Page 58 of Lost In London

Love: ;)

Love: Hurry up, London.

Love: I miss you and want to hear your voice before I go to sleep.

I read his last text message and each time my stomach swarmed with butterflies.

I had a boyfriend… opps.

Scratch that.

I have a man that has transformed my life in a matter of weeks.

In my phone, I have him listed as ‘love’ because that’s what he is to me. Every day he teaches me how to love something that was once a love lost in my eyes. Every day he pushes me to see God in a different light through being a listener to his prayers. Every day I’m reminded of why I started my juicing program in schools and wanted it to be nationwide by watching him teach students that are eager to learn from him.

He’s love for me.

“They still haven’t brought out our food yet?” Olena looked around for our waiter as she sat down.

Tonight it was happening.

Her and I were coming to an end.

“I ended up switching my order so it’s probably a hold up, though I told him to bring out yours.” My rattled nerves had me glued to my seat and barely speaking on what it was that I needed to speak to her about.

The more I had time to sit back and reflect on her and I, the more I became mad at myself for playing with her emotions.

Yes, I’ve always had this slight crush on women. We’re beautiful creatures and our anatomy is just as beautiful. My fear of stepping outside of my trauma to trust another man led me straight into her path and to be honest, I don’t regret the experience but I do regret being selfish.

Me thinking a woman was safe over a man led me down this rabbit hole of stupidity.

I liked her but would never kiss her until recently. Holding hands and being flirtatious wasn’t uncomfortable because I’d done the same thing with my female friends in the past. However, I knew I couldn’t and never would be able to give Olena the intimacy she craved unlike the light flirting she did with me to subdue my desire for being desired.

She’d eventually want to take this to the next level with sex and that’s just something I could never do. One, I felt like God would strike me dead. Two, I wasn’t that sexually attracted to her to have that urge.

This whole thing was a recipe for disaster from the beginning.

Flipping her wavy hair over her shoulders, Olena’s hazel eyes danced around the restaurant before settling on me. To those looking in from the outside probably thought we were two beautiful women having dinner as friends. And as much as I wish she and I could remain friends after tonight, I know that couldn’t be the case.

Leaving my fears in the past meant leaving her too.

“Talk to me, London.” Before her hand could reach mine I was already slithering it back into my lap causing a dry laugh to flow past her matte mauve lips. “Wow.” Shaking her head, she picked up her glass of Merlot and sipped. “What is it that you want? What do you truly want? Do you even know? Why is it a crime that I want more from you? I’m taking you out to celebrate all the good in your life and you’re treating it as if I committed some horrendous crime.” Manicured nails racked through her curls, eyes warring between frustration and lust.

I knew the look all too well.

It was the same look I wore for weeks when it came to Quincey before I gave in to what was kismet.

Clearing my throat, I thought over my words before speaking them. “There is no crime in wanting to celebrate me. I know how to celebrate myself. Look inside my closet, appraise my jewelry, check my garage. Count the stamps on my passport. Look at my skin. Look at my UberEats order history. I know how to celebrate me.” I don’t know why I took such an offense to her questioning why I wasn’t receptive to her wanting to celebrate me.

Probably because I felt like it wasn’t genuine but had an ulterior motive behind it.

She wasn’t a fan at all of Quincey’s. Every time he stopped by the shop and she was there, she’d go off on a tangent about the flowers brightening up the place that he had delivered to me. She’d complain whenever he called or texted me. Then I messed up answering her call when I was out of town with him in North Carolina. She swore up and down that he was clapping these cheeks. Now all of a sudden, I get back and she wants to celebrate me.

Why now?

Was it because she saw someone else doing it effortlessly and felt jealous?

“What I want is a man who can help me discover my hidden wounds. Teach me how to heal. Guide me to a serene place of healing. When my thoughts go dark and get ugly, I need a man to pull me out of that headspace and pray me through it. A man that creates an environment for me to flourish. A man who assists me with whatever it is God is doing through me. That’s just a small fraction of what I want.” Exhaling, I sat back proud for speaking up for myself.

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