Losing Love Read online

  © B.J. Herron

  Copyright © 2021 B.J. Herron

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication in print or in electronic format may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Design and distribution by Bublish, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-1-64704-484-8 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-64704-485-5 (hardback)

  ISBN: 978-1-64704-483-1 (eBook)

  Contents

  Chapter 1 Abrupt Awakening

  Chapter 2 Crystal Clear

  Chapter 3 The Far South Side Of Chicago

  Chapter 4 Hard Facts

  Chapter 5 Catching Up

  Chapter 6 Shattered Glass

  Chapter 7 Home Sour Home

  Chapter 8 Smiling Faces

  Chapter 9 Static Noise

  Chapter 10 Crisp Discourse

  Chapter 11 Simply Complex

  Chapter 12 Deja Vu

  Chapter 13 Brokenhearted

  Chapter 14 Standing Firm

  Chapter 15 Still Blue

  Chapter 16 Catching Prey

  Chapter 17 Sweet Chaos

  Chapter 18 Relax. Relate. Release.

  Chapter 19 Bag Lady

  Chapter 20 Rolling Hills

  Chapter 21 Human Nature

  Chapter 22 Get Out

  Chapter 23 Home Sour Home

  Chapter 24 Love On The Brain

  Chapter 25 Sharp Objects

  Chapter 26 C’est La Vie

  Chapter 27 Finally Heard

  Chapter 28 Professing Faith

  Chapter 29 Adieu, Mon Amour

  About the Author

  For Granny & Nanny

  Thank you for showing me what unconditional love looks like and why embracing my womanhood is a necessity.

  Darkness.

  Faith slept soundlessly. There was no tossing or turning tonight. For once, she didn’t lie in bed worrying about her mother, who was snoring nearby. For the first time, Faith was certain that her mother would live to see the next day. She smiled, believing this was the beginning of something better.

  She was wrong.

  “Faith!”

  She jumped out of bed. The sound of her mother’s voice screaming her name filled the house.

  “Faith, help me!”

  Her small feet desperately tried to keep up with the rest of her small frame as Faith leapt out of bed. Her breath was hot and sweat dripped down her face as she descended the stairs.

  She slowed at the sight of a man in black with his hands clasped around her mother’s throat. Her mother desperately gasped for air as her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

  Faith froze.

  The stranger leaned up at the sight of the small child, keeping his pit bull-like grip on her mother’s throat. The look on his face said he did not intend to let go.

  He reached within his jacket, pulled out a gun, and aimed it at Faith. The child wished that she could find her voice, but somehow it had abandoned her. Just like she felt her mother had done, yet again. The strange man cocked the gun and then pulled the trigger.

  BOOM!

  Chapter 1

  Abrupt awakening

  I know it isn’t right. How I only allow him to dive so deep before stopping him from getting lost in what still has me trapped. For years now, I’ve succeeded in sharing just enough with him. I fear, however, that reign is coming to an end. I’ve watched my husband’s impatience grow like a sickly person watches a lump on their body that they refuse to acknowledge. After seven years of marriage, it’s not that I don’t trust Nicholi. I do. I just don’t want him to bear or feel my pain. And lose him as a result. Even now, I can feel him standing on the other side of the bathroom door. His big brown eyes alert. Brows furrowed with concern. His breathing even. Measured. Composed. He is immovable where he stands. I squeeze the edges of the marble vanity as tightly as I possibly can. The hot towel on my face hasn’t calmed me down much. Frustrated, I cast it aside, giving myself a once-over in the oval-shaped mirror. The heavy bags underneath my eyes say I am more than tired.

  Nicholi’s tired, too. He hasn’t been sleeping well, and my night terrors have interrupted his slumber for the third time this week. He needs to rest but won’t. Not until I return to him, our bedroom, our bed, and am in his arms. I open the door, locking eyes with his. A glowing moon casts his 6-foot-3-inch frame across our bedroom. The floor creaks as he shifts his 220 pounds from his left to his right foot. He runs his big, sun-kissed hands through his scruffy hair. He’s let it grow out a bit like the younger guys these days—and there are no complaints on my end. The rise and fall of his chest matches mine. We inhale, then exhale long and deep. Nicholi has stayed with me through everything. The trust issues. Mommy and daddy issues. Family issues. Honestly, just all the damn issues and years of therapy and night terrors. Long story short, I haven’t made anything easy for him. For us. Fortunately, he is patient. Willing. And a damned good teacher. When Nicholi came along, I was praying for less chaos and confusion. To have a man genuinely care and love me? It felt as if I was learning a foreign language. All I understood was bullshit, miscommunication, and emotional manipulation.

  That was Kent. He was my kryptonite. His lilt wrapped around my body like fine silk. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt me because that was his job, right? But that’s another story for another time. Nicholi was much different from Kent. He was healthy. He could watch me shine and not feel threatened. He reassured me when my anxiety skyrocketed. He affirmed me daily, was thoughtful, and an unselfish and loyal lover. He was present, listened, and knew when to let me take charge. His energy was unmatched. Most important, his actions mirrored his words. I trusted him, which was no small feat. That’s why I’d follow him anywhere: I trust that he will lead me in the right direction.

  So, for the first time, I fell in love with the man and not the orgasm. It was refreshing. Mental stimulation. Doting compliments. An eagerness to keep him as satiated as he did me beyond the physical. Time stood still when we were together. We laughed from our bellies. Shared poetry. Freestyled when the spirit moved us. It was a true, consistent vibe. One that I had not experienced before, but also wasn’t even aware that I needed. He’d finally asked me out after we kept running into each other in the library. I had spied him watching me for some time before then. Anyway, turns out he was in medical school to be a neurosurgeon and he learned I was studying law. Eventually we started studying together, and after a while, nothing felt right without him.

  “Why are you here?” he asked after a couple of months of dating. We were at his off-campus apartment watching LeBron and the Cavaliers play Harden and the Rockets. I sat on the worn beige couch wearing his Princeton crewneck that swallowed me. He sat just a few feet away in his favorite black armchair in his usual sweatpants and T-shirt. Nicholi was irritated with me. I saw it in the way he winced. The way he pursed those full, pink lips of his. He rolled the blunt in his hands with precision. It seemed to ease his mind as he licked the papers. I couldn’t fault him for being irritated. An old flame had called the day prior, triggering the fuck out of me. And here I was taking it out on the man that had me way too open to be open. Ironically, Whitney sang in the background about if she ran to someone would they stay or run
away. I pondered what would Nicholi do.

  “I know I haven’t committed to you, but I’m here with a purpose,” he said.

  I started to ask exactly what that purpose was, but I couldn’t find the words. It was a fresh line, but my heart bounded in that moment. He had proven significantly different from anyone else in my past.

  “So what, you want to be friends?” He asked, defensive.

  “No.”

  “Well, shit, what do you want?”

  I wanted to tell him that after only two weeks of dating I saw both the beauty and chaos our passion could create. The latter would never truly surface because we would constantly bathe in the former. We already chose each other daily. There was no need for anyone else. How could I tell him that, after two weeks of dating, I knew our love could move mountains? Could literally heal anyone’s heartache if they watched us pour into one another long enough. Could inspire one to love again by the amount of trust we had in each other. I knew that if we had children our ceiling would be their floor. There would be no obstacles, only doors that could be opened. After two weeks of dating, I saw all the ways I could transform for this man. From an unsure caterpillar to a gorgeous butterfly that knew no limits. He made me feel secure. Because of that I knew I could give this man whatever he needed. The lump in my throat, however, kept me from spilling my heart’s desires. Instead, I found myself straddling him with the fullest intent of stepping outside of my comfort zone and the bullshit I’d come to know, understand, and expect from men. If I wanted better, I had to be better as well. No matter how arduous it was. No matter how scared I was. Shit, I deserved real satisfaction and bliss. All I could do was try.

  “I want you and what we have,” I said.

  I held my husband’s gaze as we stood in the frame of our bathroom door. Here we were, nearly a decade later. It wasn’t perfect, but he was mine and had no reason to question if I was his.

  “Breathe, Faith.” His fingers caressed my face, cheeks, then outlined my lips which found his hands before they returned to the small of my back. The clock on our bedside table said it was a quarter past midnight.

  “It’s been a few months since your last episode. The other night could’ve been a trigger for you. You ready to talk about it?” He held my hands delicately. “Vault?”

  This was our way of sharing the words we couldn’t even whisper to others.

  “Vault,” I agreed, taking a beat. “Can my granny come live with us? She deserves peace, and to be selfish, at this stage of her life.”

  “I agree. And Philly would be good for her. If she wants to come, we’ll make sure she’s comfortable.”

  A second hadn’t even passed before my lips found his. “We’re in this together. Always.” He caressed my face. “I also overheard you and Pat conversing about Terrell. Is that why you want to move her in?”

  “Time. Please, babe.”

  Nicholi nodded his head in agreement.

  I eyed my husband’s solid frame. Sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon, and although I knew a few ways to kill time, I’d already kept him up long enough.

  “I’m gonna get some water.”

  “I’ll come with you.” He moved quick, searching for his loafers. “It’s almost time for me to get up anyway.”

  “And that’s all the more reason why you should get whatever rest you can. I’ll be back in time.”

  3:21 a.m. Nicholi’s alarm every morning since I’ve known him. The first time he stayed over, his siren startled me awake. When he didn’t move, I lay back on my side, facing his broad back and shoulders. His sigh said he didn’t want to move. Wanting to ease his mind, I rubbed his back until he found the strength to get up. He damn near begged me not to do the same once he was dressed. But I couldn’t not see him out. It was certainly a sight to see. Watching him move so mechanically while his thoughts rang loud. He sat on my torn leather couch, laced up his sneakers, and sat as still as a rock for a few minutes. Finally, he noticed me in the shadows. His eyes beckoned me. So, I sat on his lap. It was so organic, the way I wrapped my right arm around him and he pulled me close at the waist with his left. Massaging the back of his head, planting soft kisses on his forehead and temple, preparing him to go out into a world that doesn’t even truly appreciate him. I’d never responded to a man like this before. It became our morning ritual. All these years later and I still rise before the sun to let him know he’s seen and loved before he walks out of the door.

  After two glasses of water, I crept down the hallway and made a beeline for my study. It was my favorite part of the house because it was filled with books. Literally. I’d had an affinity for reading for as long as I could remember. Little did I know as a child that reading would provide an escape from my reality. I’d had three of my Earl Grey walls redesigned into 12 seven-story bookshelves. All were filled mostly with African American literature and memoirs. I scanned the shelves until I found Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. First, don’t judge me. It’s one of the best written fiction books ever. It also featured my favorite bird, the phoenix. I always found the mythical bird empowering. Its ability to rejuvenate itself and rise anew from ashes was wildly inspiring and served as the motivation for everything I endured growing up with a substance-abusing mother; frequently incarcerated father; and crazy-ass family. Turning on the table lamp beside me, Granny’s photo fell to the floor. We’re at Tennessee State University for my graduation, and she is beaming with pride.

  Yesterday should’ve been one of the happiest days of my life. I’ve been at Hughes & Smithe, one of the most prestigious law firms in the country, for nine years, junior partner for the past two. I was assigned a new high-profile case and my boss says that if I win there’s a very good chance of being named partner. It was all because of Winifred Brooks on A Different World. She was my favorite character because she was an underdog. People didn’t pay too much attention to her as she did them, but after coming into her own, nothing could stop her. They tried to clown her when she came back with that slick-ass bun and powerhouse suit. When she stood firm and said, “I am about something,” baby, I was hooked. In that moment I decided to follow her footsteps. She was for her people, spoke with fervor, and stood for something. The high I was riding came to an abrupt halt after dinner when my sister, Patience, called to share that Granny had been arguing with her son, Terrell, again. My fifty-seven-year-old uncle, who lacks the will to work legally, had moved out of her home just two months ago.

  “Granny needs a change of scenery, but you know she ain’t going anywhere.”

  Pat’s words lingered in the air. I agreed that Granny definitely deserved to live without any worries at her age.

  “In the meantime, you should come home next weekend. We can take Granny to get massages and stuff. Hope would also love to see her aunt in person before the year’s end. Your big-head brother, too. That’s another conversation.”

  “Have you talked to your mother about him?”

  “Cat ain’t been around the past week for me to talk to. But Aunt Shirley say she popped up at her house a couple of days ago. She say she okay.”

  I was embarrassed not to have visited home since March, which was also the last time I spoke with my mother. It wasn’t the best conversation. Here we were in August.

  “Well, she always turns up, right? I want to see all of you, especially Eli to check on him. I have to be in L.A. in a couple of weeks for this new case. If I win, I’ll make partner. You know how much I want that.”

  “I know,” she chuckled. “You were studying for the LSAT in junior high. We just want to spend some time with you.”

  My fingers grazed the photograph once more. I cracked open The Order of the Phoenix for the thousandth time, trying to escape from thoughts of returning to Chicago.

  chapter 2

  crystal clear

  Dr. Reese Tucker was a peculiar woman. Her crooked smile and seen-it-all e
yes told me she had a fascinating story of her own. What’s more, she resembled Jacqueline Broyer from Boomerang minus the over teased hair. And since we’re there, she wasn’t the villain at all—Jacqueline was, however, karma for Marcus’s trash ass. Moving along, Dr. Tucker was beautiful. Even now, wearing a charcoal double-breasted skirt suit with matching heels, she looked effortless. You’d think that after four years of seeing her as my therapist I wouldn’t be impressed anymore. Just like our sessions, she never disappoints.

  “Making partner has been a big dream of yours.” She tapped a pencil on the edge of her mahogany desk. “When do you leave?”

  “In a few weeks. I’m thinking of going home for a weekend to visit before.”

  I eyed the photographs of her kids for the millionth time. A chocolate baby girl with big brown eyes and a head full of curly hair licking a lollipop three times her size. Her son was all dimples and eyelashes posing in his peewee soccer uniform in another photo. It was amazing that she was able to pop out not one, but two kids as she pursued her career. I envied her. Between Nicholi’s career and mine, we hadn’t had time to start our own family. Or perhaps we just hadn’t made time? My lips pursed in speculation.

  “How does that make you feel?”

  I felt nauseated. You’d think it would be a breeze conversing about my issues with her after four years, but that wasn’t the case. Expressing myself has never been my strong suit.

  “I feel like I should be over this shit by now. I’m thirty-two. All of this happened more than fifteen years ago.” My hands ran lazily across the leatherbound books on her desk. “I’m stronger, smarter. I’m not some innocent child desperately seeking her mother’s love anymore.”

  “But you still want it, Faith. No matter what void your grandparents tried to fill, and nothing on the outside can heal those wounds, not all the books you read, or Nicholi, or making partner.”