Solace Novel – “Babe I’m home” I holler from the foyer. Only the lamp is on in the entry but the rest of the house is pretty dark. I hear another giggle accompanied by a sultry moan coming from behind me. I take enough deep breaths and I swing open the door. A woman hops off my husband’s shaft and flings the comforter on her undressed body covering her face. I make a dash for the bed and rip the blanket from her body. For one second my heart stops when I see it’s Bianca. She is my friend since high school. I hold my arm back and slap her across her porcelain face with my right hand. All the sudden I feel my husband prying my hand open to let her go. “Nikki let her get dressed, you’ve done enough.” “Are you defending her?” I ask this question deathly calm.
Nixon I’m too worn out for dinner and a slumber party, something we do at least once a month. I hope Linc hasn’t eaten yet; there should’ve been some leftovers, though he could’ve went out with Ro. He’s not expecting me home tonight, but I’ve brought home enough Chinese takeout for the both of us. He’s gotten spoiled since we’ve been together. “Babe I’m home” I holler from the foyer. Only the lamp is on in the entry but the rest of the house is pretty dark. I drop my keys into the dish on the table by the door. Linc is either in the shower or he nodded off somewhere in the back. Although it’s office work and he sits behind a desk all day crunching numbers, he says it gets tiring. By the time, he gets home every night, he usually likes to kick back and relax; sometimes that means he’s asleep in his office. Plus, he knew tonight I was supposed to be out all night with my sister. I’m sure he works hard as a finance executive at an international bank, but they’re still bank hours.
After settling the food on island, I go grab some plates from the cabinet behind me. I set down the plates and go back for a wine glass. Before I close the wine fridge I hear giggling. Giggling? What? Linc doesn’t giggle like some nervous little girl and we only have one TV that’s in the family room. Calm down Nixon you couldn’t have heard what you heard. I close the fridge and walk out of the kitchen towards Linc’s office. I’m going to assume he’s watching a movie on his laptop, because that’s all I can handle. I put my ear to the door and my hand on the knob, though as I go to push it open I hear another giggle accompanied by a sultry moan coming from behind me. But behind me is my bedroom door, therefore, that can’t be right. I turn around and take enough deep breaths I feel light headed. My heart is racing and my palms are starting to sweat. I know with my whole heart what I’m about to see will be devastating. I close my eyes and wipe my hand on my black leggings before I swing open the door like I’m a part of the SWAT team. It slams open so hard I’m positive the knob is stuck into the drywall.
A woman hops off my husband’s shaft and flings the $400 steel grey comforter (that took me months to find), over her undressed body covering her face, before I get a chance to see who she is. And there lounges my wonderful husband of two years balls out looking like a combination of shocked and stupid. I’m still standing in the doorway just as shocked, but I’m also devastated and enraged. Linc is watching me like I’m going to explode at any moment. He should because it’s the absolute truth. He sits up flexing his abs and swings his long-muscled legs over the side of the bed reaching for his black boxer briefs. In midst of my turmoil and revulsion, I watch as he removes the protection from his flaccid shaft, pulling up his underwear covering a part I had called mine mere minutes ago. I want to vomit although, I’m also grateful there’s a protection to remove. Why is he moving so leisurely? Does he not care that he was caught? The bimbo is still under the covers mumbling “oh my god” over and over.
Linc turns to face me with his hands out approaching me slowly. I spring into action quickly refusing to let his hip get one step closer to me before I snatch the lamp off the dresser by the door and throw it at him with the force of a professional pitcher. It’s not a direct hit, but it does catch him on his left forearm, the one he used to block the lamp from hitting him in his cheating face. I loved that lamp. Now I’ve ruined the pair. I should just go ahead and throw the other one too so they match. The stupid bimbo that’s still cozy in my bed screams when she hears the crash. I make a dash for the bed before Linc can recover and rip the blanket from her body. For one second my heart stops when I see it’s Bianca. Bianca my friend since high school, Bianca my photographer and videographer, Bianca one of my bridesmaids, Bianca my business partner; there is just no way.
I hold my arm back and slap her across her porcelain face with my right hand and rip her head back by her ombré hair that I told her was no longer trending, with my left. She starts flailing and kicking at me trying to get away. That’s not an option because now I’m straddling her lithe undressed body, punching any part of her I can connect with. She’s scratching my arms and screaming for Linc to help her, but I refuse to let go of her hair. If I get my way she’ll be bald when I’m finally done. All the sudden I feel Linc prying my hand open to let her go and lifting me off Bianca’s now battered body. “Nikki let her get dressed, you’ve done enough. And you can’t really shoot the messenger.” I can’t catch my breath from the exertion of the assault; however, that statement pulls me back from the edge of crazy. “Are you defending her?” I ask this question deathly calm.
“I’ve done enough? I catch my husband and my best friend having intercourse in my house, in my bed and because she has a bloody nose that she’s more than earned, I’ve done enough? All she did was deliver a message and get your manhood wet you mean? Is that what you’re saying?” “Nixon let me explain. This isn’t how it was supposed to go down.” He keeps scraping his hands through his dark stubble. “Linc you want to explain how your manhood managed to find its way into the next bimbo’s snatch? Is that what you want to explain? You want to explain how I didn’t just see my best friend riding my husband’s suited-up shaft? Thank you for that by the way.” I can’t even bother to scream at him, I’m way too bewildered and I refuse to ask why.
“Nixon, we have to talk. What you just walked in on…” he doesn’t finish his sentence because we both know what I walked in on. “You had to know I would react when I found out. I’m sorry it happened like this.” What is an apology supposed to do at this point anyway? Whatever it is he thinks he found out, I don’t know why he didn’t feel like it warranted a conversation and not an affair. I continue to ignore him and go to the dresser pulling out the top drawer harder than necessary dropping it to the ground. I fall to my knees next to it. I can feel the tears threatening to fall. There’s no way I’ll let this prick see me crack, I’ll cry in the car. I look in the mirror and my eyes are puffy and there’s a long red scratch down my neck.
She didn’t break the skin so I can cross off rabies shot from my list of things to worry about. My hair, that cost me my whole day, is completely wrecked, some parts are already starting to curl back up from sweating. Perfect. With a last look and my arms full, I dump the toiletries on top of my clothes hoping for the best and that nothing spills or leaks out. Linc is still sitting there with his shoulders hunched and his face contorted with a mixture of emotions. His defeatist posture reminds me of a man that just got caught cheating on his wife, so fitting. Unfortunately, it looks like his arm has stopped bleeding. Yay! Whatever. I’m just really sorry I missed his head. Are his eyes red? Does he think he gets to cry? What does he have to cry about other than for getting caught or maybe he knows he should fear for his life? There’s a Snapped marathon every Sunday, he should be worried. I can’t with this right now, if I don’t leave now I can’t be held responsible for my actions.
I kneel in front of my suitcase forcing it closed. I get up and look around my disaster of a bedroom. Ah… there they are, the dirty red panties she left behind, mocking me, bunched up close to the pillows on the bed. I take in the dresser with the drawers still on the floor and the busted lamp, the room is a war zone. Lastly, I look at my disaster of a husband on my way out of the bedroom. Just before I get to the threshold Linc reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Where are you going?” He asks me, his throat sounding hoarse. “Get your hands off me Lincoln” I yank my wrist from his hold. “You’re no longer my keeper. You used to be more addictive than heroin and more vital than insulin, Lincoln. You do this to me? Now… you know what you and that bimbo.”
Why does he think he has any right to question me? “I’m no longer your business. How about you worry about Bianca’s trifling hip?” Staring into his kaleidoscope green and brown eyes, I speed down the hall and pass by the kitchen smelling my Chinese food. This day hasn’t gone at all how I expected, not even remotely. I had hoped to have a nice relaxing dinner with my husband and maybe seduce him with my new hair style, my fresh wax and afterwards stuff my face with my takeout. Now that won’t be happening at all, probably never again. Pausing for a second, I uncoordinatedly put on my sweater and grab my purse with my keys and phone inside.
I also grab my black boots I took off earlier and force them into my oversized purse because these chucks won’t cut it for long. With my hands full I’m having a hard time opening the door. My frustration is increasing my need to cry making my blurry as a result. I release the choke hold I have on the suitcase’s handle and rest my forehead against the door. Don’t cry Nixon just get to the car I tell myself. I hear Lincoln padding down the hallway so I yank open the door, snatch up my suitcase and hustle towards my car not bothering to shut the front door behind me.