When the phone rang at midnight I knew not to answer it. I promised myself I would never go back there. It took so long for me to stop craving her voice, her touch, the way she looked at me. I was finally over her. But God, did I miss her. And it was like she could sense when I got past the point of thinking about her every day. She would “randomly” call, stop by, or send a message through my mom, and the cycle of crying over her, then getting over her, would start all over again.
“Hey. You sleep?”
Of course I was asleep. I go to bed at ten, even on the weekends, and she knew it. “No, I was just lying here listening to music.”
“I want to come over. Come see you. I miss you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Don’t you miss me? I just want to lay with you. You know I can’t sleep without you.”
The thought of her body next to me, sharing the bed we used to sleep, fuck and fight in, sets a tiny fire all over my body. A defeated sigh escapes my lips.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She hangs up before I can feign protest. I shake my head at myself, and head to the bathroom to freshen up.
I pull my black Bob Marley t-shirt over my head and slip into the silk purple nightie she bought me for her birthday, and dab some of her favorite scented oil between my breasts and behind my ears. Black coconut and lemongrass – she told me once that it makes her want to eat me on a beach. I tell myself that if I’m going to do this – and I am – I’m doing it for me, not her. It turns me on to seduce her, to make her want me, and frankly, I need some. The “special friend” I had went back to her ex-girlfriend. And she wasn’t that good anyway. Not as good as …
I head downstairs to the kitchen, savor two pineapple slices and pour myself a glass of wine.
Her cigars are still in the gold case that sits on the fireplace mantle. I pull one out and set it in an ashtray on the glass coffee table we bought at that cute little antique store during holiday in Santa Fe.
I head back upstairs to my room and sit on the bed, anxiously listening for her key to slide into the lock. 7 minutes. I don’t know why I didn’t demand that she return my key when we … Ha! I’m lying. I didn’t want it back. Even when I told her I never wanted to see her again, I knew this day would come and it excited me just as much then as it does now.
I light a Nag Champa Black and hit the play button on my CD player. Meshell Ndegeocello wants to know how it feels inside her. Girl, I hope to be asking the same thing soon.
I lie back on the bed, watching the smoke unfurl from the incense, listening to Meshell speak seduction all over my body, thinking about the last time we were together. The combination raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I look at the clock: 3 more minutes. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and focus on slowing my restless heartbeat…
The sunlight beams through the window, waking me to a half-empty wine glass and the sound of morning birds melodically mocking my naiveté…
I should have trusted my instincts.