Peeling Back the Top Layer 🇯🇲

12| Behind closed doors

In her usual dramatic style, Marsha pulls over and parks on the side of the road so she can continue with her boisterous laughter.

"A shoulda some shit yuh leggo pon him," she chokes out amidst her loud cackling. My ordeal is so hilarious to her that tears spring from her eyes.

"It nuh funny Marsha. Stop laugh man!"

She calms down after a few minutes and offers what she says is her honest, unbiased opinion.

"Yuh know mi nuh too like Steven. Mi memba how yuh did feel lonely when you and him did deh from dem time deh and him did always blame you fi everything weh go wrong... even him dead hood," she rolls her eyes. "And him did always jealous and a bit controlling too."

I open my mouth to interject but she stops me.

"But since a him yuh pick, oonu affi talk bout it. Set some boundaries if dat a sumn yuh nuh waa do or tell him how yuh woulda waa go bout it if yuh willing fi try. Jus no fart pon di man again," she cackles at the end. But her laughing comes to an abrupt halt when I give her the side-eye.

"Big ooman ting now. Yuh cyaa jus ignore him so. Mek him know wa yuh want," she says, pulling back onto the road and continuing to our destination.

I allow her words to sink in, using them to guide my thoughts. Prior to this, I thought that I might not be able to satisfy Steven's sexual needs and that we would be better off going our separate ways. Now, I'm considering asking him what he'd like in that department. His answer will provide an opportunity for me to let him know what I'm open to and we can proceed from there.

Turning onto the street on which my house is located, I realize that this conversation is going to happen sooner rather than later. We arrive to find Steven leaning against his parked car at the gate.

"Yuh did expect him?" Marsha asks.

"No enuh."

"Yuh ago alright? Yuh want mi stay likkle bit?"

"No man. Yuh can gwaan... Mi good. Thanks again," I tell her, getting out of the vehicle and greeting Steven.

"Hey you! Why yuh stalking me?"

He doesn't need to waylay me outside when he still has a set of keys to the house. I gave it to him a few weeks back after he left some important court documents here on one of his overnight stays and he hasn't returned it.

"Well, is a week now yuh a avoid me. About time we talk," he says, his voice devoid of emotion. He follows me into the house and plops down on the sofa in the living room. I'm about to do the same when he asks, "Why yuh smell like ganja?"

I sniff myself and find the faint smell of weed on my arm where Chaunard's cousin touched me earlier. "Dis idiot hold on to mi hand when mi deh Miss Jay party. The scent mussi transfer," I tell him, shrugging nonchalantly.

His expression goes blank for a moment. "Him did a look yuh?"

"Sumn like dat."

He shakes his head disapprovingly at my curt response. "Tsk. Tsk. Wah yuh did expect ago happen when yuh wear sumn like wah yuh have on an wid how yuh did a dance? Yuh did a wine pon him, don't?"

This line of questioning is irritating, to say the least. So is his attempt at reprimanding me like a child. Whatever semblance of order my thoughts had after talking to Marsha just went through the door.

"What yuh mean?" I ask.

"If yuh dress like video vixen an act like one then that's the kind of attention you will get. Mi can bet is a cruff to!" he sneers.