me? Well I don't want no more kids. So what you gon' do?”
“Fuck you! I'm having my baby!”
“I can't believe this! Look at you.” He pointed. “Look at you— fulla games. I asked you five times,” he held his hand up, “on that porch were you pregnant and all you could say was What you talkin' about, Sharief ? What you talkin' about? You knew what the hell I was talking about! I can't believe you would do this.”
Monica raised her eyebrows. “You can't believe that I would do this? Every time I turned around, you wanted to fuck. Let me stick it in ya ass, Monica. Remember that?”
“You didn't get pregnant from me shootin' off in yo' ass. Don't lie.”
“Sharief, get the fuck out! Get…the… fuck… outta here!” She stood up and pointed to the door. “Leave!”
Sharief walked over to the door and leaned against it. “My life is fucked up. It's like I'm on crack and shit. Just when I make up my mind to leave you alone, I start thinking about you being with other niggahs and shit. And then I think about how you look at me when I'm fucking you. How you make me laugh. How I look forward to seeing you. Then I start going crazy…it's like I can't get over you.”
“You're not trying hard enough.”
“Listen, baby. I walked out on my wife to be with you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I left Celeste.”
Monica looked perplexed. “You left Celeste? When?”
“Tonight. And listen, I tried to fuck her.”
“I don't wanna hear that, Sharief.” Monica sat down on the couch, starting to feel light-headed.
“I need you to hear this. I never touched Celeste the whole time I was trying to make things work with her. I couldn't stand to look at her.” He walked over to Monica and kneeled before her, placing his hands in her lap. “I couldn't fuck her. But tonight, tonight was different, and for a moment I thought maybe, just maybe it could happen. So I tried to fuck her… and all I could think of was you. And every time she went to call my name, I remembered that it wasn't you and my dick went soft.” He started to laugh. “I'm twenty-eight years old and I was trying to fuck with a soft dick.”
“Oh please.”
“You got to know that I love you.”
“You're drunk. You'll feel differently in the morning.”
“Monica,” Sharief said, “let me love you. We don't have to have any kids. We can keep this between us and keep it moving. Have the abortion, baby.”
“You selfish motherfucker! I should slap the shit outta you!” She pushed his hands off her lap. “You think this is about wanting you and wanting to keep you? Celeste can have your cheating drunk ass. I'm good. You can't tell me not to have my baby and instead be with you in secret. No, niggah, you ain't that fly! You and my child are not an even exchange. And if you can't accept that, then oh well—not my problem. Now, my advice to you is to get the fuck out because I'm through with you!” Monica stormed up the stairs.
“Monica!” Sharief shouted, “Monica!”
“Fuck you!” She slammed her bedroom door as hard as she could.
Sharief flopped down on the couch and held his face in his hands.
Twenty minutes later he got up and climbed the stairs. He quietly opened Monica's bedroom door. She stood with her back to the doorway and a towel wrapped around her. He could tell that she'd just gotten out of the shower because her skin was still wet.
Monica closed her eyes as she heard Sharief come up behind her. He started to kiss her on the neck while pulling her towel down. He kissed straight down her back, over her ass, and down to her ankles. Tears streaked her face. “Why can't I just leave you alone?” she said. “I'm tired. I'm tired of the lies, of the games, of pretending that it's okay when my sister goes home with you. I'm tired of being tired. Just let me go—You let go and I'll go too—”
“Shhh…I can't.”
He kissed her feet and came back up the front of her body, showering her with the same kisses that he'd laid down her back. Once he got to her pussy's lips, he immediately went to licking, kissing, and biting her clit until all she could do was scream.
After he made her cum, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and then undressed. Climbing on top of her, he nursed her swollen nipples slowly, circling his tongue over and over again. Her clit started to jump as his hard dick brushed across her thigh and parted her pussy lips. “I can't keep doing this,” she whispered.
“Hush,” Sharief kissed her on the lips, “I told you that I was gon' be fucking you forever.” He slid his dick in as far as he could and instantly felt at home.
“Sharief—”
“We gon' work this out, baby. Somehow, we have to.” He grabbed her hair and she looked him in the face. “I love you…”
&n
bsp; “I know you do,” she said, melting in his arms, “I know you do.”
… … …
“SHARIEF,” MONICA SAID, excited, waking him up the next morning, “I changed my doctor's appointment to this afternoon so we can go together.”
“Go where together?”
“The doctor.”
“What doctor?” he asked, wiping the corners of his mouth.
“The ob-gyn, silly.” She laughed, playfully pushing him on the shoulder.
“You didn't hear what I told you last night or what?” He sat up. “You think this is a game? I'm not fuckin' playing with you. I don't want no baby.”
“But last night, you came upstairs and we made love.” Monica was confused.
“Yeah, we made love and? I told you I didn't want any more kids. Let me shine some reality on this bullshit. I have three kids with your sister. Kayla may not biologically be mine, but she's mine, feel me? I don't have money like that to be having babies all over the place. Now, it's one thing for us to be on some downlow bullshit and fuck around, me and you exclusively, but it's another thing to have a baby. That's just fucked up and I don't wanna hurt Celeste like that.”
“Celeste? I can't believe you're saying this to me.”
“And I can't believe you wanna have this baby. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you thinking straight?”
“I…really…can't believe this …” Monica got out of bed.
“Don't you feel bad? Goddamn! How are we supposed to do something like this?” Sharief was disgusted, disappointed, and pissed. “What the fuck, Monica? I can't have a baby on my wife! Now you throwing salt in the game. You were not supposed to get pregnant! Shit!”
“Excuse me?”
“I tell you what,” Sharief continued, “don't start thinking I gotta buncha fuckin' money and shit, 'cause I'm not letting you drain me fuckin' dry. So get that child-support shit outcha head.”
“Child support! How fuckin' dare you talk to me like that? You know what?” Monica blinked. “Get the fuck out! Right now. All of a sudden your fucking me comes to light because I'm pregnant and now you're Mr. Self-Righteous? I can do bad by myself! Hell, that's my sister, not yours. I didn't fuck your brother. I can't explain to my mother how I'm pregnant by my sister's husband. She'll never accept this shit, but what am I supposed to do? I thought I couldn't have kids and now everybody thinks I should give my baby up because of Celeste. Fuck Celeste! What about me? What about Monica? Celeste has three kids and here I can't even have one? Kiss my ass, Sharief, you have to go. Get your shit and get the fuck out!”
“Whatever you want.” Sharief got dressed, picked the rest of his things up, and left.
(Celeste)
CELESTE GOT OFF the floor at five in the morning. She crept into the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee, lit her cigarette, and took a drag. She stared at the copy of Starr's wedding tape and decided to play the uncut version. All she wanted to see was Monica and Sharief. She felt obsessed, betrayed, and buried alive. No matter what Sharief's mouth said, his face told the truth every time. The other woman was Monica, and Celeste had to know why. She wanted to study Monica's face, her hips, her lips, the arch in her back, and figure out what it was that made Monica sufficient and her insufficient. Hell, was it a wife's duty to dress up all the time, to always be pretty, perfect, and ready to fuck? Was there any room to gain weight, any room to want a different hairstyle, any room to not like to suck dick, fuck in the ass, or be on top? Or was the rule, anything you won't do somebody else will?
Celeste popped the tape in and fast-forwarded it to Monica and Sharief walking down the aisle. Monica looked upset and Sharief started to whisper to her. “It wasn't what you thought.” Their voices were low but thanks to the stereo surround sound, Celeste could hear clearly.
“Fuck you,” Monica mumbled under her breath.
“Oh”—Sharief laughed slightly as they continued down the aisle—“that means we're in good standing…” After that their voices muffled and Celeste could no longer make out what they were saying. So she fast-forwarded again. What Sharief said to Monica still wasn't enough to make the pain stick. Celeste needed more, she had to have it, otherwise there was a chance she would convince herself that she'd misunderstood or heard wrong. And that's not what she wanted; she wanted something concrete. Something strong enough to make her feel as if a poisonous dagger had sliced the middle of her face open.
Everyone on the tape moved in fast-forward motion as Celeste placed the video on ultrahigh speed. Once she spotted Monica walking over to the makeshift bar and sitting next to Sharief, she slowed the tape down and let it play.
“Listen.” Sharief stared at Monica with a serious look on his face. “I love you, I'm in love with you, and as fucked up as it may be I would leave my wife to be with you.”
Celeste pressed rewind and played the tape again. “Listen.” Sharief stared at Monica with a serious look on his face. “I love you, I'm in love with you, and as fucked up as it may be I would leave my wife to be with you.”
And again. “Listen.” Sharief stared at Monica with a serious look on his face. “I love you, I'm in love with you, and as fucked up as it may be I would leave my wife to be with you.”
One more time. “Listen.” Sharief stared at Monica with a serious look on his face. “I love you, I'm in love with you, and as fucked up as it may be I would leave my wife to be with you.”
Celeste snorted as she stared at the tape. Her first thought was the bottle of Aleve tucked away in the cabinet. She thought about swallowing all the pills, but then she realized that they would build up a chalky residue in her throat and perhaps cause liver damage but nothing more. She knew the sweetness of death wouldn't be so kind as to snatch her breath away simply because she took one too many pills.
Then she thought of slitting her wrist but figured in the end she would feel the pain, have the scars, and everyone would always think she was insane, even though she wasn't.
Celeste called Greyhound and made arrangements for her children to take the eight am bus ride to Port Authority, something she'd never done. She called Starr, who promised that she and Red would be there as soon as the kids stepped off the bus and, since it was a straight ride with no stops, there was nothing to worry about.
After putting the kids on the bus, Celeste came back home, went upstairs to her bedroom, and fell across the floor. “How did I get myself into this? Here I am thirty-two years old with no friends, nobody to talk to, no nothing. My sister's fucking my husband. What did I do, God? Was it because I didn't go to church like I was supposed to? But I still prayed, I still believed. And no, I can't recite all of the Ten Commandments and so what if all I know of the Twenty-third Psalm is, ‘Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil…'” Celeste started to scream in agony. “Oh my God, I can't believe this… this was not supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to leave. He was supposed to beg for my forgiveness and promise to never cheat again. He was supposed to hold me close and say, I'm soooo sorry, baby. I love you, and I don't want to lose you or my kids. I swear I'll never do it again, just forgive me. He was supposed to want me not to leave, not the other way around.”
Celeste wiped her tears, got off the floor, and walked over to her closet. “You see this shit.” She pulled her white fur-trimmed negligee out of the closet and slipped it on. “This shit made me look like a damn fool and here I been dressin' like a fool, actin' like a fool, and being a fool fo' yo' ass way too long. I'm tired now.” She grabbed her purse and went in search of her cigarettes. Once she found them, she realized she had only two left. “Damn.”
Without thinking about the negligee she had on, she slipped on a pair of pink matted bedroom slippers and walked out the door. She got in her car and headed for 7-Eleven.
When Celeste walked in wearing her negligee, no bra, and a pair of pink bedroom slippers, no one in the store could believe their eyes. The cashier frowned as Celeste walked by. The last time she'd seen anyo
ne who looked and dressed like this was two years ago, and they had robbed the place.
Celeste's big breasts flopped against her stomach as she walked into the store. She had to smile thinking of the money she was preparing to withdraw from the store's MAC. A few weeks ago in the midst of searching through Sharief's things, she'd found two bank books with matching debit cards: one for checking and the other for savings. The checking account had a balance of five thousand dollars and the savings account, twenty-five thousand. Celeste knew she couldn't withdraw more than five hundred dollars from the MAC machine, so she decided to take what she could get this morning and go for the rest later this afternoon. And since Sharief's code was always the same, 0411, transferring all his money into his checking account would be a cinch.
Once her banking transactions were complete, Celeste sauntered around the store in search of a Pepsi and two banana Moon-Pies. The bottoms of her bedroom slippers slapped against the floor as her ass bounced in the air. Her nipples hardened as she spotted a tall, fine chocolate brother. She winked. “Wassup, cat daddy?” He couldn't help but smile as he watched her nipples stick out.
Celeste took a pen out of her purse, wrote her cell phone number down on a piece of paper, and slid it to the man. She noticed the ring on his left hand. “Don't worry,” she said seductively to the fine brother, who was watching her breasts the whole time she spoke, “I won't tell if you won't. Call me, so you can suck these.” She winked again and walked away.
Usually at this time of the morning 7-Eleven would be filled with the hustle and bustle of passing motorists stopping in just long enough for a buttered roll and coffee. But not this morning; instead the crowds seemed to linger around so they could get a bird's-eye view of the big-tittie woman with the flat ass floating from one freezer to the next.
Once Celeste found the coldest Pepsi she could, she turned around and walked toward the front, never noticing the people standing around and staring.
Celeste smacked her lips as she spoke to the cashier. “Cigarettes, babe…a carton.”
“These not free,” the cashier said to her. “And you can't beg for no money in here either.” She rolled her eyes, disgusted at the crust in Celeste's eyes and the dryness around her mouth. “You need to leave the drugs alone.”
The Ex Factor: A Novel Page 20
