Page 129 of Darkest Obsession

“No,” she sighs. “They haven’t. Guys want one thing.”

Her eyes flicker to mine and I can’t deny I want that “one thing”. It’s sex. It’s beautiful. It’s connection. It’s powerful enough to bring people who don’t belong together into its vortex of intimacy and passion, but sex can rip people apart just as easily. Sex can hurt. Sex can heal. Of course I want to have sex with her… but it’s not everything.

“Sure,” I murmur. “We do. But this guy’s willing to wait. He’s willing to court you.”

I take her hand and press it to my lips. I sense the softness making her deeply uncomfortable, so I kiss her again and then let her drop her hand away. Clover moves closer to me once I let her go. I have to let her come to me.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means… I like your personality. I want to be friends and then something more.”

Clover grins again. “What do you like about my personality? I’m always hitting you.”

“I know,” I tell her, moving one of her pretty dreadlocks behind her ears. “You give me shit, but you’re clever and funny and when I watch you dance, I think… I could look at this for hours.”

“Yes, Thomas. Gyrating hips makes you horny. Congratulations.”

I chuckle. “See? Funny. It’s not just about the hips, it’s who they belong to.”

I put my hands on her hips and she doesn’t push me off. “Are you going to make me beg for a kiss?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Because I don’t really believe that you want me for more than a night. I just… I can’t believe that, you know?”

“Why not, Clover? Why is it so fucking hard to believe that I care about you?”

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Kola

My parents didn’t have the money to come to my dance recital so while Sylvia, Clover, and the rest of the crew are out with their families, I sit in my bedroom and send videos and pictures to my mom and dad with crossed legs. They both respond with excitement. My mom has always supported my choreography. She knows that after the Fox Academy, I plan to stay in London and try working with a black dance crew up here. Their messages make me so excited to go home.

After everything, my parents are so worried about me and I hate making them worry. What happened won’t destroy my life. I can’t let it.

I watch videos from the recital again, obsessing over how good my friends look in all the dance pieces. I couldn’t ask for better people to interpret my choreography. The recital was almost perfect, but I still see some necessary improvements in my choreo. There’s always room for improvement, right?

Ciara’s my favorite dancer and I love watching her old videos and feeling the nostalgia for a time period I never lived through. Since I don’t exactly have anyone to hang out with tonight, I rewatch the Goodies video on my phone after I catch my fill of recital videos, and nearly fall asleep when I get a text message. I assume it’s from the group chat, but when I open my messages, I see it’s from someone more exciting. Jamal.

Jamal: Basketball in the gym?

Me: When?

Jamal: Now

Me: Tired from recital

Jamal: Just come

Ugh. It’s Jamal, so I basically have to go. We’ve been texting for weeks. I’ve mostly been texting him, but he replies at least once a day. He once sent me a picture of his eight-pack which honestly made me drool a little. He still hasn’t asked me out but… maybe that’s what he wants tonight.

I’m sore as hell from the recital, but what the hell. I grab a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I don’t bother doing much with my hair. Jamal understands that a black woman has to keep her hair all cornrowed up before heading to bed. I walk all the way to the gym with my headphones in, planning out choreography in my head all the way there.

It took me a while before I was okay walking around campus alone again. They still don’t have the person who hurt me, but at least security on campus has improved significantly and the police are looking for the man. I know it was a man, unfortunately. I don’t remember everything, but I remember enough to hurt like hell.

That man took something from me that I’ll never get back and even if my therapist and everyone else tells me it isn’t my fault, I can’t help but feel like he ruined me. This is the first time Jamal has asked me to hang out since the whole incident, so maybe he doesn’t see me as totally broken.

I still like Jamal. He’s a fine ass black man in every damn sense of the word. He’s a tall pillar of muscle carved out of dark chocolate. We have the same skin tone, so we’d have these cute dark skinned babies with fat cheeks and soft 4c hair. Not like I think about making babies with Jamal on a regular basis or anything. I’m just saying.

I can hear the ball bouncing against the hard maple flooring before I get to the school basketball courts. Jamal must’ve already been here. I push the door open and he shoots a three-pointer and misses.