Love & Loyalty

Carlotta's Side

"All this love is waiting for you, my baby, my sugar;
And all this love is waiting for you.
All this love is waiting for you, my baby, my sugar;
And all this love is waiting for you." DeBarges song played on my stereo. I sat in the living room and listened to music while Alina and Javier spent the weekend at my mothers. I heard a knock at the door and when I answered it it was Jay. He held flowers and a bag of coke in one hand. In the midst of all this emotional chaos, I was caught up in a love-hate tangle with him. It was a struggle – hating him for not being mine the way I craved, despising the fact that he didn't see my true value. There was this ongoing battle inside me, where I found myself loathing the very act of letting him back in, time and again. It was like I was stuck in this cycle, hating him, yearning for something more, and wrestling with my own self for still keeping that door ajar for him.
"Come on baby let me in."
"No Jay. I'm tired of being your sometimes." I said with my hands on my hips.
"Sometimes is sometimes better then all the time ." He laughed.
"You fool come in." I laughed opening the door. He locked the door behind us and we sat on the couch. I began to do a line and so did he. We laid back and held one another's hand. After hours of hot sex we laid in each others arms.
"Why don't you want to be with me exclusively?" I asked him.
"I love Lyric... you gotta understand that. We were friends first and then lovers."
"So you don't love me?"
" No...I love how you make me feel in the moment...but you don't have my heart."
I sat up and put my clothes on. I felt disrespected and used.
"You sat up and had two kids with me and say you don't love me."
"Carlotta... come on now.."
"No Jay how long are you gonna be trying to run this game ? Me and the kids are moving to Florida in august. I miss my family and I want to be close to my sisters." I said.
"You not taking my kids to no damn Florida." Jay laid back in the bed and lit a cigarette. I grabbed his arm trying to pull him out of the bed. Jay pulled me down on the bed and slapped me.
"Bitch you better get the fuck up back on this bed and shut the fuck up." Jay yelled. I laid on the bed and wiped the tears from my eyes. Jay handed me a tissue and rolled a laced blunt for us to smoke. His beeper kept going off and I was so tempted to call Lyric and tell her that we're still sleeping with each other. Jay's call came in, his number hidden from sight, and I couldn't resist the urge to eavesdrop on their conversation. As their words floated through the air, I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of unshed tears as he professed love to her. It was a bitter pill to swallow – the paradox of cherishing his presence while dreading the inevitable departure.

The love he showered on her during those moments cut deep, especially when contrasted with the harshness he reserved for me during arguments. It stung to witness the tenderness he effortlessly bestowed upon her, a stark contrast to the indifference he showed me. Despite the material gifts I received – money, jewelry – she received the intangible, the warmth of his presence in her bed every night and the permanence of his last name.

After Jay left, heading back to his home, I sought solace in the soulful melodies of Teena Marie, her record spinning as I poured a glass of whiskey to drown the sorrows. The romanticized notion of being a side chick obscured the harsh reality. My kids deserved more than a part-time father; they deserved the constancy of his presence, his love, and a family united every night. The weight of that truth lingered, heavy in the air. Lost in contemplation, I fixated on the city skyline outside my window, skyscrapers standing tall against the canvas of the sky, while planes traversed the expanse, a reminder of possibilities yet unexplored. The urgency to reclaim what rightfully should be mine gripped me, propelling a sense of determination to seize my destiny.

A steaming shower served as a rejuvenating ritual, cleansing not only the physical but also the emotional residue of the day. As I laid down for the night, the cool sheets embracing me, my thoughts wandered into the realm of a future day. It was a vision where I transcended the confines of being merely a mistress, envisioning a narrative where I would don the title of "Mrs."—a day when the clandestine whispers transformed into vows, and our connection shifted from the shadows into the spotlight of legitimacy. The prospect of that transformative moment danced in my dreams, offering a glimmer of hope amid the uncertainty of the present.