I started thinking about how we all need love, and it is the one, universal truth that connects us all. It doesn't matter if you are male or female, black or white, gay or straight, everybody needs and wants love..
So I decided to create a book of short stories, which chronicles the lives of ten people, from different walks of life, and how each answers this call to love....I have posted an excerpt from one of the stories, my character Lauren, who is dealing with an ex-boyfriend who is a stalker...You Will Never Find Another Love Like Mine, coming the end of May 2014!
Lauren
“So you are
not going to do anything?” I was slowly getting more pissed by the minute. Here
I was trying to lodge a formal complaint against my stalker ex-boyfriend, and
this guy was staring me down like I had two foreheads or something.
“Ms. Thomas,”
I don’t see anything that he has done. Maybe called you a few many times, but
that is no different than a telemarketer.
I need to see a history of threatening behavior or some indication of
your life being in danger. “This is the response from the desk sergeant who is
taking my statement. This guy looks about nine months pregnant, with twins,
teeth badly stained from cigarettes and years of cough drinking, and looks like
the type of man who hasn’t had a woman since Clinton was in office, the first
term. For guys like him, women are probably only good enough for the few moments
of pleasure that he can muster up, which is why he is not taking me seriously.
“So I am
supposed to wait until he actually kills me, and then have my ghost come down
to the station and apply for a restraining order?” I massaged my throbbing
temples to try to diffuse the headache that was creeping up and also to keep
myself from reaching across the desk and wrapping that much too short tie,
around his fat, almost nonexistent neck.
“Don’t think
we are not taking you seriously Ms. Thomas. Just keep documenting your
interactions with Mr. um….”
“Troy, Troy
Davis.”
“Yeah, Mr.
Davis.
“We really
are sorry,” answered his much younger and better looking partner, Mr. Tall
Glass of Chocolate Milk.” His badge said Officer H. Rogers, and I am guess the
H stood for handsome, because he was. I am talking pearly white teeth, milk
chocolate skin, nicely, chiseled cheekbones, and long, perfectly manicured
fingers. Did I mention that he has big feet? But who am I kidding? I am trying
to get away from a crazy stalker, the last thing I need to do is divert my
attention to someone who maybe a stalker as well. Although something tells me
that as fine as Officer Rogers is, he is probably the one getting stalked.
I lunge my
Michael Kors purse over my shoulders and
roll my eyes at both of them to signal my disgust. All of my tax dollars paying
their salaries, and I basically get treated like I am a hypochondriac, but in
the legal sense.
I walk to my
car, prepared to just get in and drive home, but guess who is leaning against
the hood smiling like a Cheshire cat?
“What are
you doing here?” After that interchange in the police station and now faced
with the very problem I was trying to rid myself of, my anger was a level 10.
“The
question is, what are you doing here? Is somebody bothering you bae?”
“I am not
your bae, baby, or any other variation of the word. Yes, somebody is bothering
me, and that somebody is you!”
“Why you got
to be like that? You wouldn’t answer your cell, so I decided to follow you.”
“Do you know
how deranged that sounds? Especially, since you are not my boyfriend anymore,
and I don’t want to have anything to do with you. Get a clue!”
“You are
just mad right now. Once you have had the opportunity to calm down, you will
see things my way.”
Is this
lunatic actually listening to himself?
“I am going
to give you five seconds to disengage yourself from my car, or else I am
walking back into that police station and getting the restraining order that I
couldn’t get before.”
“Restraining
order? You are going to put the white man on the brotha?”
“Don’t try
that brotha crap with me. You need help, several intense sessions on a couch
with a therapist.”
“No, what I
need are a few sessions between your thighs.” He looked as if he had just
solved the Pythagorean Theorem, as opposed to saying something highly ignorant
and offensive.
I turned on
my heels, and indicated that I was about to make good on my threat. He held his
hands up.
“Truce?”
“No, truce!
I want you to leave me alone!”
“I just love
you so much, and can’t imagine my life without you”
“Well,
imagine it, because we are done!”
“Just give
me one more chance.”
“No”
“After all
that we have been to each other, that is all I get? A one word response, which
is supposed to end four years of happiness.”
“I don’t
know what relationship that you were in, but the one that ended for me three
months ago, was anything but happy, since my boyfriend is a stalker.”
“That’s
kinda harsh.”
“Well, what
do you call being told repeatedly to leave someone alone? Or calling multiple
times a day, after I don’t pick up the first time? Or following me around town,
when I have told you that it creeps me out?”
“Love.”
“Excuse me?”
“I call it
love,”
“You are
sick! I mean it, you need serious,
professional help.”
He was now
standing on the passenger side door, and I used this opportunity to unlock the
driver’s side and get myself in. I immediately started the engine, which he
used as an opportunity to lean against the passenger’s side.
“Either
move, or you are about to be road kill.” I didn’t even give him the energy or
courtesy of rolling down my window, just shouted as loud as I could.
“You wouldn’t
do that. You love me too much!”
I put the
car in reverse, and started to pull out of my parking space. Some people can’t
be told, so they have to be shown!
No comments:
Post a Comment