Page 68 of Church Girl
I slam my hands down on the desktop, making the keyboard, invoice folder and desk phone jump. My palms sting from the impact, but I barely feel it. Not when the icy numbness is wearing off and every emotion—the pain, fear, anger and panic—is seeping back in.
“Since your three o’clock canceled, go home. I’ll get Malcolm to contact the rest of your clients and get them rescheduled. We’ll tell them you had a family emergency,” Chelle says. I shake my head, but Chelle pops her hand up to stop my objection. “I’m pulling my nonexistent rank. You shouldn’t be working on anyone in your frame of mind anyway. Go home. We’re good, and I’ll stay and close up.”
For a moment, I consider arguing, but at the last minute, I don’t. She’s right. Inking someone when my head is fucked-up would be damn near criminal. What I want to do is leave, drive over to Sheree’s and ask her what the hell she’s thinking. The only thing stopping me isn’t Ronald’s warning; it’s Gia. She’s with her mom for the weekend, and soon enough, she’s going to be dumped in the middle of our shit. I’ll give her every second of peace I can until it’s no longer an option.
“Yeah, I’ma go.” I shove back my chair and stand, grabbing my keys and wallet from my top drawer. “Call if you need me?”
“Okay, but we won’t.” I round the desk, and she pulls me into a tight hug. “We gotchu, Von. Everything’s gonna work out for the best. And by that, I mean Gia isn’t going anywhere.”
I squeeze her then step back. “Thanks for that, Chelle.”
“No doubt. But, bruh, next time you shoot up the club, can you make sure she’s like a saint or something? I’ll even settle for a nun. Someone who isn’t going to transform into the devil if things don’t work out.”
I shoot her a “what the hell?” glance, and she shrugs.
“I’m just sayin’...”
For some reason, Aaliyah flickers across my mind, and it leaves me shook. The fuck was that?
“I’m out, Chelle.” Deliberately shoving any thoughts of future baby mamas out of my mind, I exit the office and leave out the rear entrance to the parking lot. Soon, I’m hitting the interstate, but the thought of being up in my house in all that fucking silence with reminders of Gia everywhere seems like a cruel punishment.
Before my mind acknowledges what my hands and feet are doing, I’m heading in the direction of the South Loop instead of Edison Park. Though I’ve only been by Aaliyah’s cousin’s apartment a couple of times, I drive like I can do it in the dark. I speed to the condo, praying that Aaliyah’s there.
Instead of obsessing over Gia and losing custody, I’ve found a new fixation.
Get to Aaliyah.
I don’t know when I began to think of her as my safe harbor but here I am, running to her.
The urgency drums in my veins like a primal beat, and thirty minutes later, I’m stepping off the elevator and stalking down the hallway to her door. I pound on it, sounding like damn SWAT, but I can’t stop myself.
After several seconds, the door swings open and Aaliyah stands there, sweatpants and a tank top on. And at the sight of her, the panic shoving me here dissipates and a relief sweeps in, so sweet, so sharp it physically hurts.
“Von?” She crosses her arms, and it’s too late for all that shit. I already noticed she isn’t wearing a bra. “What’re you doing here?”
I open my mouth to apologize for just popping up, to explain, to...beg. But I can’t.
All I can say is one truth.
“I need you.”
And I take that step forward, crossing the space separating us. I trade words for the low moan that crawls out of my throat as I take her mouth in a hard, almost brutal kiss that carries all the chaotic emotion assaulting me. I take it out on her lips, her tongue, her neck.
“Von.” She gasps, but she doesn’t push me away. No, she slams the door shut and wraps her arms around me.
Another groan escapes me, this one originating from gratefulness. For her selflessness. Her trust. Her surrender. She doesn’t ask me questions. She just gives me all of her.
Thank. God.
I roll over, my brain dragging me to consciousness from a good-ass sleep. The fresh scent of citrus and the earthy musk of sex tickle my nose, reminding me I’m not home in my own bed. A peace blankets me as memories of where I am and how I got here creep into my head.
Aaliyah.
I’m in her bed.
My body calls for a stretch, but I resist and indulge in the inane need to just be still and savor this...peace. A peace that I’ve been hesitant to name or recognize but can’t avoid anymore.
It’s Aaliyah.
