My voice was the loudest thing in the room, and I ain’t even realize how much I was sayin’ until his face crumpled.
He stopped movin’. I mean… just stopped, like somebody unplugged him.
His shoulders sagged and his knees buckled, and before I could even process it, we was both on the floor. I dropped with him, my arms wrapin’ around his body as he collapsed into me, breath comin’ out of him in these broken heaves that tore at my soul.
Everything in me shut the fuck up then. It wasn’t no more yellin’ or anger. I pulled him into my chest, slid my back against the refrigerator, and held him while he shook like he was freezin’. My tears fell straight down his neck and on his shoulder as I rubbed his back over and over, whisperin’ to him like I was tryna talk him back into his body.
“I got you,” I kept sayin’. “I got you. You safe. I’m right here.”
He was incoherent, words slurrin’, breath uneven, his whole body soaked and tremblin’. We stayed like that for hours. The mansion went quiet around us while time slipped by. My mascara ran down my face and dried there. My arms ached but I ain’t let go. He rested his head in my lap eventually, his breathin’ slowin’ bit by bit.
I stared straight ahead, numb as hell, my mind blank except for the sound of him breathin’.
When I finally got him up, my body moved on autopilot. I got him upstairs, ran the bath water, and tested it with my hand until it was just right. He was exhausted and distant, lettin’ me undress him without sayin’ a word. I lowered him into the tub and grabbed a washcloth, my hands shakin’ as I washed his chest, his arms, his back. Tears slid down my cheeks anddropped into the water while I cleaned him, my heart breakin’ with every stroke.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered at one point, barely audible.
I ain’t answer. I just kept washin’ him.
After the bath, I dried him off and grabbed his silk pajamas, helpin’ him get dressed like he was a child even though he was a big ass man. I tucked him into bed and stepped out for a second, grabbin’ a bottle of water from the kitchen, my hands still tremblin’.
When I came back, I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. His eyes was tired and scared, and I hated how much that look hurt me.
I opened the bottle and the pill container, then held them out to him. “Take yo’ pills, ‘Lo.”
He stared at the pills, tears wellin’ up in his eyes. There was a long pause, like he was fightin’ himself.
Finally, he reached out and took them.
I handed him the water, watchin’ him swallow, relief crashin’ into me so hard my chest hurt.
I climbed into bed behind him and wrapped my arms around his body, pullin’ him close. He turned his back to me, and I held him until his breathin’ evened out, and until sleep finally took him.
I stayed awake for a long time after that, listenin’ to him breathe with my face pressed against his back.
No matter what anybody said.
No matter what any doctor said.
I knew in my soul my husband needed help, and I wasn’t about to let him disappear while everybody else pretended everything was fine.
So, I held him.
And I stayed…
Trill-Land, ‘LoLux Estate
One week later…
Once again, a nigga was fuckin’ up bad. I knew I was on my wife’s shit list, and this time it felt different ‘cause she wasn’t yellin’, wasn’t cryin’, wasn’t even throwin’ slick comments my way. She was quiet in a way that made my fuckin’ skin itch. She was numb in a way I couldn’t talk my way out of, and that scared me more than her ever raisin’ her voice.
That kitchen meltdown had been a week ago, but the echo of it still lived in this house. I got the sink fixed the next day, had a whole crew come through like nothin’ ever happened, replaced cabinets, polished floors, handled every single thing I tore up like money could erase the memory of me losin’ my shit. The criblooked perfect again, and cleaner than it ever had been, but the space between me and Toni felt wider every mornin’ I woke up and saw her on the other side of the bed with her back turned.
That first mornin’ after, I woke up early and went out to get flowers, not no cheap shit either. I bought the shit with thick stems and petals that stayed alive longer than they was supposed to. I set them on her nightstand before she woke up and watched her eyes land on them when she finally opened them. She nodded once, said thank you, then got up and went about her day like the damn flowers was just somethin’ that existed in the room.
The next day I did it again, but bought flowers with different colors. It was the same result.
By the third day, I started washin’ her clothes even though we had maids for that. I stood in the laundry room readin’ tags and separating colors like my life depended on it, foldin’ her shit slow and careful even though I don’t even fold my own. I lined her clothes up the way she liked them, laid her pajamas out on the bed, put her towels in the bathroom, stocked her bath with all her smell goods and oils and candles. I made sure the water was hot when she wanted to soak. I brought her tea at night. I rubbed her feet without askin’. I tried to kiss her neck and she let me, but her body didn’t soften the way it used to.
