Future Baby Mama [PRN]

three

June 9th, 2004 - 5:33AM

Prince rattled the doorknob lightly as to not make any noise. Upon doing so, he could hear the deadbolt clicking, indicating to him that it was indeed locked. He sighed as he dug into his pocket for the keys to his home. Shaking his head, he hoped to God his wife wasn't awake. Hell, in the moment, he wouldn't mind it if she was off with that Eric motherfucker for the time being. Anything and anywhere but here. He wasn't in the mood for her right now.

First there would be the excessive, overly-emotional apologies. The sorries, the oh-my-gods and the whining. This is what Prince called stage I. Then the crocodile tears and sobbing would start; stage II, accompanied with more sorries, the throwing of hands in the air, kiss showers and hugs. Stage III would be trying to make it up to him in bed, seducing him and trying to undo his clothes.

He'd just had enough sex in one night to last him a week. It wouldn't bother him if Manuela had all of a sudden began holding out on him. But of course, despite not wanting to have sex with her, he wasn't going to make it obvious that he was getting some elsewhere. That, to him, was a telltale sign of cheating -- if all of a sudden, the physicality stopped.

His and Manuela's sex life was... standard, to put it. They had sex often. It was great.

Well, she had more fun than he did.

It used to be better.

Prince wasn't going to complain though. He was fulfilling all of his duties as a husband. Paying the bills, taking care of his wife, being a provider; the main one, and making love to his wife. He was putting her first as the bible stipulated man is to do for his woman. But along the way, at some point, she had decided it, or rather he, wasn't enough and begun cheating. Prince didn't know whether or not it had ventured past the lengths of an emotional one -- texting, late night calls and all that.

All he knew and one thing is for certain, is that it was still cheating. And if she was going to cheat, he was going to cheat too. If that Eric motherfucker made her happy, he ought to find a source of happiness too aside from songwriting.

Prince turned the key in the cylinder carefully and the door came open. Stepping inside, he maintained a hold of the door handle. If he let go, it'd swing shut with a loud thud. He held the handle downwards, keeping the latch retracted until he slowly closed the door. He twisted the lock shut once again and placed his keys in the bowl that sat atop a table in the foyer.

The lights were off throughout the house but that didn't stop him from being apprehensive. For all he knew, he could blindly mistake Manuela for a chair in total darkness. She would be sitting up with a butcher knife in hand, ready to ask a million and one questions and then her mood would swing -- stages I, II, and III would commence from there.

Looking around, he could see he was in the clear.

Luckily for him, he had a perfectly crafted alibi and a gateway. Because he and Manuela had fought yesterday, all he had to say is he wanted some time away to think.

Prince quietly approached the door to his and his wife's bedroom, walking on the tips of his toes as he didn't want the sound of his heels to awake his wife. It was open just a crack. He could see that underneath the moonlight, his wife was asleep on her side of the bed. Ideally, it would have been great if she wasn't there. But he breathed a sigh of relief that at least she wasn't up and waiting for him.