Every woman has a secret-every last one of us. Whether it be the fact that you're a lesbian, you love another man, you had an abortion; you have a secret that you're hiding. My secret is not as simple as the ones I've listed, it's complicated. In fact, I doubt you'd even believe me if I were to tell you, so maybe I won't, but the way this story goes eventually I'm going to have to explain. For now though, I'll tell you about Ryan Luke-that's my boyfriend, although he likes to say he is old enough to be considered "my man". Anyway, he is just a great guy; he goes jogging with me twice a week, holds my hand in public and isn't afraid to express his feelings. Ughh, that may have made him sound like he's whipped-trust me he isn't. He has two baby pit bulls, drives a '67 Mustang, likes to go fishing and he plays poker every Tuesday religiously, did that solve the girly-guy problem? Figured it would, I love Ryan Luke. It's just that simple, I feel for him what every girl feels for that true love they dream up for themselves. We just have one slight problem............
I make my way into my building, checking the mailbox, which is filled with the usual; bills, bills and more bills. Half of them are addressed to me: Miss Kimmie Taylor and the other half are addressed to my sister: the lovely Latoya Taylor, I talk like I'm on a game show, right? Nah, it's just this imagination of mine, I have no other outlet for it, so I have all this pent up energy-wait, I'm getting ahead of myself again. Sorry, so I press the number 4 on my elevator and wait to reach home. Today was a long day, I'm currently doing rotations at an inner-city hospital, no I'm not a medical student, I'm a pharmacy student. So I have these long days and lately I haven't had much of a social life, the last time I saw Ryan, was maybe three weeks ago. We speak every night, but it's just not the same as having him here with me, I wish it was different, but I don't have much of a choice. Then I also have work, which drains me even more. Thank God for Latoya being done with her formal education and able to foot most of the bills. My sister and I have lived together ever since our parents passed away about, ten years ago. I was 16, she was 18. We've always stuck together, although occasionally I want to scream at her. She is such a neat freak, and I am a bit messy, but we love each other. Sister's fight, right?
I exit the elevator and slowly walk down to our apartment, for some reason I feel myself slowly, but surely burning up. It's the dead of January; winds are blowing and the snow is high. What reason is there for me to be burning up like this? I unbutton my pea coat in a hurry and fiddle with my keys at the door. Latoya opens it for me, hands on her hip.
"Kimmie, how many times do I have to tell you not to leave your dishes in the sink?" She looks so annoying right now, with her black rimmed glasses and hair in a bun, this does not quell my urge to tell her to shut up.
"Shut up 'Toya," I say brushing past her as I fling my army green coat into the nearest closet and dash to the kitchen. Desperately I fill a glass with ice-cold water, I gulp it down leaning against the sink. I close my eyes and let the trickles of water sooth my parched throat. I open my eyes, 'Toya is next to the fridge, watching me cautiously.
"What's wrong? Are you sick?" she asks going into full on mommy mode. She touches my forehead and her eyes open widely, "You're practically burning up, you have a fever. Here take some Tylenol," I push away the red and white container and guzzle more water.
"I'm fine, maybe I just over dressed. You know me, I over do it with the layering in the colder months."
"if you say so, how was work/school?"
I shrug my shoulder, feeling the urge to get naked, it was so hot. "We're doing rotations in the neonatal ward; it's breaking my heart. All those babies...under-developed lungs, weakened immune systems...happy it's only one more week. Could you open a window?"
Latoya raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow, "Kimmie, it's January and it's twenty degrees outside, you sure you're alright?"
I refill my glass and begin walking to my bedroom, I hear Latoya say something off in the distance, but I don't pay it much attention. I step into the safe confines of my boudoir and I exhale. Finally I could relax and shake off the burdens of the day. My bedroom is my personal safe haven; virtually no one gets to come in here. No one. This is the only place I can truly let my hair down, be free, you get the picture. Growing up my mom always told me that a girl's bedroom was sacred, and she was right. I won't even sit on my bed in my work or school clothes. I don't eat in here, except for the occasional cookie; I don't do homework in here. I save my bedroom for all the sentimental things. The way it's decorated now, you would swear that I was some sort of French whore-I'm not. I'm sensual, loving, and gifted. I have a wonderful Queen sized brass bed, adorned with silk and satin pillows. 800-count Egyptian cotton sheets, sequined sleeping eye masks, sheer-white canopy, antique chest and nightstands, I was living in my own world. I even have a Victorian print chaise lounge where I happily fling my pajamas when the nights are too hot, and the sheets feel better against my naked skin. In here I rule-I am the Queen, all of my wishes come true. This is where I can hide nothing.
I drop my messenger bag to the floor and begin to step out of my riding boots, I pause, the hairs on my neck although sweaty, are standing straight up. Slowly I do an about face, I gasp and no sounds escape my mouth. Ryan, he's sitting at my vanity, staring at me with all the love and concern you would ever hope to see on the one that you love. We stare at each other, me realizing why I was burning up and how I was going to get myself out of this one, and he looking hurt, and I know why he was hurt. He'd never been in here, in four years he had never gotten to see the deepest part of me. So, remember when I said that Ryan and I had a problem? Well the time has come for me to explain, we have horrible sex, and it's all horrible due to me. I know you're probably like "Kimmie girl, you better screw that man properly! Good men are hard to find!" Yea, I know, but it's not so simple. We have been together for one year, but we've known each other for four, and in this entire time I have never invited him to my house. Latoya always tries, but I decline for him. Can you imagine loving someone with all your heart and not being invited over to their house? Of course I've been to his house hundreds of times, and still he doesn't force me to invite him over. I guess every dog has his day, 'cuz here he was looking wonderfully masculine in my Lady Marmalade themed bedroom. I bite my lip in frustration, I also feel like a bitch in heat. I don't know how I'm going to explain this.
He speaks first, "Didn't Latoya tell you that I was in here waiting for you?" his honey glazed eyes hold mine in a trance.
"No," I whisper, feeling the sweat at my temples boil, "She didn't say anything, why are you here?"
He flinches briefly, and then regains his clench jawed look, "I came here because I was tired of never being invited. Why is that Kimmie? Please explain, I have no immediate plans, so I'm all ears."
He looks so ripe and luscious sitting there, I clench my thighs, doing my best to fight the feelings. He doesn't know what he's awakened by coming here, it could be catastrophic. 'Ryan," I pause to inhale" you shouldn't be here, you have to leave. Now."
He stands up and takes three easy strides towards me and touches my wrist I yelp and step back, he can't touch me, not in here. "Now I can't touch you? Am I that bad of a lover Kimmie? Do I disgust you that much? "He says standing but a few feet away from me.
"Ryan Luke I love you, but you'll never understand, I need you to leave."
He bites his fist in agony and flares his nostrils at me "I don't understand why I can't be here with you? Do you have another man? Where is he? Where?" he shouts like a mad man walking around my bedroom in search of my phantom lover. I wish it was that simple, I absent mindedly tug at my turtleneck and my skirt, it is unbearably hot in my room. I rush to the window and crack it open; pushing it up as far as it will go. I inhale large breaths of winter flavored air and try to clear my mind so I can focus. I need to focus in order to get through this.
He walks towards me again and I hold out a hand attempting to halt him, he looks so hurt when I do this, but I refuse to cry-that'll make it worse. "Ryan please, you would never understand not in a million years, you have to leave."
He shoves his hands into his pockets, looking as vulnerable as a little boy who's lost his mommy, my heart breaks for him. "Kimmie you've reduced me to the state of a love-sick seventeen year old boy, why? Why can't I be in here? What is it? Is it me? I know ever since we've decided to have sex, we haven't been so good at it, but some lovers need practice with each other. Don't rule me out because I haven't given you a good thrashing, I'm still here. What man still pines after a woman who fucks him like she's a corpse?"
Yup, that was my man, he held no punches, and you always knew where you stood with him. "Ryan, I wish I could explain, but it just isn't so easy....I'm sorry." I say, not looking as sorry as I should be, on account of me shielding my emotions. He had to leave and fast.
"You're sitting there shaking like a leaf, your clothes clinging to you, and your rocking your leg back and forth, obviously stimulating yourself, why should I leave?" he finally closes the gap between us and touches my thigh. I close my eyes and I hear the door lock click into place, oh shit.
"What was that?" he says turning around, and then looking back at me.
I swallow a huge knot in my throat, "the door locked."
