Sweeter Than Honey.

Genesis

I always had this certain dream when I did bad stuff.  Since I was about 7 years old actually.

I was always in my late 20s, but it wasn't the 90s.. or the 80s.. hell not even the 60s. It was the 30s. The dream was always in black and white too. I would get up at the same time, make myself a cup of coffee and stare out the raggedy window that overlooked the city of New York.

The buildings were huge outside my window,  yet I was small. But I felt huge. Because I was living with some big time mafia nigga, Italian and Spanish. I don't know what you call that breed. But we wasn't supposed to be seeing each other because you know, it was the 30s and shit and nobody did shit like that back then.

Anyways, I would look out the window just as the sun was coming up and he'll be coming in. He didn't have a name. We met at a night club. I was considered a flapper as the rest of the girls I hung out with. But I was far from that. I was simply a prostitute.

He always had his gang behind him, but when he came home he would be alone. He loved his alone time with me. He loved me. And I loved him. He did anything for me. He died for me.

I had made it my reality to find this man in my real life. But nobody stood up to my standards. Nobody was like this fake mafia dream nigga. And that's what scared me. 

Anyways, back to the dream.

He would hug me from behind, his clothes smelling like cigarettes, perfume and whiskey. I didn't even know Italian niggas drank whiskey. I would tell him that I ran a hot bath and that it was waiting for him. For us... because I always joined him.

We would bathe together then make love until the water got cold. After, I would make him an American breakfast and hot tea. No matter the time of day, the weather, he would always drink a cup of  hot Spanish tea that was imported from his homeland. We would sit and talk about his previous night and all the money he made.

It was magical. This was true love.

He would always drink his tea after he ate. Sweetened with honey from our own honey bees. Never sugar or milk. Just water, tea, and honey.

Before scooping the honey up into the spoon and putting it inside his cup, he would put a little on my bare breast and lick it clean off.  Then kiss my lips and say, "no matter how sweet this it, you'll always be sweeter than that, honey."

"Pero siempre serás una puta " (But you'll always be whore.)

Then he'll reach behind him, pull out a knife and slice my throat clean up.

And the I'd wake up.

Now here I was. A dead body on the floor, blood in my hands. Blood seeping through my clothes. I wished it was real. But it wasn't. It was all in my imagination. It was all a dream. But this was reality. Mason' s dead body was my reality.

In that very moment, I was reliving my dream. And instead of myself getting killed, I did the killing. Maybe I was a whore. Looking for validation for 30+ years. Failed relationships. Heartaches. Lust. Jealousy. It was all real. That was me. That's who I am.

I wiped the knife clean and tucked it into my jean pocket before exciting his room and then his house. I had to go back to the hotel, pack my shit up and get the hell out of dodge. Christiana would  be mad we're cutting the trip short but she could stay for all i care.

Getting into my rental, I sped off and got back to my resort in no time.

They were all right.

I'm crazy.

I'm a modern day Jezebel.

I'm delusional.

I need therapy.

I'm evil.

I'm a bitch.

I'm a home wrecker.

I'm a whore.

I'm a bad mother.

A terrible person.

But a damn good cook.

And a sweetheart throughout all of this shit.

Because my mafia nigga told so and so did everybody else I ever encountered.

But none of that mattered now. I was hours away from a new country and a new identity because I'm definitely not doing away from this shit. How does Terri Walker sound?

Unfortunately, Fate comes unexpectedly. Why should I be paid for something that God does? It just didn't make sense.

But my story doesn't just stop here though. I'll continue to write chapters for my daughter who deserved more from me as a mother. I couldn't do shit about that now. I had to move forward as the snotty Terri Walker now.

Once sweet, kind, caring, now I was worse. Shit according to some people I know, I've always been like this but I know who I am deep down inside. I'm not the bad person they make me out to be. I just need help. And I plan to get it in my new life in my new home. 0 problems. Free from the past.