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Authors: Yusuf Blanton

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BOOK: The Shards of Serenity
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

 

SERENITY DAVIS

Growing up, my concept of “love” was a convoluted mix of princess movies, traditionalist Eastern religion, and catchy phrases like “love conquers all.” In my early 20’s, my understanding shifted to the idea that ‘love’ was enduring as much oppression as one could possibly handle, in the name of keeping a household together. And then in my mid 20’s, I happily retired to the fact that I knew absolutely nothing.

It was the day after my parents had ransacked my relationship with Markus that I pulled up to my parking spot to witness him standing there with a bouquet of clearly overpriced roses.

“Hello, Serenity,” he said, as I stepped out of my outdated car. His smile disarmed my spirit, as I looked at the face of a man I had hopelessly fallen in love with once again.

“Hello, Markus. You really didn’t have to buy me anything. I actually hoped that by having you meet me here, you’d hold on to some of your money for a change.”

“My bills are paid, and everything’s fine. Just take these flowers as a sign of my love and appreciation for all that you are.”

Unable to muster a comeback, I flashed the white of my teeth through a smile, grabbed his hand, and eagerly led him upstairs to my sanctuary.

 

I don’t know exactly why, but I noticed since getting with Markus that I was always at my sexual peak right after returning home from work. There was something about that mental transition from “professional quiet type” to “relaxed home body” that sent me for a loop and had me craving his love like it were a fine delicacy. I began unbuttoning my blouse, when suddenly, he paused me.

“Serenity, before we consummate the evening, there’s something I want to talk about.”

“Markus, can’t we talk about it after I cum all over you?! I’m so horny right now!” I whined, as I patted my pussy for emphasis.

“Just a minute, Serenity. I have a question I need to ask you.”

“Okay, what is it?” I said, as I sat down on my futon and mentally switched gears.

“Do you see this working long-term? I mean, I know we’re in love, and we’re having a great time right now. But, do you see me as a real life-long partner?”

“Markus, absolutely! In a short time, you’ve manifested every quality I’ve ever searched for. I know my insecurities are many, but they’re almost entirely personal problems. I love you, and I want to spend my life with you more than anything!”

“Okay, great,” he said, as he pulled out a device and began playing soft R&B music in the background. “Serenity, I love you too. You’ve brought change and sustainability into my World, which honestly was pretty chaotic before you came along. I love that, and I love you. But, last night showed me that if I want to keep you, there’s certain things I have to do. And, I need you to know I’m willing to do anything.”

“Markus, what are you about to do?!” I squealed, giddy from excitement and positively anxious of what was to come.

“Serenity Davis,” he said, as he pulled a small box out from his pocket. “In this box is a ring. I want you to take it, and wear it, knowing that I intend to cherish and love you for the rest of my days on Earth. We both have so much going on personally, and only God knows when or if that will stop. But, with this promise of love and commitment - we can get through this together. What do you say?”

“Markus Glenn, are you asking me to marry you?!”

“Yes. Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will!” I exclaimed, as I took the diamond-encrusted ring, and placed it over my finger swiftly.

With the energy of a lifetime, I disrobed us both, sucked his cock until the pre-cum almost choked me, and rode my stallion lover until mutual orgasm, twice. This was the peak of my life. By nine o clock at night, I was absolutely exhausted and ready for sleep. Being a night owl, Markus kissed me on the forehead and went home to write. I fell asleep with the biggest smile of my life, wondering how our love could possibly get better.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

 

MARKUS GLENN

As I left Serenity’s apartment an engaged man, I felt waves of anxiety and happiness crash over me simultaneously. I knew I had unfinished business with Lalah that could change the course of my life and two deadlines with my publisher over the next week. Naturally, I decided hitting up Jorgensen’s Pub was my best course of action.

 

When I arrived at the pub, I realized what a poor choice I had made. It was Friday night which was the one night of the week the owner allowed exotic dancers on stage; in turn negatively affecting both the atmosphere and clientele of the bar. I thought all hope was lost, before I heard a familiar, “get it girl!” from the front row. Simone was in the building.

After sitting down next to my friend, and ordering a Long Island Iced Tea from a floating waitress, I fixed my attention to the stage - where a busty white woman was shaking all that she had. As boom-bap-era hip-hop poured from the speakers: she popped, locked, and dropped in uniquely perfect rhythm. With a sweep of her right hand, her bra fell off, unraveling D-cup breasts. And, with a sweep of her left hand, her bottoms fell off, unveiling a uniquely round ass. All was erotic until she turned around, and I got a good look at her face.

“She’s looking at you like she knows you!” exclaimed Simone, while bouncing to the music effortlessly.

“Yeah - that’s the tomboy,” I responded flatly, forgetting the music was cranked to 10.

“That’s who?”

“The tomboy! You know - the married woman that I banged that time, who kept referring to me as ‘dude’ before and after sex? Yeah, that’s her!”

“Well shit, Markus! If I was a lesbian, I’d let her call me whatever she wants, any day!”

As I watched the rest of her routine finish out, and a pile of dollar bills accumulate on the floor, I wondered what attracted me to such broken women. If I had really been so in love with ‘love’ itself, that I was willing to consummate strippers, whores, and the whole lot, all for the five percent chance that they’d change and things would somehow work out. Unfortunately, my track record answered the question for me, as I watched a pussy that I once licked get destroyed by an odd, on-stage banana routine.

As I got up to leave, I noticed Lalah seated at the bar, devouring a plate of chicken wings while her friends got drunk around her. It was honestly sad, but I was sincerely committed. And, so I made a bee line for the door hoping the five shots of mystery, bottom-shelf liquor wouldn’t stop me from getting home safely.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

 

SERENITY DAVIS

After an amazing proposal, two rounds of sex, and some much-needed sleep; I was awakened around midnight by a knock on my door. I’d figured Markus had come back either for a third round or to cuddle beside me; and at that point, I was ready to entertain him either way.

When I answered the door, I felt my jaw drop. Whereas I’d expected to see the man that represented love, security, and loyalty in my mind; I was instead confronted with the man that represented fear, trauma, and unequivocal pain.

“What’s up Serenity,” said Mitchell, as he stood ominously in a trench coat, low-tipping hat, and work boots I’d never seen him wear before. “Nice place you have here,” he continued, as he pushed his way in through the door, and shoved my body back into my sofa-bed.

“Mitchell, what the fuck are you doing here, and how did you find me?!” I shouted, hoping the neighbors would hear me.

“Ah, Serenity. I had a feeling you’d greet me this way. You always were a loud one,” he said, as he reached into his trench coat and produced a roll of duct tape. “It’s okay, I’ve got just the solution,” he stated, as he grabbed my head and forcefully applied the tape around my mouth; muting my screams for help. As I tried to move, he hog-tied my arms and legs together until I was a useless stub. When I tried to squirm again, he kicked me in the vagina with his steel toe for emphasis.

“Now that that’s done, let’s have a look at what you’ve done to this place. You know we’re still married, so this is mine as well,” he said, as he paced the apartment slowly. Every time I tried to mumble through the tape, he’d send a wad of spit flying in my direction. This was the way he liked me; hopeless, helpless, and afraid.

“This must be your new phone,” he said, as he picked it up from my counter and began thumbing through my information. “53 messages exchanged with ‘Markus.’ Hmm. Is that who you’ve decided to cheat on me with, Serenity? A Californian named ‘Markus’? He sound like a white piece of shit,” he laughed, as he threw my phone against the ground; shattering it into countless small pieces.

“You’re too attractive. That smooth skin, that tight pussy, those flowing dreadlocks. I know an easy solution for at least one of those problems,” he said, as he pulled an electric razor from his pocket and began motioning towards my head. I thought about moving, but I knew he’d beat me unconscious. And so, I lay there crying, while he chopped off all my hair. “You’re starting to look like the piece of shit you really are,” he laughed, as he slapped my face with the power of a thousand horses.

Before he could continue, I heard the booming sound of my door being kicked in, and what looked like an elderly man hobbling towards me.

“In the name of the Most Merciful, step away from her!” yelled my grandfather, as he walked with a hunch in his back and declining eyesight. “What the Hell do you kids have going on in here? Serenity - first you bring this fornicator up in your step-daddy’s house when I’m asleep, and now he’s got you tied up like a pig?! I really don’t understand the way you disbelievers operate.”

“Listen, old man,” chimed in Mitchell, as he continued pacing fearlessly. “I’m gonna make this really simple for you. Get the fuck out of here now, without making a sound; or I’m going to burn you alive!”

“Go back to Hell, fornicator!” yelled my grandfather, as he clumsily wisped a gun out of his waistline, and aimed it awkwardly at Mitchell.

“Granddaddy, that’s not the man I brought over! That’s my ex-husband, Mitchell!”

“See, now you really got me fucked up,” laughed Mitchell, as he produced two guns out of his seemingly endless lineup of pockets. “I leave you out here for a month vacation, and not only do you get an apartment. Not only do you block my number. But you meet someone, call him on your new phone, and bring him around your family?! Bitch, I’m going to kill you and your grandfather!” he shouted, as he began to take the safety off his guns.

“Not before I put one through your scalp!” yelled Abdullah, as he busted a shot inches away from Mitchell’s head.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” bellowed a third voice, as I heard Bilal loudly stomp through the door way.

“Well, we got a fornicator trying to off everyone, and we got your whore of a step-daughter tied up on some of that ‘domination’ shit.”

Without another word, Bilal grabbed my grandfather’s gun and put two shots through Mitchell’s head. By the time I realized what was going on, his entire body had collapsed in my direction, with a pool of blood soaking out from where his hairline used to start. I tried to scream, but realized I was still taped up.

“Now, as for you, young lady,” began Bilal. “I’m gonna get you the Hell out of this tape, but I don’t know how we’ll ever explain this shit to your mama.”

“You won’t move another God-damn inch!” yelled a fourth voice, this time coming from an aggressively armed police officer. “Johnson, get the girl! Rico, get the terrorist! Stephens, call forensics for the body! Old man, you’ll be coming with me,” he barked, as he hauled away my grandfather in handcuffs. That was my last memory, before my eyes rolled into the back of my head, and the rest of that evening faded to black.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

 

MARKUS GLENN

Transitioning from being a ‘single’ to an ‘engaged’ man in America is a movement of major self-discipline, sacrifice, and loyalty. It means saying ‘no’ to the temptations, nightclubs, and virtual meat markets that seem to be popping up everywhere. It means saying ‘yes’ to a quiet night in, over a crazily memorable night out on the town. It means absolutely nothing, when the person you share that engagement with seemingly drops off the face of the Earth.

 

It all became clear to me within a week of my proposal, that Serenity had gone somewhere she wasn’t coming back from. I called her the next morning eager to talk, but was received by an immediate voicemail routing. I dropped by her place, only to find her car wasn’t there. I called her place of employment, only to find she hadn’t showed up. I repeated this routine for several days, and almost contacted her parents, until I remembered that wasn’t an option.

As time continued on, I made the conclusive assumption that she’d probably gone home to her ex-husband, and decided California to be too liberal a place. After all, what would a strict Muslima do with a man that drinks fruity cocktails and looks at women’s vagina holes directly after proposing to someone? How would we raise children when I still didn’t know the proper Arabic name for the cloth she was supposed to wear around her head? How would we survive in the same town as her parents that seemingly wanted to kill me? As time rolled on, I realized the illogicality of the situation; just like I realized that love wasn’t bound to man’s sense of logic. Rather, it was a roaming arrow of Cupid that we all chased hopelessly; some only getting a taste of its fruit, and some never catching it at all. I cried myself to sleep most nights, wondering why my rendezvous with love had to be so short-lived.

 

After two months, fifteen days, and 490 missed calls; I decided to finally call Lalah Cherry. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about the prospect of a familial human’s life. It was that Lalah was bat-shit crazy, and every moment I managed to forget about her was advantageous to my mental health.

“Oh, so now you try to reach me, huh?” capped Lalah, before any formal greeting was established.

“Yes, I’m doing well. How are you?”

“Don’t be slick with me, Markus. And don’t think you could just saunter into my life after missing the first trimester of your son’s life!”

“So, it’s a boy?” I asked, as I reclined back in my office chair curiously.

“Man, I don’t know what the fuck it is! It’s cheaper to guess then it is to put one of them tests up inside my coochie - I know that.”

“Right. Okay. Well, what do you want to do about our son? I’m not encouraging anything either way, but are you considering abortion?” I asked, knowing that question could very well be the last straw of our open communication.

“You mean - ‘can you fuck me raw, knock up my ovaries, and get out of the situation with no child support bill?’ The answer is ‘hell no,’ my melanin-deficient friend!”

“You know - I thought that was a term of endearment the first time someone referred to me that way. Anyway, okay. Why don’t we get together for coffee and talk about our options?”

“Coffee? Fool, I’m pregnant! Why don’t you get your ass over here, rub these damn bunions, and make me a sandwich? Then, we can talk your slick-ass business pitch which I’m not buying into!”

 

Within thirty minutes of being at Lalah’s house - I found myself hitting her G-spot repeatedly with the gusto of a soccer ball slamming into its net. We sucked, fucked and flipped seven positions; but it was before the climax that I stumbled upon a deep realization.

 

“Cum inside me, daddy!” she shrieked as I picked up velocity. “You already got me pregnant - replenish this pussy with your motherfucking load!” she wailed, in a way that would disturb the peace if she didn’t live in the middle of nowhere.

As I placed all my effort into the task at hand, I felt my mind distractedly trail off to thoughts of Serenity. I tried to refocus my attention onto Lalah, but nearly grew flaccid when I realized she didn‘t look as good, feel as tight, or even smell the same.

“I’m not sure I can cum right now,” I said, in between thrusts. “I think I’m dehydrated.”

“Daddy, there’s a fire in this coochie, and I need you to put it out with that hose!”

Before giving up, I imagined Serenity watching us, naked in the corner of her bed, fingering herself kinkily as I polished off the last piece of the threesome we never had. Without delay, I felt my semen explode all into the depths of Lalah, and I dismounted myself immediately.

“That was some shit, Markus!” she proclaimed, as she tried to catch her breath. “I must have cum three times!”

“Yeah, that was some shit,” I responded.

 

Lalah and I dated for the subsequent two weeks, as I slowly traded my concept of happiness for a steady supply of energetic sex and the prospect of being a united family. Her habits were annoying, her conversation was mindless, and I’m reasonably sure she cheated on me anytime I disappeared for more than twenty-four hours. The deal breaker, however, was when I found receipts to the abortion she’d gotten the previous month, and the birth control she’d been taking ever since. Figuring she wasn’t worth the confrontation; I left her a ‘goodbye’ note with a crayon I borrowed from one of her kids, and a pack of condoms for later that night. I assumed Anthony would be coming over.

BOOK: The Shards of Serenity
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