Bi-Sensual Page 9

  Demi’s words hurt to the point that my eyes watered and my thoughts became myopic.

  “Fuck you,” I spat at Demi. “Fuck you for rubbing that shit in my face. Fuck you.”

  I snatched up my keys from the table and left.

  Elliot

  July 15, 2008. I remembered that day like it was yesterday. A week after Nicole had walked in on my secrets, I showed up at her father’s house. Nicole had left Harlem, knowing I’d be at her house, job, the gym she worked out at, anyplace I could to find her. To get her to talk to me. So she’d run to her folks’ house on Staten Island, to Allen Court, in the West Brighton neighborhood.

  The neighborhood was well to do. Nicole’s folks were uppity, bougie even.

  Dressed in a black Adidas tracksuit, with white Reeboks on his feet, her father looked at me like I was the scum of the earth. She’d told him. I was sure her whole family knew by then. I was surprised her brothers weren’t there. They were some of the NYPD’s toughest thugs in blue. Nicole was the darling of the family, the baby. She was their pride and joy. I’d tainted her. I was shit to them.

  “I came to see Nicole,” I announced.

  “She nah want fi see you,” her father said.

  He was angry. His Jamaican accent came out only when he was angry. Nicole and I were the same on that front. While our parents grew up in their native countries, we were Americans. She was Jamaican American. I, Haitian American.

  “Let her tell me that,” I challenged him.

  I’d come for a fight if need be. I’d put her old man on his back if I had to. I didn’t give a damn. Pastor or not, her father would get touched in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit if he stood in the way of me getting to Nicole. I wasn’t in my right mind. Wasn’t behaving like I was a good teacher. I was acting like the thug I was supposed to grow up to be. My degrees and education took a backseat to my emotions and desperation.

  “You get off my property, Elliot. Don’t bring your spirits and demons around here,” he said.

  “Just let me talk to Nicole, and I’ll leave with no issue.”

  “Didn’t I just tell you my child doesn’t want to see you, boy? How dare you demand to see her after the shame you brought and the diseases you have exposed her to!”

  I frowned. My head jerked back like the old man had spit on me. “Diseases?”

  “Yes, diseases. You lay with men and then lay with my child, unprotected. You could have given her STDs, AIDS, or whatever your kind have been cursed with. How dare you stand here and demand to see her! You are filth. You made my baby girl a woman of the streets, a harlot, and now she carries a bastard child to show thanks for it.”

  I’d lost count of how many insults that old man had thrown at me in the span of twenty seconds.

  “My child isn’t a bastard,” I said, trying to keep my cool. “And I haven’t exposed Nicole to anything. I’m disease free. Same as she is and has always been.”

  Nicole’s old man stepped out the door onto the porch so he could face me man-to-man. “You get on away from here, Elliot. You ain’t welcomed.”

  Pastor Nicholas St. Julian was a tall man, athletic in build. He looked good for a sixty-seven-year-old man. The gray hair on his face and head were the only indicators of his old age.

  “Honey,” I heard behind him.

  Mrs. St. Julian—First Lady St. Julian to their congregation—had a pleading but scared look in her eyes as she spoke to her husband.

  “Go back in the house, Tracey,” he ordered his wife.

  “Honey, please watch your temper,” she said. “And the neighbors are starting to look.”

  Pastor St. Julian glanced around but then focused his attention back on me. “They’ll have to judge me later. I want this man off my property and away from my child.”

  “Your child, my woman. And she’s carrying my child. I need to see her,” I insisted.

  The pastor shoved me. The old man had strength enough to make me stumble back. Shocked me that he had the balls to touch me, actually.

  I took a deep breath, then got my footing. “The only reason I haven’t busted your fucking skull is because Nicole is your daughter. Touch me again, and I break your face, old man.”

  I didn’t like the man. Had tolerated him only because he was Nicole’s father. However, she’d told me the stories of all the beatings she’d endured at his hands. I owed him an ass kicking based on that alone. He took a step toward me. I didn’t budge. Something in my eyes stopped him. There was a demon in me that the old man didn’t want to wrangle with, and he saw it. I knew he did. I felt it staring behind my eyelids at him. Pastor St. Julian took a step back, apprehension now in his once brave eyes.

  “Just get Nicole. I want to talk to Nicole,” I said calmly.

  “The devil is a liar,” he roared, the pastor in him causing religion to overrule his common sense.

  The old man launched at me. Tackled me down the brick steps into his front yard. I heard his wife scream for him to stop and calm down. He should have listened to his wife. I flipped the old man off of me. Got to my feet while still holding him down by his neck. The first blow I landed to his face took the bark out of his dog. The second blow to the face drew blood and took the wind out of his sails. The third, fourth, and fifth blows took the fight out of him. The sixth and seventh—I smiled, knowing that in his religion, seven was the number of completion—damn near took his life.

  I still heard Nicole’s mom crying and yelling for me to stop. One of the neighbors, an Italian man, had run over to pull me off of the old man. I shoved the neighbor down so hard, he went tumbling over his head.

  “All I wanted to do was see Nicole,” I yelled at the pastor.

  I had him by his collar. He was limp. Blood running down his nose and lips. I’d opened up a cut above his eye. He looked like he was barely breathing. His teeth had cut into my knuckles. The burning sensation across my hand told me that.

  I punched him in the face again. “I asked you”—I gave him three punches to the face again—“not to put your hands on me again. But you didn’t listen, old man. You didn’t listen.”

  I had drawn my fist back to hit him again when I heard her voice. “Elliot!” she screamed. “Stop it! What are you doing?”

  I dropped my hold on her father. I heard sirens in the distance. I turned around to see her. There she was, as beautiful as the last time I’d seen her. Her long braids were pulled back from her face by a thin head band. Her eyes were puffy and red.

  “I . . . I just wanted to talk to you,” I said, holding my hands up.

  Her mother raced down the steps and fell to her knees next to her father.

  Nicole looked as if she was afraid of me. Like she didn’t know who I was. Granted, she had seen this side of me only once before, when a man had dared disrespect her in my presence.

  “Will you talk to me?” I asked.

  I took a few steps toward her. She shrank back, like she wanted to run. That broke my heart. She should have known I would never hurt her.

  “I’m sorry. For everything, I am. What you saw, that was nothing, I promise. You and me, we can work this out,” I said, pleading my case.

  I really didn’t know what I was saying. I would have said anything to get her back. Nicole was shaking her head. Holding on to her parents’ door like she was prepared to run and lock herself inside if need be. I was oblivious to what was happening behind me.

  “Me, you, and the baby—”

  Tears were running down her lips when she stopped me. “There is no baby, Elliot. Not anymore,” she cried.

  “What?”

  “There isn’t a baby anymore,” she said.

  I ran both my hands over my head. “Please, Nikki . . . don’t do that. Don’t tell me that.”

  It was my turn to feel like crying.

  “I had an abortion,” she said.

  “Wha . . . Why? Why would you do that?”

  Nicole frowned and looked at me like I was stupid. “You cheat
ed on me. With a man. Did you really expect me to keep it? You’re gay!”

  “I’m not . . . I’m not gay,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “You have sex with men,” she yelled. “You’re gay! And I wasn’t about to have a gay man’s baby. I killed it,” she said with finality.

  “It?” I repeated.

  She’d called our child an it, like the child didn’t matter anymore, because she thought I was gay.

  “You had an abortion?”

  “I did. Because you’re gay. You lied to me. How could you allow him to do this to us? There is no future for us. You lied! And you can go straight to hell, Elliot Louis-Jacques! You’re no better than he is,” she snapped at me.

  How could I allow him to do this to us? Was she blaming Demi and not me? Did she think Demi had forced me to have sex with him or something? Her words confused me. They would make sense later, but at that moment, they confused me.

  I needed to talk to her. If she and I could just talk, I could explain everything to her. I rushed up the steps. The neighbors screamed. Her mother screamed. The sirens behind me screamed. Nicole got a wild look of panic in her eyes. She rushed into the house, slammed the door behind her. I heard the locks click.

  No.

  I heard guns cock. The police had drawn their weapons and had them trained on me. They wanted me to stop, get down on my knees, and put my hands behind my head. I was in West Brighton, a well-to-do neighborhood in Staten Island. I was no fool. I complied.

  That memory and the events that followed had me driving around ATL for hours. I needed to be alone with those thoughts. I’d see Nicole again, a few times, actually. One of those times would lead to more violence than the last. I sighed, looking at the time. It was a quarter to eleven. Mona had called. Demi had texted. I ignored them both. Had to get my thoughts together. Demi’s words about Nikki taking something I couldn’t get back took me to a very dark place.

  That day in Nicole’s parents’ yard, I was arrested for the first time in my life. Charged with aggravated assault and trespassing, I wasn’t thinking about all the awards I’d won for teacher of year or how the group of black students I’d taken to a math tournament had won first place or how much students at Brooklyn Prep loved me and needed me. Nicole was the only thing, the only person who mattered.

  Demi called my parents. My parents called my sister, who was married to a rich Jewish defense attorney. I was out in a matter of hours, with strict instructions from my attorney to stay away from Nicole and her parents. Thus began the descent into my hate for Nicole.

  I shook those demons and memories away as I drove home. Got caught in a bit of traffic on I-20, but it didn’t bother me as it normally would. I got home a little after twelve. Demi was sitting on the couch. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just lounging pants. I could see the ripples in his abs each time he took a breath. I looked around to see that he had cleaned. His shoes were actually on the shoe rack. Helmet put away on the shelf, like it should be. No chip bags or candy wrappers were lying about.

  The TV was showing a replay of Monday Night Raw. He’d cooked something. Which meant he had been hungry but hadn’t felt like ordering in or going out to get something. Demi didn’t cook regularly. In the mood I was in, I couldn’t tell what he’d cooked. All I could make out were the garlic and onions. I tossed my keys into the bowl on the table by the door. I could hear the washer and dryer going. I chuckled. Out of all the shit Demi could find emasculating, doing the laundry was the only one he found time to complain about.

  He turned to look at me as I walked farther into the room. One foot was propped on the table, and one hand was thrown behind his head. His gray eyes locked in on my brown ones.

  “Where you been?” he asked.

  “Riding around.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  “You’re doing laundry?” I asked.

  “I know it’s a woman’s job, but ain’t one here, so . . . ,” was his response as he turned back to watch the TV.

  This was us after a fight. Most times we could get back to a middle ground. Our love had shaped us in that way after years of being together. I sat next to him. Mind all over the place. I’d lost a lot, left a lot behind back in New York, but Demi was affected just the same. In the end, when I needed him the most, he was right there beside me, holding me down in all the madness.

  When Nicole’s brothers had tried to take me down in front of Dallas BBQ on 42nd, and when they’d cornered me as I came out of my house one night, Demi had been right there, throwing down with the boys in blue. For every punch, kick, and faggot thrown our way, we’d made sure just as many teeth were missing and bones were broken.

  “You a’ight?” he asked.

  I nodded. I was as okay as I could be at the moment. So we sat there. Demi was into whatever Roman Reigns was talking about at the moment. My mind was on Nicole. Then my thoughts drifted to Mona. I pulled my cell from its clip, then looked at one of the two texts she had sent.

  I called. Got no answer. I’m sorry about today. It was awkward, no matter how hard I tried. . . . Well, maybe I didn’t try that hard. But I think you know that. Demitri is . . . not what I expected. I mean, he’s an asshat. An arrogant asshole, but yeah. Why are his hands so big? What does he do? How old is he? Are those his real eyes? He’s pretty okay, minus his ego. Well, he’s an okay-looking guy, I guess. How’d he get that star over his eye?

  Her first text ended there. I could imagine her trying to find the right words to send. I’d bet any money that she was sitting in the middle of the bed, chewing on her bottom lip, as she wrote the message. The image made me smile. I scrolled on to read her second message.

  I know you’re probably annoyed with me, so you’re not answering my calls or responding to my texts. Either way, I love you. Oh, I wrote when I got in. I actually wrote some shit. I may erase it once I read it over. Eh. Anyway, good night. Hope to hear from you soon.

  I responded to her. I was annoyed. That wasn’t my reason for not answering your call or responding to your text, though. We’ll talk tomorrow, and then you can ask him all the questions you want. I’m going to bed. Ditto on the love thing.

  I put my phone down and looked over to find Demi watching me.

  “Yes, that was Mona,” I answered before he could ask the question.

  He raised his brows and nodded, like he’d already known that. He tossed the remote on the table and stood to leave. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down. His weight shook the couch a bit. I turned his head toward mine, then kissed him.

  He turned his head when I tried to kiss him again. I kissed his cheek, neck. Brought my tongue back up to lick, then nip at his ear. My hand eased around his waist, tracing the plains of his abs. He moved my hand. Pushed my face away from his.

  “You text shorty and then kiss and touch me. That’s pretty fucked up,” he said, moving my hand again and moving his head so I couldn’t kiss him again.

  He smelled good, and I needed to take my mind off of my past. As always, he was the best distraction.

  “Was going to kiss and touch you, anyway,” I said.

  I moved my hand back over his abs. Took a detour down to his dick. He could pretend he didn’t want me to touch him all he wanted. His body told me otherwise. I could feel him rising through the pants he had on. I stroked him. He grunted and moved my hand. I chuckled. He got annoyed and stood. I grabbed his wrist again. This time he didn’t let me pull him back down, though. He pulled away and headed upstairs.

  I turned the TV off and followed. Our room had been cleaned too. Everything was where it was supposed to be. He wasn’t always careless in the way he kept his things. He just didn’t clean the way I did.

  I walked up behind Demi, wrapped my arms around him from behind. Placed kisses on his shoulder blades while my hand slipped into his pants. My manhood hardened and lengthened at the feel of his doing the same.

  “Get off me, Elliot,” he said, the bass in his voice telling me he was somewhere between bein
g serious and being aroused to the point where he wasn’t sure he was serious.

  “Make me,” I taunted.

  I knew Demi. I knew he didn’t like to be challenged, no matter who it was or what was going on. I also knew he would really try to make me get off of him. So I made my move first. When he turned left, I slipped right. Ended up in front of him.

  But just as I knew him, he knew me too. He pushed me. I stumbled back. He kept coming until my back was against the wall. He gripped my shirt. It was off in seconds. He tossed the shirt. I came out of my shoes. His hands were on my belt buckle. Mine were pushing his pants down. I wrapped my arms around his waist and brought him closer to me.

  We kissed. I kissed him the way I’d kissed him in that bathroom on the day we first met. My kiss was aggression filled with intent. My tongue searched for his, while my hands traveled down to grope his ass. Demi’s ass was perfect. Each cheek a round globe of chocolate. His ass was different from Mona’s. Mona’s backside was meant to cause men to stare unabashedly. Her ass was meant to bring men to their knees to worship its perfection. She was Mother Earth; Mother Africa was the flesh. Demi’s ass had been sculpted by God, meant to make both men and women stare. Meant to make men want to know what it looked and felt like as they slipped inside of it.

  I gave him control, for the moment, anyway. It was rare that I relinquished control. But I knew I had to be fair. There had to be balance. Two masculine energies in the room meant I couldn’t always be dominant. So I let him do his thing. Let him kiss my neck, collarbone, down to my stomach without guiding his head or touching him.

  He was going to church. By God, I loved it when he went to church. It was one of the ways he showed his submission in the moment. My cargo shorts came down, then my boxer briefs. When his warm mouth closed around my head, my eyelids fluttered and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. Demi knew how to use every part of his mouth to bring me pleasure orally, even his teeth.