You've Been Flirting Again

To everyone who left those comments about the negativity of black women--the divide between the "hipsters" and the "ratchet" ones--I didn't mean to convey black women in that light. It was not intentional. I didn't want to make Roshanda look really judgemental, I was merely having fun telling a story about a non-stereotypical black woman with a dilemma. Read or don't read, but I will continue writing what I like and believe in. :)

*

My lips finally parted from Roy's, resounding in a small smack.

We were in one of the few bathrooms of the frat building, bass pounding throughout the house. The party was on, and the cops weren't happy about it at all, but until something crazy happened, they couldn't break it up.

Every time the step frat had a party, it was usually shut down. Someone always got into a fight or decided to take their drunken antics outside.

Didn't exactly help that it was a black frat, either.

Because I was a fucking idiot and let him control the costume choice, I was Beyonce, and he was Jay-Z. I had my ostentatious blonde curly wig on with my black leotard, robotic glove, and nude tights. Roy wore a fitted Yankees cap with a black t-shirt and jeans. He didn't even try. He looked hella normal.

And just like I predicted, there were many other Jayonces floating around.

I smiled at Roy. "This is nice. I like our private moments," I gushed, not realizing where I was and that it really wasn't grounds for mush-mush.

Roy chuckled, holding me close. "Glad you came, girl."

I thought we were having a decent moment, but as I was enjoying just laying on him, he started to try to shove my head down to his dick.

I broke free. "What are you doing?"

Roy frowned. "Whatchu think?"

This was really getting on my nerves.

"Roy, why can't we just make out and be a normal couple? Why do you have to ruin everything?"

Roy groaned. "Shanda, look, it's no big deal. I—"

I snapped. This was pissing me off. "It's a big fucking deal to me, Roy! What happened to you? You turned into everything that I hate and I'm sick of it!"

Silence. All I heard was the pounding bass from a Lil' B song.

That was Roy's cue to leave. He laughed to himself, covering his face like I didn't even know he was mocking me, and made like he was going for the door.

"You cool off. I'ma go find Trey and Rock."

Trey and Rock = dumb and fucking dumber, AKA his friends. But I knew that was a lie. He was gonna disappear and leave me wondering where he was.

"You a damn lie. I know you're not about to go find them. Worst fucking boyfriend ever. I'm mad, and you leaving."

He looked at me before he left. I said, "Someone else is gonna get me if you don't stop, Roy."

That's when he smirked. I can't believe what he said next.

"Roshanda, nobody wants you but me. You really think you gonna get some white guy to commit to you? Ain't no indie black guys who actually date black girls, and white dudes? They don't like black girls, even if you ain't ghetto. It's never gonna happen. I'm all you got, and all you gonna get. Your fetish is gonna be just that. A fucking fetish." He slammed the door behind him. I was left, looking stupid, in my skanky ass leotard that cost me a grip. Fucking sleazy American Apparel, charging me $40 for what was basically a swimsuit.

I wanted to cry and scream and break the mirror and just fall to my feet. I didn't wanna be alone. I really didn't. Part of me felt like he was right. Even if I wanted Chris, what if it just sex? What if he really didn't intend on being me? He was going with that Cherry bitch anyways, he didn't want my black ass.

My bottom lip was quivering. There was a chunk in my throat that I only experienced having when I was a kid after I'd just gotten my ass whooped by my mom. I had to leave. This was stupid.

I'd just find Andi and tell her that I needed to be alone. Unless of course, she found someone. She wanted to go because she had a crush on three of the guys in the frat. Knowing her pretty ass, she was probably dancing with one of them right now. Andi was gorgeous.

I was trying really hard not to let tears fall. When I opened the door, I had to inch myself out because the place was so packed, probably more packed than before. When I was out enough where I could actually move, I spotted Andi grinding against this Chris Brown-looking kid with blonde hair, holding a drink in one hand, the other placed on her stomach, his arm around her.

Okay, no need to cockblock. I'd just walk home.

Still holding the tears, I bumped into someone.

"Sorry," I muttered, not even looking up to see who it was.

"Roshanda!"

I looked up. Dammit, Chris. Why were you everywhere?

I couldn't look straight at him. Why the fuck was he so hot? Those snake bite piercings were looking extra scrumptious.

"Oh, hey!" I sounded normal, I think. However, Chris didn't think so.

"You look nice," he gave me the once over, but then he seemed concerned. "You don't look happy, though. Roy?"

I looked away, still trying to will the tears from falling and ruining my makeup. "How could you tell?"

He shrugged. "Because whenever you're sad, it's because of him."

Ouch.

The DJ cued up Flocka's "No Hands," and I rolled my eyes. The crowd went crazy. A bad mood and a bad soundtrack to it was just awful. Whenever I got into shitty moods, I'd crank Radiohead and sad Usher songs. I could've gone for hearing "Karma Police" at that moment.

Chris touched my forearm, like he was about to lead me somewhere, but he was looking around.

"Are you okay?" he asked, leaning in because the music got louder.

I yelled, "No. I'm just gonna go home. Why are you here?"

Chris responded, "I think Cherry's here. I overheard her on the phone saying she might come here. I think she's screwing around on me."

I didn't get it. Were they together? Didn't ask though, because it didn't matter. "Oh. Well, you go look for her. I'm gonna go. . . go listen to music and do my homework or something." I was about to leave, but Chris grabbed me.

"No, no, stay. I don't want you walking at night by yourself."

He was sweet, but I know he didn't want me bothering him.

"Chris, you're looking for Cherry, you don't need me tagging along. I'll call a security guard or something."

Chris declined. "No. Stay with me. Please?"

It was hard to reject those gorgeous eyes. But did I really wanna be around when they reunited and they started caking?

Caking: Verb. To excessively engage in public displays of affection, much to the chagrin of single, lonely, or dumped bystanders who are annoyed thoroughly.

"Chris, I—"

Before I could finish, wiping away a tear that escaped, he frowned and keyed in on something across the room. I turned around. He pointed ahead.

"I swear, I just saw her."

I smiled. "Okay. You found her. I'm leaving."

Chris sucked his teeth. "Roshanda, I'm sorry, just stay with me for a second."

I groaned. "Chris, I don't—" I looked ahead. Roy was running up the stairs as well.

Was he. . .No. No fucking way.

"I just saw Roy!"

Chris mashed his lips together, visibly pissed. "Come on." He grabbed my hand and led me through the party, through tacky ass costumes. I counted five Nicki Minajs, a few girls with red hair apparently trying to be Rihanna, and a few Lady Gagas. I swear, the guys put in zero effort, because they all looked normal. However, I had to hand it to the brother who went all out and put on Trojan garb, complete with matching hat.

Me and Chris headed upstairs, and before I knew it, he was knocking on doors. So was I. "Roy! Roy! I know you're in one of these rooms!"

Chris grabbed at a doorknob and it opened. When he looked inside, he screamed, "What the fuck!"

I walked over. "What is. . ."

Roy was in there, alright. And so was Cherry. She was caught like a deer in the headlights, on her knees, Roy, with his legs spread, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I was speechless. So was Chris.

"Wait, it's not what it looks like," Roy tried to explain, motioning for Cherry to get away from him.

Chris walked in. I don't know if he whooped Roy's ass or if he just argued with Cherry, but I knew I had to leave. I felt beyond stupid.

As I was crying, pushing through people who wouldn't move, I thought about everything. I was an idiot. Pure and simple. I let it get this far.

I could've just dumped him. No, I had to be that stupid emotionally fragile bitch who wanted to see if things would get better. Whenever they went South, things usually stayed South. And I had to learn the hard way. Plus, Roy was right. I was the weird bitch in high school, and he was the only one who got it. Now that he was gone and Chris was probably not into me anymore, I was destined to be lonely for the rest of my college years. Maybe even my life.

The thought of nobody else wanting me was what was making me cry the most. I'm sure everyone thought I was crazy, but I didn't care. Like they wanted me anyways.

I was finally outside, still in that skanky ass leotard. I hugged myself as I speedily click-clacked on the pavement in my heels, which I was two seconds away from taking off. I snatched the stupid yaki weave off my head and flung it over my shoulder, along with the wig cap. Fuck you, Beyonce.

Because my emotional brain took over my logical brain, I didn't realize I was in the middle of nowhere on the campus. My phone was in my bra, so I pulled it out and tried to call for an escort, while heading back towards the party, where civilization was.

It ringed a few times before I heard the receptionist. "Hi, I need—"

I was pushed to the ground. My phone hit the pavement, the battery flying out. Some guy kicked my ribs. Hard.

"Stop it! Take my phone!" I held my hands up, trying my hardest to protect myself.

He yelled, "I don't want your phone, bitch! I want your pussy!"

Oh. My. GAWD. This wasn't happening.

The guy was at least three hundred pounds. We're talking football player. He choked me, slapped me, and got on top, trying hard to rip my leotard off while he spread my legs.

"No!" I kept yelling repeatedly.

"Shut the fuck up!" He choked me while he unzipped his pants. Just before he pulled his dick out, someone came up behind him with a huge, oblong object and cracked him over the head with it, hard enough to knock him out, but not kill him.

I stood up quickly. Chris dropped the branch and grabbed me, dragging me away. The guy was out cold, splattered on the ground.

It was dark out. I guess that's what gave him the balls to do what he did, because the fucking party wasn't far away. Anyone could've seen him do that if he was only a street or two over.

I was hurt emotionally and physically. My ribs fucking hurt so bad. My neck was throbbing. I was only wearing one shoe. I barely heard Chris on his phone, reporting the incident, I was so shaken.

This night was a disaster, and I kept feeling like it was my fault. I felt like if I had just manned up and broken it off with him earlier, this wouldn't have happened. I fell victim to love, and how blind it is.

"You okay, Roshanda?"

I didn't say anything. When he saw that I was practically limping, Chris picked me up. He didn't even do it fireman style. He lifted me and carried me like it was our honeymoon or something.

A few moments later, I was in Chris' bed. His side of the dorm was lined with posters of everybody. Kurt Cobain, the Beatles, Soundgarden, Metallica. He had two guitars on their respective stands by the stereo system with a billion CDs scattered around it. It was messy, but then again, all guys were. His dormmate's side was cleaner, but his bed was unmade and there was a heap of clothes on top.

I assumed Chris went to the bathroom, because he was gone. I know I couldn't have blacked out because we were only walking for a few minutes. Or rather, him carrying me. Damn, he was strong. He looked scrawny. I was gonna take a wild guess that he wrestled.

My ribs were still hurting. I propped myself up, an elbow resting on his pillow, trying to see the bruise, but it hurt too much, and I'd have to get naked. I let out a painful groan. Just as I did, Chris came back in, with a plastic bag full of ice, some cotton balls, and alcohol.

"You're gonna have to take that off so I can get to the bruise," he advised, closing the door behind him. "Here, lemme get you a shirt."

I watched Chris walk over to the dresser before he set the stuff down on his nightstand. Cargo shorts, a black t-shirt, and his checkerboard Van slip-ons. That look was always a turn-on to me. Roy used to dress like that before he decided it was too "white boy-ish."

He closed the dresser, then held up an oversized Gallows t-shirt. "You like them?"

I shook my head. "Never heard of em." He handed me the shirt, and I got undressed under the covers, then slipped the shirt on. Chris stared at me the whole time. Seriously, the whole time. Like he was fascinated or something.

Glad that I'd put on underwear even underneath the leotard—and boyshorts, at that—I lifted up my shirt and saw the humongoid bruise that was covering the right side of my ribs.

"Fuck!" I let out, staring at it.

Chris grabbed the ice pack. "Don't worry. We just have to apply some ice to it. Lay back, Ro."

Ro? I smiled a little as I did what he said. Laying back on the pillow, I braced myself for the cold that was coming. I breathed in through my teeth as it hit my skin. Chris traced a finger around my lip. I thought it was random, that he was just doing it because he liked me, but then I licked my lip. I tasted blood.

Chris dabbed some alcohol on a cotton ball and lightly tapped it on my cut. Then he put a little glob of Neosporin on it. When he was finished, he shoved a strand of hair that escaped my ponytail out of my face.

"All better." He smiled. I smiled because he smiled.

Chris held the pack up against my bruise while I lay in bed, thankful that he saved me from being raped.

"Chris, I owe you. You saved my life."

He scoffed. "I saved more than your life. But you're welcome. And you don't owe me."

I sighed. Part of me wanted to cry some more, but I didn't have enough energy to. "Chris, tonight really sucked."

He nodded, still crouched beside me. "I agree." While he lovingly stared into my eyes, he asked, "Do you wanna talk?"

I managed a sly, yet heartbroken smile. "Only if you do."

Chris hunched his shoulders. "I always wanna talk to you."

"You first."

He cleared his throat. "Well for starters, Roy is a total asshole. You know he actually got mad at me for what happened?"

I wasn't surprised. "He has a tendency to blame others when he fucks up."

"He even tried to fight me. I was so not having that shit. I pushed him, and Cherry had to try her hardest to not get him to hit me back. She didn't even care that I was pissed. So then I saw you were gone and looked for you."

I had to ask. "Well, I don't get it. Were you and Cherry dating?"

Chris looked away. He was sad. "We weren't together, but we were definitely trying to see where it'd go. And we both agreed that we wouldn't see other people in the meantime. To be honest, I thought it was certain. But I guess not. Fucking skank."

Although I wanted to laugh, I was in too much pain entirely. I just lay back. Chris was still there, stroking my chin, neck, and any other area he thought was in pain. But could he stroke my heart?

"He told me nobody else wants me. He said he's the only one who will ever find me attractive and who will actually want me."

Chris scoffed. "Woman, you are fucking hot."

I smiled. "Thanks. He also said white boys ain't interested in black girls, even if they aren't ghetto."

His eyebrows raised. "I don't care. I know that's not everyone, but I've seen a few couples like that and they seem functional. Ro, what kind of guy says that to his girl?"

It was true. He got away with way too much. I needed to end it already. But was it really necessary when he already cheated on me?

We talked for about an hour about the party, our stupid mates, relationships, and of course, music.

I didn't realize it was almost midnight until I looked at the clock. My bruise was cold as hell. He had been holding the ice against it the whole night. Chris was so sweet and caring.

"You wanna sleep here, or should I walk you back?"

I blew a raspberry. "I don't feel like walking. I'll stay here with you."

Chris started smiling, like he was happy I said that. "Okay." He removed the ice pack. Then, he did something I didn't expect.

He bent down even further and started kissing my bruise, ever so gently, rubbing his lips across it. He kissed every inch of it, looking up at me a few times. The last time he kissed it, I heard him rip away from my skin like he didn't want to stop.

"Better?" he asked, smiling.

I sighed. "Oh, Chris. You are just too much sometimes."

The lamp was still on. Chris told me to get up so he could get in first. Now how did he know I liked to be the little spoon?

Chris wrapped himself carefully around me while we got settled in. I was so comfortable in his arms.

"This is nice," I whispered, loving his embrace.

"It is. Are you sure you're okay? You need anything?"

I declined. "No," I turned to him. "You've done enough, Chris. Thank you." I kissed his cheek, and his hugged me tighter, still mindful of the bruise. "Anytime, Ro."

Ro. I kinda liked that.

While we were in bed, we talked. A lot. I learned why he started playing guitar—his first concert was Soundgarden at the ripe age of twelve, and after seeing Chris Cornell play, he was inspired to play himself—the extent of his shitty relationships, and his tattoo.

It was a large piece of art that contained a collection of stuff that inspired him. Guitar picks portrait, the guy holding his head in The Scream painting, a picture of his dad, lyrics to a Soundgarden song, and other stuff. It was like everything that made him who he was all on his arm. He was so intense.

"But enough about me. What about you?"

"Chris, there's nothing that interesting about me. I don't have any tats. I didn't have an epiphany when I was twelve that helped me discover my calling. And I sure as hell didn't meditate on the Egyptian pyramids."

He laughed. "Ro, you're totally interesting. I do not talk to boring people, you can ask my roomie. Looks kinda like a lumberjack. And he has a ZZ Top beard."

After a few moments of silence, I noticed Chris was rubbing my arm up and down. His hand inched further down until it grabbed my hand. He laced his fingers into mine.

"I really like you, Roshanda."

I played in Chris's sexy hair. "I really like you too, Chris. I just hope we're not too fucked up to see where this could go."

He smirked. "I hope so, too. Honestly, I would jump into something with you in a heartbeat. But I know you're gonna need time when you and Roy break up, so I won't be that guy to rush you."

He was just too sweet! There had to be a catch.

Did he not have a dick? Was it just, like, a medical rarity?

"Chris, you have to be one of the most caring guys I've ever met. If anything, I feel like I'd be waiting on you. I told you, I've been really unlucky when it comes to guys. Roy was the first and only person who ever liked me for real. I hated high school because I always felt like I was never enough, for those guys, like they always preferred the total opposite of me. I was always too weird, not black enough, not light-skinned enough, not anything enough. So it scares me that you like so much because I feel like it's gonna go wrong eventually."

He didn't say anything. Instead, he kissed me.

"Roshanda, I would never lead you on. Don't worry. Your love would be safe with me."

As cute as it was, I had to laugh out loud.

He frowned. "What's so funny?"