His eyebrows went up. “That’s major. Sleeping in an unfamiliar place.” He took a beat. “After KD told me what you went through at the hospital and that you were struggling, I did some research.”
He did research on my situation? “That was thoughtful of you.”
He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. Typically, when people heard that I’d been present during a mass shooting, they weren’t all that horrified. I couldn’t blame them. Depending on the neighborhood they grew up in, they could’ve been involved in a mass shooting on the block regularly. Sometimes I felt like as black people, we were supposed to be able to put things in the rearview mirror and move on from them. We weren’t always given the grace to deal with the trauma from those situations. The fact that Bishop did the research and was ready and willing to offer me space to . . . deal was huge for me.
“Anyway,” I said. “You’re right. Falling asleep here tells me two things: I was exhausted, and I felt safe here. Sleeping in familiar settings is hard. So, sleeping someplace unfamiliar is major. I have insomnia real bad.”
“Nightmares?”
“Not as much now. It’s hard to have nightmares when you’re awake. But I slept today.” I smiled because I was kind of proud of myself. “I slept, and I didn’t have not one nightmare.”
He smiled. “That’s what’s up. How long did you sleep?”
“Almost two hours.”
“You needed it.”
“I did. Anyway, when I woke up, I sat on the back porch for a little bit.”
“You like the lake, huh?” he teased.
I grinned. “It’s my spirit animal.”
He laughed. “The water is your spirit animal? Got it. Water’s healing.”
“I need a good healing.” That sentence made me remember what Asia had said about Quentin probably needing some coochie. I pushed the thought that we both could’ve used a good sexual healing from my mind.
We were both quiet, eating our food and thinking our thoughts. “Did you pick a paint color?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.
I smiled. “I did. It’s a blue-green color. It’s called ocean air. We figured one gallon would be enough to do the bedroom.”
“Cool. Tomorrow is church, but I’ll start Monday after work.”
“I’m coming by to help you.”
He shook his head. “You ain’t gotta help, E.”
“I know. I want to. Besides, maybe if I wear myself out, I’ll be able to fall asleep again.”
I was at the studio early on Monday. The women who showed up at 6 a.m. on a Monday for self-defense weren’t playing. The women who came for optics or used the class as a social activity usually sat Monday mornings out. Mondays were for my serious women.
I preferred that class because the women in the Thursday morning class sometimes brought shenanigans. That class could be crazy. While most of them were there to learn techniques for protecting themselves, there were always a few who showed up to shoot their shots and flirt.
There were some self-defense instructors who fucked through their entire studio. Any chick that wanted it could get it. I wasn’t on that. Not because I was some holier than thou,perfect dude. More so because that felt like preying on women to me.
They came to me vulnerable and sometimes scared. I represented the opposite of that. Sometimes they looked at me and saw safety, strength, and concern. They were attracted to the authority I maintained in the class. Fucking them, when I was supposed to teach them how to defend themselves against dudes who posed a threat, seemed counterintuitive.
There wasn’t only that, though. The truth was, I didn’t fuck anybody, . . . except maybe my hand. Since I lost Teagan, I hadn’t been in the right headspace to fuck. Women tried me. Bike Bunnies. Club pass arounds. I’d never been one to give those women the time of day. But they tried me.
And there were other women. Women who offered. Women who flirted. I’d even taken some up on their offers, spent a little time with them, but they didn’t make my dick hard. They didn’t make me feel much of anything. I felt like my dick was broken because it only got hard to memories of Teagan.
After Krav Maga, I taught a forty-five-minute-long kickboxing session. When the last lady left the studio, I washed my hands, then crushed about five pounds of grapes. I was supposed to eat on them throughout the day. But apparently, my self-control clocked out early, and I ate the entire Ziplock bag I’d prepared for myself.
Feeling like a fat ass, I decided I should try to work some of my gluttony off. I restocked the bathrooms with paper towels and toilet tissue, wiped down the mats with sanitizing wipes, and then I went through my emails.
My favorite senior student, Ms. Frankie, showed up with her group of friends for their 10:30 a.m. tai chi class.
She walked in smiling with a shopping bag in hand.
