Page 2 of Consumed By Desire
“Shut up,” I reply, laughing until the music alerts us to the ceremony finally starting. I am barely paying any attention until Satan’s secretary walks in looking more beautiful than she has any right to; my eyes follow her all the way down the aisle. She is the maid of honor, so her dress differs significantly from the other women in the wedding party. Her dress is a gold slinky number that looks like she had been dipped in liquid gold. My body heats remembering how she felt when she was against the wall at the wedding shower, but I ruthlessly cut off that train of thought. When she gets closer, she notices me watching her and rolls her eyes so hard at me I am sure she gave herself a headache before she takes her place at the altar to wait for Trinitee. When I catch her eyes, I slowly peruse her from her feet to her head, dropping the façade and letting all the heat I feel show in my eyes. The look I give her tells her I am willing and able to shut that smart-ass mouth up again and with more than my mouth this time. She begins fidgeting but never breaks eye contact, unconsciously waiting for my permission to look away. Once I feel like she has gotten the message, I barely nod, and she looks away. Does she know she’s a submissive? Knowing her, no. She is so headstrong and independent and has a tongue sharper than the sharpest Samurai sword, but she wants a man to let her live in her femineity and know she is taken care of. Finally, the music changes, letting us know Trinitee is coming down the aisle.
The wedding was beautiful,and their vows had half the guests in tears; I am truly happy for my brother. Our dad’s stroke brought so many changes, and for the most part, they have all been positive. Our dad is much better and almost back to normal. Kruze has moved back home permanently, and he and I have a relationship for the first time. I walk around the perimeter of the ballroom in preparation to leave.
I have participated in the dances, speeches, dinner, and cake cutting, but it is time to leave. I purposely avoided any interaction with Shannon, our interactions are too volatile, and today is about Kruze and Trinitee.
Shannon
I am so happy for my girl Trinitee. She looks so beautiful, and Kruze makes her so happy that I would be jealous if I didn’t love her as much as I do. I take a sit; I have been on the dance floor since dinner was over. I reach into my bag and pull out my ballerina shoes. I let out an audible sigh when I pull the Dolce & Gabbana satin slingbacks off. Just as I am putting those beautiful torture devices in my purse, my phone rings and the vibration startles me. I forgot I had the damn thing. I have to dig through my bag to locate my phone, and I wouldn't say I like the name I see flashing on the screen. This is a client that I have been working to get for business, but he has a contract with his current employer. Although I am not supposed to be working, I need to take this call. I look around the ballroom to find the nearest exit. Luckily, there is one to my right, and I hurry out to the hallway.
“Hello, Alex,”
“Hello, Shannon,”
“Is something wrong? We weren’t supposed to meet until Monday,” I tell him, the bad feeling I had earlier worsening.
“Uh, yeah, I uh wanted to call you personally to tell you I can’t work with you any longer. I thought you deserved me telling you personally.”
“What? What do you mean? Did something happen you aren’t telling me about?”
“There have been some things being said about you, and I am a family man; I can’t be associated with someone who has your reputation. It would ruin my career,” he says, and the frown that started to form has created a groove in my face at this point.
“Reputation?” I ask because I have been anal about my reputation, knowing how it can make or break a person.
“Yeah, you know, the sex stuff, and sleeping with people and blackmailing them to force them to let your clients out of their contract,” he says, and I swear my head feels like it is going to explode. “I am sorry.” He says and hangs up before I can say anything to him.
I knew rumors were going on about me, and I have lost a few smaller clients, but this is the first time I am hearing about what is being said about me. Sleeping with the CEOs to get my clients out of their contracts? I think to myself. Clearly, they haven’t seen the CEOs that I have interacted with because not even if the entire human population depended on me fucking one of them to survive, we’d all die before I let anyone of those Jabba the Hutt ™ looking motherfuckers touch me. I have to find out who is spewing this garbage about me before I no longer have any business left. I lean my head against the wall and will the tension headache creeping along the edges to disappear before it takes hold. Closing my eyes, I practice my breathing techniques before I head back inside to the reception. Trinitee and I have been friends for too long, and she will take one look at me and know something is wrong and today is about her, not about me. I have not told anyone about the assault my business is under, and I do not intend to do so today. I release a deep breath, straighten my spine, smooth back my hair, turn to walk back in, and run into Legend.
I push back from him as my eyes travel up his chest to finally meet his eyes.
“Are you okay,” he asks, touching my arm.
“You’re going to leave your brother's wedding? That is so selfish of you, but I am not surprised,” I say, taking my anger from the phone call out on him.
“Shannon, I am so not in the mood for your ass right now. Why do you care if I leave? What does it have to do with you?” he asked.
“I don’t care. I was out here minding my business, and you came out to get into my business. But it is pretty selfish of you to leave your brother on one of the most important days of his life.”
Legend
I look at her, genuinely depleted from today’s activities, and decide to tell her the truth. I walk up to her, and to her credit, she doesn’t back up this time, but that doesn’t stop me from plastering the front of my body to the front of hers.
“If you must know, social interactions are draining for me. It does not come easy to me to be in social situations, and right now, my social meter is below zero. I told my brother I would stay for all the important moments but dip out early.
“I would never leave my brother on his wedding day,” I tell her as my hand burrows in the hair at the base of her head and massages her scalp with my fingers. She melts into me.
“Has it always been like that?” she asks into my chest.
“Yes, but over the years, I have developed coping skills, but there are times that it just gets too overwhelming, like today. I need to go home and decompress. But what is wrong? Why were you out here?”
“None of your business,” she snaps, transforming into the old Shannon, trying to pull away from me, but I hold her tighter against me.
“Don’t do that, Shannon. Why do you have to be a brat all the damn time? Damn, relax,” I tell her.
“Why am I a brat to you, Legend? Because I don’t melt at your feet, smile, and bat my eyes prettily when you deign to speak to me?”
“That’s not at all what I expect, but I also don’t expect your hackles to be up all the damn time. You don’t have to be hard all the time,” I tell her.
“Let me go, Legend,” she says, and I do, but she cuts me off when I open my mouth. “And how would you know Legend? Do you have any idea what I have to go through as a black woman? No, you don’t, because the roads I have to navigate will never be on your GPS. As a black woman, I have to be better, smarter, stronger, tougher than anyone else. Being soft gets me nowhere, but overlooked. Black women get the stereotype of being too loud, too angry, too aggressive, and too masculine, but no one asks why we have to be this way. It’s because we’ve had to be, see if I am all extra feminine, I get overlooked or not taken seriously; it’s not until I come in acting like the proverbial angry black woman that I get respect and taken seriously. And now here you are standing, privilege oozing from your pores, also asking me to dim my light so I am more palatable for you,” she seethes at me.