When All Hell Breaks Loose (28 page)

“I hear someone in there,” Eric whispers.

“Hold up,” I whisper back. We all edge closer to the door. The voice we hear is actually moaning. It sounds like pleasure moans.

“Is that Shreese?” Jamal asks, under his breath.

“Yeah, and I bet she’s with Dixon,” I say. I clench my fist, trying to keep my cool. Heat rises inside of me as I listen to my sister. Fucking the pastor in me and Adrian’s king-sized bed.

The voice on the other side gets louder. “Oooh, you feel so good! Yes! Yes! Yes! Right there! Ooooooh!”

“Who is Dixon?” Eric asks.

“The church pastor,” I answer. My hands are sweating. I’m about to go bust his naked ass.

“The pastor!?!” Eric and Jamal say together.

“Will you two shut the fuck up!?”

Before they can answer, I burst into the room. At first, all I can see is two bodies beneath the white sheets. The late-winter moonlight is sharp and I feel like a burglar the way my shadow stretches across the ivory carpet. Shreese is lying up near the headboard, spread-eagled, and Dixon is underneath the sheets, a mere silhouette, but I know it’s Dixon because the body frame is small like his.

I flick on the light and instinctively dash to the bed and grab the pastor, who is still under the sheet with his head buried between my sister’s legs. We begin to struggle like wrestlers. He’s stronger than I thought.

“Motherfucker, get off of me!” the voice from under the sheet cries out. I loosen my grip just enough for the pastor’s head to come out.

“WHAT THE FUCK!????” It’s Jamal, and he’s stepped all the way inside the room. I can hear his voice, but it sounds distant. Heat is rising all over me.

I grab the pastor and hold him as I look at my sister. Beads damp with rising moisture appear on my forehead. At first, her face confuses me. It doesn’t look the same. Shreese’s name doesn’t fit the face or the body, but “Adrian” would be perfect for the honey-colored face that’s looking at me now. Guilty as a kid in a cookie factory. The woman in the bed being fucked is my fiancée, Adrian Jenkins. And dangling from her neck on a gold chain is the engagement ring that just yesterday she wore proudly on her finger. It hangs loosely as the light flickers against the diamonds and stray starlight flashes across the room’s darkness every two seconds.

“Shit, Greg!” she yells as she pulls the bedspread up against her body.

I can see the back of the head of the person I thought was the pastor. I let the sheet go so he can come all the way up and be exposed. I’m ready to punch this motherfucker as soon as he turns around and looks at me. As I stand near the bed, shit is happening so fast that my heartbeat seems to be taking over every ounce of my being. He’s one of them light-skinned curly-hair motherfuckers. Not Ulan Dixon. He doesn’t have too much of a body, but it’s firm. When he turns around and looks at us, all I hear is Eric’s Heineken bottle hit the hardwood floor in the hallway. Shards of glass hit the walls and beer fizzles loudly, then subsides. The curly-hair nigga isn’t a nigga at all. It’s a woman about as tall as Shreese, but it’s not my sister. It’s Carla. Carla Perrone, the maid of honor. I step back from the bed and push her away from me. She catches her balance and stares at me, breathing as hard as I am. I look at her, still trying to make sure this whole picture is right and these people are really who I think they are.

“Adrian” is all I can fix my lips to say.

Carla leaps over the bed and trots quickly into the bathroom. She’s holding her breasts like she has an armful of eggs. I notice one of her
nipples sticking out, still erect and hard. She looks back at Adrian. “I told you to tell him!” she says before slamming the door, still ranting and raving on the other side.

“Greg, can I talk to you?” Adrian asks. Her facial expression holds nothing that remotely shows me she’s sorry for this scene. I don’t even see an ounce of regret on her pitiful, beautiful face!

I can’t say anything. I hear Eric’s footsteps retreat calmly down the hall and out the door. Jamal is leaning against the wall. I can only see him from my side view and I can’t tell if he’s paying attention or not.

“Talk to me about what?” I said. “I ought to kill you!” I lunge at Adrian, but Jamal is on me before my feet leave the floor, where my knee takes a hurtful thump.

We fall against the edge of the bed and I’m squirming like a madman trying to get to Adrian so I can get my hands on her. I want to squeeze the life out of her and I can feel the heat in my face and the sweat on my back and I envision me beating her down. Jamal has his arm around my waist and the other is pulling my pants. The belt loop he’s gripping snaps and I get a little closer to grabbing Adrian’s foot. My hands grab her ankle and squeeze it tightly. She screams and struggles free by kicking one good time. Her foot catches me in the lip and I can taste the warm blood oozing over my teeth as I continue to try and grab her. She’s crouched on the bed like a runaway slave. I look at her and I see for the first time that she never loved me at all. It’s in her eyes, and she’s not afraid of what I want to do to her. Actually her eyes seem to dare me to put my hands on her and this makes me struggle harder. I grab her foot again, this time clawing my fingers into her skin. She yells out in pain and I can feel her skin break. This time Jamal hooks his forearm around my neck and pulls on me. I feel my breath being restricted, so I give in to Jamal’s hold on me; otherwise I’m sure he’d choke me to death. When I release Adrian’s foot, I notice tears streaming down her face. They were probably there all along and I didn’t notice them at first. Jamal grabs me up and pulls me away from the bed.

“Greg, let’s go man! Let’s go!” He pulls forcefully. I hold my head in my hands and walk with him. I feel like the life has been sucked
out of me. I turned around one more time and stare at Adrian in the bed. She’s still crying. Still huddled in the bed like a child. I have no mercy for her.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, SLUT?! AFTER EVERYTHING THAT I’VE DONE FOR YOU AND ME!!! FOR US!!!” I feel myself losing what little sanity I still have. “Don’t let me see you on the street, Adrian Jenkins! Don’t let me see you ever!”

Jamal has a tight grip on my arm, but I don’t resist. I kick the wall on the way out, creating a large gash in the freshly painted Sheetrock. My face is still hot and all I want to do is hit something else. As we walk through the moonlit living room, I knock several pictures off the wall, including the double-signatured Jacob Lawrence original, sending them crashing to their untimely deaths.

Jamal grabs my keys off the counter and we leave out the patio door, the way we entered. I slam it so hard, the glass cracks. I never turn around to lock it. Eric is sitting quietly in the backseat waiting for us. I forgot briefly that he’s with us. I get in on the passenger side and Jamal drives this time. We end up driving around the city for an hour before any words are said.

“Where in the fuck are we going?” I finally ask.

Jamal continues to keep his eyes on the road. “Wherever.”

“I thought we were going to the bar.” I let the window down, and a cold burst of winter air hits me in the face. “Let’s go to the motherfucking bar!”

Jamal glances at Eric in the rearview mirror. He points to the Sherman on ramp. “Exit here and get on Greenville. Rudy’s Tavern is down the street.”

When we get to Rudy’s the bar is packed. The waitress takes our drink orders and brings them over to us. Jamal and Eric sit like scorned children. Quiet. Waiting on me to say something. I sit looking around the bar. I can’t concentrate on the different faces in the crowd like I normally do. I really don’t want to. Don’t have the strength to. All the women look like undercover lesbians. Even the ones who are snuggled up against their men. Jamal’s voice rings from across the table.

“Yo Greg, man, I’m sorry that shit happened to you.”

I can’t say anything to him. I just shake my head. Eric is still quiet.

“I would have never thought in a million years that Adrian was like that.” He takes another drink of his beer.

I still can’t say anything. A lot is running through my mind, but it’s all jumbled. Clouded. The only thing I can decipher is that I should have called Tim. This is probably what he was upset about. A woman comes over to the table. She’s brown-skinned, short, and has medium-length hair. She’s smiling at us. “You three look like you’re not having a good time,” she says. Her voice is friendly and high-pitched.

“Queen, I really don’t want to be rude, but now is not the time,” Jamal answers.

“Oh.” She gets an attitude. “Well, I’m sorry for the interruption. Excuse the hell outa me.” She switches around and walks away, back into the crowd. I shake my head.

“Women ain’t nothing but bitches,” I mumble.

“They can do some trifling shit,” Eric adds. It’s the first thing he’s said all night. I’m actually shocked that he finally said something. Seems like he’s taking this a lot harder than I am.

I gulp my beer. “Eric, you all right man?” I ask. “You ran out of the bedroom pretty fast.”

“I had never seen nothing like that before. I would have never thought Adrian …”

“Man, none of us did,” Jamal adds.

“Well, I for one am not going to sit and mope all night about this shit. I have a wedding to cancel, a suit to take back, a house to sell, and parents to tell.” I drink the rest of my beer. “FUCK ADRIAN JENKINS!!” I yell.

Several people look over at our table and start cheering. Jamal shakes his head in disappointment, but says nothing. Eric finishes his beer off and orders another round for the table. This time, I order a vodka straight.

Before the night is over, Jamal is the only one with his faculties remaining. Eric stumbles to the car and I’m carried out by two bouncers and laid across the hood of my Accord.

I’m crying and depressed like a fool. My speech is slurred and I want to go home. Jamal manages to get me and Eric in the car. He takes us back to his house, where we crash. I’m numb as I play the scene over and over in my mind of Adrian and Carla. My stomach begins to turn. I think about how satisfied Adrian sounded. I think about having to tell everyone what happened. The picture returns to my head. Carla was my competition. A woman took my woman. Damn! My lips exude air in heaves. I feel myself being quickly dragged somewhere, but it’s too late, I throw up in the hall.

“Aw hell, Greg! Couldn’t you wait until I got your drunk ass into the bathroom? I figured you were gon’ pull some shit like this!” It’s Jamal and he’s wiping his shirt. “This shit stinks too!”

I’m thinking an apology, but my lips only quiver and close up. He leans me up against the wall and goes to his room. He comes out with a new shirt on. “Get your ass in the bathroom!” he yells at me. I start laughing and crawling down the hallway as I sing, “IIIII’ve got a riiiiiiight toooooooo siiiiiiing the bluuuuuuuuuuuues.”

Jamal hoists me back into his arms and drags me to the bathroom. He leans me against the floor and removes my shirt. I fall over and Jamal leaves me bare-chested, leaning against the toilet.

“Keep your ass in here and don’t come out until you’re finished,” Jamal says.

“Aw Jaaay maaan, I love you,” I say. “You my dawww-aough!” Before I can get my slurred words out, I throw up again, this time on myself. Jamal laughs and closes the door. “Maybe this shit will teach you a lesson, brother. Alcohol is not the solution.”

I pass out seconds later.

The next morning, I can’t even open my eyes. The sunlight hitting my face from the bathroom window feels like lasers. I try to move but my stomach muscles feel like I’ve been doing situps for days. My throat is burning, my clothes are soiled, and my breath smells like the crack of a horse’s ass.

I can hear someone in the kitchen. I assume it’s Jamal. I look around and notice one of my hands is lodged in the toilet. Wet.
Soaking in my own vomit. I remove it slowly and flush. I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom. As I get up to wash my hands and face, I hear a knock on the bathroom door. I try to say something but can’t. My throat is on fire. Eric peeps in and stares at me from the hallway. “You all right, bro?” he asks. I shake my head as I lift some water to my mouth and rinse. “You hit the alcohol pretty hard last night. We didn’t think you’d wake up today.”

“Man, I feel like shit,” I say as I look at myself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes. Crusty, dry, bloodied lip. Soiled shirt.

“Looks like you messed Jamal’s bathroom up. Damn near remodeled it.” Eric winces at the sight. “A little more vomit on the wall and I wouldn’t know where I was.” Eric laughs, trying to cheer me up.

I look around and see the dried upchuck on the floor, in the tub, and on the toilet seat. I’m trying to figure out where did it all come from; then visions from last night begin to reappear. Vaguely, I can see us at the bar, laughing and turning women away. Cussing them out.

“Adrian called over here looking for you.”

The name strikes a nerve as I go further into my aching brain to think about last night. Adrian and Carla. Wrapped together like lovers. Making love. They were loving each other. I lean on the sink and hold my head down.

Jamal joins Eric at the door. “Breakfast is ready.…” He comes in and pats my back. “Greg man, you gon’ be all right?”

“This shit is fucked up,” I croak.

“Fuck her, man. She ain’t worth it.”

“She was my fiancée, man. How can I just take that attitude? I was in love with her.”

“Greg, your girl was a lying, two-faced lesbian. Ill-natured,” Jamal says calmly. “You’re going to have to get over her.”

“Shit.”

“Hey Greg,” Eric interrupts, “she’s no good for you. Who knows where she’s been and who she’s been with?”

I feel my eyes water, but I hold on to the tears. I can’t get the picture
of Adrian out of my head. Images of me killing her. Strangling her. Loving … the bitch. My stomach begins to ache as I try to hold back the tears.

“Greg, take a shower, clean yourself up,” Jamal says. “I have some sweats you can borrow.”

“Take all the time you need, man,” Eric’s voice rings in.

Jamal leads me to the other guest bathroom in his house. I turn the shower on and the steam immediately releases the stress from my face and arms. I begin to look forward to having the water against me, like an old friend. I forget about last night and begin to think about tomorrow. I also begin to think about how I will make it through all this. How I will cope. I think about having to tell my family. The different attitudes about Adrian that they all had. I think again. I’ll wait before I tell them. A couple of days to let my anger die down. A couple of days to be a hurt brother trying to bounce back.