one shots

shorty swing my way [21]

july 1999
monday
5:15 pm

"Hey, Sheila! She!" I jogged to catch up with her in the parking garage of the hospital.

She picked up her walking pace, obviously ignoring me.
"She! What the fuck?" I was growing frustrated as I finally ended up next to her.
"Leave me alone, Nay," she mumbled.

"What did I do? You've been avoiding me all day. You've been ignoring me whenever I speak to you. What's up?" my eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.
"Ask DeAndré," she glared at me before heading towards her car.

"She, are you fucking kidding me?" I scoffed while following her.
"No. Stay away from me," she murmured.
"You can't possibly be mad because me and D got back together, Sheila. You knew that I still had feelings f—"

"Could you be any more selfish, Nay?" she shook her head before finally facing me.
"I know you have feelings for me, but I really really love him. . . I know it hurts to see us together, but I'm really trying to make this work. He—"
"Nay, I don't fucking care! I don't care about him or you being with him or anything! This ain't about you two being together," she snapped.
"What's it about then, Sheila? You told me to ask D what's wrong with you, so what else am I supposed to think you mean?" my face mirrored my confusion.

She glanced down, her body language beginning to show how uncomfortable she was becoming.

"Y'all fucked, huh?" I asked.
"What? Ew, Nay. What the fuck? Stop making that assumption. It's never gonna' happen between me and Dumbo," her face scrunched up without hesitation.
"Then what the fuck is up? What are you tryin' to say? Spit it out!" I was vexed with trying to read her mind.

"I can't tell you exactly, but. . . you gotta' stop talking to me. Stop communicating with me, period. It's safer that way," she sounded serious.
"Safer? Sheila, what's going on? You know you can talk to me," I placed my hand on her shoulder.
"No, I can't," she shrugged my hand off.

"Sheila, come on. Please," I whispered.
"Look. . . I'll call you, okay?" she simply said before getting in her red convertible.
"Don't just say that. Be about it. Actually call me, Sheila!" I shouted, moving away from the car so she could pull out of the parking spot.

She didn't give me another glance out of her window. I huffed out of frustration and doubt that she'd actually call. So, when I got home, I couldn't help but drive myself crazy.

What is going on? What kind of situation could she be in where it's safer not to talk to me?

I decided to take my mind off of the situation by cooking up a meal. Soul food and soulful R&B was always my escape. . . even though often times, it seems as if I'm trying to escape myself. Whether it be my thoughts or my nightmares— I was always running.

Macaroni and cheese, collard greens, fried chicken, and cornbread. I made a mental note to buy more hot sauce because I'd soon be running out. In the midst of making my plate, my front door opened and closed.

"Honeydip, I'm home!" he called while setting his keys down on the coffee table and turning off the stereo on his way toward the kitchen.

I smiled at the sight of him in simple jeans and a navy blue shirt. "Hey, baby," I put my plate down and began to approach him. However, in mid-stride, he picked me up and sat me down on the kitchen counter.

Our lips met in no time as he gripped onto my thighs and began to open them wider. My hand found the nape of his neck as our tongues battled for dominance. His large hands slid underneath my shirt, where he unhooked my bra and cupped my breasts.