I stayed out here with my girl for about twenty minutes, and then I went inside the house. I closed the sliding boor back, put the alarm on, and I jogged upstairs.
I got in bed with Dionne, spooning her from behind, burying my head into the crook of her neck, and placing my right hand between her legs. I had to hold onto that pussy when I went to sleep. It was a must at this point.
She jumped at my touch, but her body settled back.
“You cooked that food for real, or you had somebody come, and make it?” I asked her.
She let out an annoyed breath, and that shit made me laugh.
“Answer what I asked you,” I wanted to know.
“I cooked it. Let me sleepppp,” she whined, not wanting shit to do with a nigga right now because she wanted her rest.
“That food was good baby. Good job. Goodnight,” I responded, kissing her neck.
She didn’t say anything else because she went back to sleep. It wasn’t long before I closed my eyes and joined her. I prayed for more quiet, peaceful nights like this. Seems like all we were getting these days was a bunch of bullshit. I loved the quietness. The peacefulness. Shit, the calm.
Chapter 7
Garrus Whyte
You Don’t Belong Here
My wife’s funeral was today. I knew that my kids would probably want to kill me when they saw me, but I couldn’t just pretend that I didn’t know her services were today and not show up. This was someone that I spent so much of my life with. We had three children together, and despite all the shit that I put her through, I still loved her, and I hated the outcome. I hated that the choice I made in stepping out of my marriage hurt my wife to the point that she snapped, and she tried to kill Dionne. As a result of that, she ended up in prison, which is where she ultimately took her own life.
My reckless decision making caused all of this to happen. My wife is no longer here, and any relationship that I thought about mending with my children was gone as well. They would forever hate me for this, and I couldn’t blame them.
Allison’s services were being held at her home church. It was the church that she grew up in. Back when we first got married, I would come to church with her often. When our kids were smaller, we were in church just about every Sunday, but as I got older, and as my businesses started fluctuating the way that they were, I felt like I’d gotten too big to step foot in church, so I haven’t been here in a while.
Me, choosing not to attend church is another thing that Allison and I would fight about. She felt like I put all my time into my business, and that I devoted zero time into God. She was always down my back, telling me that God was the reason why I had all the success that I did, and how I should be in church on Sundays, thanking him.
These past few weeks, I’ve had time to myself to think about a lot of things, and the thing that sticks out to me the most is that my wife was never asking me for much. Pour into her from time to time, give her the reassurance that even after all these years, she was still beautiful. Go to church with her a couple of times throughout the month, take her on a few dates, and everything else would have fallen into place. I hadn’t done any of those things because I was too busy giving all my time, and effort into the next woman, and into my business, leaving nothing left to give to Allison.
With eyes that held so much pain in them, I reached inside the cupholder, where my sunglasses were, and I put them on. I cried tears the entire way here, and I didn’t want to walk into the church, and have everyone seeing that.
I stepped out of the car, allowing my Gucci dress shoes to hit the pavement, and then I closed the door behind me. I locked the door and placed the keys inside my pocket.
Allison loved the color white, and I’d gotten a hold of one of the flyers that I saw on social media, advertising the colors for her service, along with where the service would be, and the time. That’s how I knew where to come, and what colors to wear.
As I was walking to the front of the church, there were so many people that were headed inside as well, and they’d followed the instructions, dressed up in their all white as well.
With the amount of people that were here, I was able to blend right in.
I walked up the steps of the church right along with everyone else, and once inside the church, they handed me over an obituary. Looking at the obituary, as I followed the line inside the church, seeing my wife on the front, with a collage of all her pictures, it really did break me.
I opened it, skimming through, wanting to see if there was going to be any mention of me, but there wasn’t. Allison lost both her parents years ago, so there were pictures of them inside, along with our kids, and a few pictures of Allison’s close friends. I skimmed, reading the text, and again, there was no mention of me. I knew I fucked up, and I took full blame of how everything ended, but to not mention me was crazy. I spent a few decades with Allison, and they kept me out of it like I never existed.
Shaking my head, I followed the long line to get inside of the sanctuary. I could hear people inside, weeping. The closer I got into the church, I knew that those were my daughters screams, and cries that I heard. Our daughter, Ashley, was the only girl out of four children. Ashley and Allison had a strong bond. Since Ashley was a little girl, the two of them have always been as thick as thieves. I knew that all my children would take their mothers death hard, but Ashley is the child of mine that I knew would break behind the news. Hearing her screams, and cries caused for tears to run down my face, that I didn’t bother to wipe away.
It was finally my turn to make it to the front of the church, and when I saw my wife there, lying in the casket with her hands folded on top of each other, I broke. The cry that I promised myself that I wasn’t going to cry when I got in here released, blowing my cover.
“Get him out of here! Somebody get him out of here right now! He’s the reason why our mother is lying in this casket in the first place!” my Jr. roared throughout the entire church, as he stood up from the first row that he had been sitting in.
I turned around to glance at him, and he was dressed in a white suit, that looked to have been tailored to fit his body. I was looking into the eyes of an angry, broken man. His eyes were blood shot red, just as mine had been for weeks. His wife was tugging on his arm, trying to get him to calm down, but he wouldn’t.
About four of the male deacons of the church came over, so that they could deescalate the situation.
“I understand that you’re upset. Trust me, I do, but this is my wife. I’m here to pay my respects just like everyone else,” I said to my oldest son, keeping my voice down because I wasn’t trying to cause more of a scene.
