Dreams: Part 5

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And when nightfall came, Deja was all I could think about. I twirled the phone cord lazily around my finger, half-listening to Zendaya on the other side. She was going about her day at the studio-working with timberland and Missy Eliot. I congratulated her of course, it was a big deal to meet her icons and I made sure not to sound uninterested. But even so, I still couldn't take my mind off Deja.

"So," Zendaya said, "Hows you're sessions with Deja going so far?"

I smiled at the sound of her name; Deja. "Fine. She's really cool . . . actually."

"Oh?" Zendaya said, sounding confused. "Well Melissa told me earlier you were having problems with her? I just wanted to make sure everything was okay between you, too."

"Oh yeah," I said, too eagerly. "No, everythings fine. I was overreacting, you know me. Overreacting . . ."

"Okay . . . well then, good. I'm glad everything worked out," she said. "So what did you guys do today? I know I'm supposed to know anything, non-disclosure agreement and lawyers and what not but?"

I frowned. "Non-disclosure agreement?"

"Yeah, it's just a form I had to sign, saying that all sessions were confidential and couldn't be disclosured to any unparticipating party, including me," Zendaya said, aloofly. "We actually had to meet with her lawyers to discuss the terms and conditions. It's a little annal if you ask me."

"Well why did she have sign that in the first place?" I insisted.

"It was something about getting the state to approve her," she said. "She doesn't have a license for her practice, since it's so um . . . taboo. So she has to go through the state. . . Plus, she's out on probation for good behavior."

I grimaced. "It sounds pretty serious. What were the terms yall signed off on?"

"Just that you stay safe," Zendaya said. "Baby look, you're fine. You're in good hands, okay? Deja is an old friend of mine, I know her from like way back. She's a little rough around the edges but once you get to know her, you'll love her. You'll have fun."

"I don't know Z," I said. "I mean, why is she even here? Like there's nothing wrong with us, right?"

"No, not at all . . .," Zendaya said too quickly.

"And you know she said you guys talked about me and how I'm lousy in bed and you called her to fix this problem," I said. "Is that true?"

There was a slight hestitation at first. "I-I just thought we could use a second opinion, that's all."

"On what?" I exclaimed. "If there's nothing wrong in our relationship then why call someone, who I have never met before, come into our home and try to tell me have to sex with my girlfriend? Huh?"

"Baby, I like the way you make love me. I do," she said, pleading. "But I just wish, sometimes . . ."

"What?"

Zendaya stumbled again before finally answering. "I just wish you would enjoy it more. You know?"

I knitted my eyebrows together. "What do you mean? I turn into fucking Niagara Falls every time I see you."

"I know, but sometimes you look . . . unhappy," she said. "Like you're in pain or something."

"Well, honey, I just lost my virginity like a week ago," I said. "My body is still adjusting to all of this . . . I thought when we agreed to take things slow, you'd understand."

"I do but that's not what I'm saying," she said.

"Well, what the hell are you saying then?" I demanded. "Because it sounds like you're saying a lot of things that don't make any sense. Do you know how humiliating it is to hear from a complete stranger that your girlfriend isn't satisfied with her sex life?"

"I'm sorry, I should've came to you first," Zendaya said.

"Yes you should have."

"But this isn't just about the physical stuff. It's also the mental stuff, something that I alone can't fix," she said. "You're not happy, not just the sex, but with everything in life."

"What do you mean?"

"I tried to help you, I tried to take away the stress, the jealously and your own misconceptions about yourself. I find myself constantly reassuring you everyday, verbally and mentally but it just doesn't get through to you. You're just not happy with yourself."

"So it makes sense for me to get help from a female version of tupac, who walks around with a piece in their pants and is out on probation?" I asked.

I heard Zendaya chuckle a little. "Her gun isn't loaded, she just carry's it in case, you know someone try's her. I think it's just a short complex issue."

"Did she say if she ever shot anyone with it?" I asked.

Zendaya sighed and said, "Babe, she's not a murderer okay? She may have shot her ex in the foot once but it was an honest accident. But she's never shot anyone intentionally . . . at least that I know of. Look, I'm sure its fine."

My eye's widened. "She shoot her ex in the foot?"

"Baby, calm down, okay?" Zendaya said. "Nothing's going to happen. Okay? If anything, you'll learn a lot from her. You'll be happier, with us and yourself. Trust me, she's the best there is."

"I don't know . . ."

"Okay, how about this?" Zendaya proposed. "You continue your session's for one more week and if you still don't like her, I'll fire her."

"And admit that this was a stupid mistake and that you'll never do this again?" I asked.

I heard Zendaya sigh on the other end of the line. "Yes . . . whatever you want, baby."

I thought on a moment before saying, "Fine. But one week, that's it."

"Deal," Zendaya said. "Oh hey, babe they're calling me back on set. I gotta go. Love you."

"Love you . . .," I said before the line suddenly cut off. "Too." I hung up the phone and decided not to go back into the living room this time. Instead, I went upstairs and crossed over into my bedroom. It was a quarter to nine, a little early but I didn't feel like watching tv tonight. There were too many things on my mind. Deja was fresh out and my girlfriend was friends with her. Even worse, she actually believed she could help me, better than a regular theparist. If you called a trigger happy chick, who thinks grinding and making out with your girlfriend is harmless and professional, then maybe Zendaya wasn't a good judge of character. I wasn't sure I wanted to give this girl, a second chance. Why should I? She had sexually assaulted me . . . and made out with me. I wasn't actually a guilty counterpart-anyone in my position wouldn't know what to do. I mean, I couldn't stop it. Or could I have? Should I have? I tried not to think about it too long. I know what happened; I was the victim and that was all that needed to be said.
For the rest of the night I convinced myself that I hadn't done anything wrong. But my mind started to revisit and wander to places it shouldn't have. I went to sleep, with dreams filled of Deja and I; holding each other and making out with one another. The dreams ended with us, grinding against one another, body to body, and skin to skin. We were one.





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