Every day for a week I tried, and every day she stayed just as far away from me as she could while still livin’ in the same house.
She wouldn’t give me no pussy, and I wasn’t mad at that part like I would have been before ‘cause I knew sex wasn’t the problem. The problem was that she ain’t feel safe with me no more, and no amount of dick could fix that. Every time I tried to talk to her about it, she had an attitude that didn’t even feel like anger. It felt like exhaustion, like she ain’t have the energy to fight me no more.
I wasn’t used to that. I was used to Toni fightin’, cussin’, cryin’, forgivin’ and lovin’ me back through my bullshit. I wasn’t used to this version of her who looked at me like she was already halfway gone.
By the end of the week, that shit was eatin’ at me.
That evenin’, I found her on the patio, sittin’ in one of the low chairs by the water with her legs crossed, her hair pulled back, blunt lit and stare locked on the waves like she was watchin’ somethin’ only she could see. The sun was droppin’ low, paintin’ the sky in gold and orange, and she ain’t even look up when I stepped outside.
I walked over slow and sat beside her, lifted her legs gentle and set them across my lap like I had done a thousand times before. She let me do it, but her body stayed stiff, and that hurt more than her pullin’ away would have.
“I miss you,” I said low, rubbin’ her calf with my thumb.
She looked at me for half a second, her eyes blank, then turned back to the water and took another pull from her blunt like I ain’t said shit.
That made somethin’ hot rise in my chest ‘cause one thing I hate more than anything is bein’ ignored.
“You gon’ keep actin’ like I don’t exist?” I asked, keepin’ my voice even, even though my jaw was tight.
She exhaled smoke slow and finally spoke. “I’m tired of talkin’.”
“That’s not fair,” I said. “I’m sittin’ right here.”
She laughed, but it was hollow. “So.”
I shook my head. “You know that shit ain’t you.”
She turned to me then, and her eyes had nothin’ in them I could grab on to. “I’m sick of you, Kay’Lo.”
The words hit, but I ain’t flinch. I just nodded. “Okay. You sick of me. Cool. How can I make you get unsick of me? I miss you.”
She stared at me like she was lookin’ at a stranger. “I don’t know, and I don’t care no more.”
That was when it finally sunk in that this wasn’t no regular argument, and I felt somethin’ twist in my stomach that didn’t feel like anger or pride. It felt like loss creep in before it even happened.
“I’m tryin’,” I said, softer now. “I know I fucked up.”
She shook her head. “You always say that.”
“I’m serious.”
“You always serious after,” she said. “Then it be the same shit again.”
I ran my hand down my face and leaned back in my chair. “What you want from me?”
She took another pull, flicked ash into the tray, and spoke like she was talkin’ about the weather. “You don’t give a fuck about my mental health.”
That one stopped me cold.
“What,” I said.
“You hear me,” she continued, her voice flat. “Everything always about you. Your moods. Your head. Your problems. You don’t see what this do to me.”
“That ain’t true,” I said quick.
“It is,” she replied. “And I’m tired of tryna save you.”
I felt my throat tighten. “I ain’t ask you to save me.”
