The bed shifts and my eyes open. My body feels lazy and strangely sated. I don’t want to leave this bed. I don’t ever want to wake up. What is this delicious feeling? The last time I felt like this was four months ago and that was when……….. oh no, no, no, no. NOOOOOOO!
No no no no no no no no, oh no, I’m naked that means………….Craaaaaaap! Let the freak out begin
…..still freaking out.
And damn! I just signed that TRUE LOVE WAITS thingy. What is God going to think of me? Wasn’t it just four months ago when the angels were rejoicing that a new child had come into the fold. I’m a slut bucket. I can’t even keep my legs closed….I’m a bad Christian, granted I’m still new to this whole Christian thing, but EH! Not cool, Di, not cool at all.
I’m pretty sure this omniscient God of ours is ashamed of me.
“Babe that was……..” this deep voice from the doorway says, jarring into my thoughts. I am mortified! This is a voice that is forever etched in my memory.
ZAAAAAAACK! AAAAAARGH! It had to be Zack! Why did it have to be Zack? And he’s standing there looking so…….good, great, perfect, yummy, delectable……mere words fail to describe him. My mouth is now dry. All moisture gathering elsewhere……Ah, damn this traitorous body of mine.
The memory of what happened last night…..if I were of a different skin color, I would be as red as an overly ripe tomato. Thank God for black, amirite?
I mumble something about something and dash to the bathroom.
He wants to break down my door. What did my poor door do to this guy?
“Diana, open this door!” He yells while banging on my poor poor door. Can’t he take a hint, I can’t face him.
“Please,” he adds for good measure, as if that will soften me up.
I’ve been sitting on this toilet for what feels like hours -butt-naked I might add, waiting for him to just leave. Real mature, I know.
“Diana, please we need to talk about this.”
He sounds defeated. My heart goes out to him…but I still can’t face him. Instead of crumbling, my resolve strengthens.
Finally, the assault on my bathroom door ends. And my headache brought on by the pounding of the door eases.
I hear my bedroom door open and close. He’s finally gone. I breathe a sigh of relief. Now I can just relax……wait, no, no relaxing for me, I have to dress up and go find the nearest church, pray and confess and………….but why do I feel so guilty? I feel like I killed a puppy or something……I need to go all Nigerian prayer style with this issue. Scream and shout until I feel less guilty.
Finished with the showering. And I’m inexplicably sad that I had to wash his scent away. He smells soooo good. As only Zack would.
I have to keep reminding myself why we broke up in the first place. Last night cannot happen again. He’s not my ‘one’. He’s not saved. And the Bible said something about being unequally yoked. Argh!
I’m dressed like a woman going to a funeral. It feels like I’m heading to my funeral anyway. How do I start confessing to Pastor Okafor that I had sex with my ex last night and I enjoyed it? Argh! This whole Christianity thing sucks. It sucks bal— argh! I’m not even supposed to swear like that. Fu- Damn! Crap!
I need to get a move on. I need to get my face out of my hands. I need to stand up from this bed that still smells like Zack. I need to go. One foot in front of the other Di, you can do it.
I finally reach the door, the bedroom door that is. I lean heavily against it. The guilt is killing me. I still love the bastard and that just sucks. I have to keep chanting, unequally yoked, unequally yoked, unequally yoked……I take a deep breath, raise my chin up and square my shoulders…..unequally yoked…..I open the door.
“Di, we really need to talk”
Argh! This is not my friggin day!