“I feel you, but you know you gone miss yo’ boo. As soon as you get drunk, you start talking about dick!” I laughed.
The elevator doors opened, and as soon as we walked out, we were smacked by Jay’s presence. He was sitting in the waiting area like I hadn’t just stabbed his ass. I couldn’t breathe. Did he bring the police? Was he trying to press charges now? I knew my countenance was visibly shaken. I was trying to hold it together, but I felt like I was about to implode.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, drawing my hands into fists.
“Dyami, what, you don’t miss me? You're not even going to ask am I okay?” He smiled wickedly.
“What are you doing here, Jay?” I repeated myself, trying to keep my voice low since I was at work. I didn’t want anyone to start noticing the confrontation. I couldn’t believe his ass would show up like this.
“I’m here for you. Time for you to stop playing and come back home.”
“Oh, this nigga crazy for real,” Chante called from behind me.
“Put your fucking friend in her place. You aren’t woman enough to fight your own battles? You damn sure were woman enough to do what you did.” He shot.
“My place nigga? Seriously?” I saw people starting to gather, and I wanted to shrink into the floor. This was my first day back, and I was the center of drama. The mention of what I did on his lips made me want to get this conversation out of a professional setting at all costs. I couldn’t let this shit spread around work and keep my job. Whether they believed it or not, Iwould be escorted out immediately. It was already hard enough to get the footing I got with me just getting in the door.
I snatched Jay by the cuff of his arm and led him out of the office and out of earshot of everyone. I heard Chante’s heels clicking behind me.
“Jay, you can’t come to my fucking job! What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong is that you're acting like a damn fool and stabbing me. You should have just kept things how we had them, and we wouldn’t be going through this shit. I’m the one who should be pissed. But I’m here, willing to forgive.” He couldn’t be serious! He was the one willing to forgive? The married man who strung me along for three years and slept with my sixteen-year-old sister was willing to forgive me? What a fucking clown! What did I ever see in this man? He was the lowest of the low, and I didn’t want to spend another moment sharing space with him.
“If you don’t get your ass up and out of my face. I’m supposed to be happy because you are willing to forgive? Well, guess what? I’m not. I don’t regret a single fucking thing. Now leave before I have you escorted the fuck out! Or better yet, get yourself killed.” I snapped and tried to walk by him, and he grabbed my arm and pulled me close. The grip he had on me stung so bad I thought he might have left a mark.
“Hell no! Security!” Chante called, and I held my hand up to silence her. Jay was already on one so no telling what he would blurt out if this became a spectacle. I just had to be cool and get out of this moment.
“An audience is just what I want. You'd better think again if you think it’s going to be that easy to get away from me. I ain’t scared of your little boyfriend. Tell him to come at me. You aremine, Dyami, and if you won’t be, I guess I’ll have to go down to the police station and tell them exactly what happened,” he gritted through clenched teeth, and I snatched away from him. Even if his comment did have its desired effect, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had scared me. I looked at him square in the face.
“I don’t give a fuck what you do, Jay. Go to hell!”
“Oh, I see you've been hanging out with a gangsta, and you think you're ready to do that time, huh? I tell you what.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card and held it in my face before he continued, “Be at this address tonight and be ready to make it up to me, or tomorrow morning, I’ll see how hard you are when the police come get yo’ fine ass.” He stuffed the card in my hand and walked away with a cocky swagger.
I stormed back into the office area to see Chante leaning against the door, waiting for me with her arms folded across her chest. “Girl, what the fuck?”
I looked back at the nosy ass receptionist, and she was tuned all the way in. She wasn’t even hiding that she was listening to our conversation. I rolled my eyes and walked Chante to my cubicle.
“He's on some other shit telling me I better meet him tonight or he's going to the police in the morning,” I whispered quickly.
“What? You think he's serious?”
“I don’t know. I just have to take whatever comes.” I was honestly done stressing.
“Girl. I think you need to call Marcos now.”
“No. He has enough going on. And you know he will go after him. I couldn’t live with myself if I were the one who tookhim away from his son. You know Marcos will take that shit to hell.” I whispered.
“Hell no, this is serious, Dyami. You need to say something.”
“I know I do, and I will.” I sighed
“When?” Chante asked, knowing I was trying to stall.
“Damn, Chante, can you let me think?” I snapped.
“Dyami, you have a call.” Mrs. Phyllis called while she was walking up to the desk. I furrowed my brows together. No one called me at work, and I just saw my mother. I looked on my desk where the line was beeping, then back to Chante. I picked up the phone slowly.
“Dyami Taylor, how can I help you?”
