The Drug Dealer's Wife.

#4 - Foot On His Neck

"Baby let's talk about this. You're bugging out right now, stop this stupid shit and let me in!"

Now see this was the bullshit I hated to hear. Bryson Harding decided to show his ass almost a week later and wanted me to hear his sorry ass out. What he should have started with was an apology, but no, my so-called husband finally returns home to see his shit outside the house and flips the script on me like I'm the bad guy. That's why his ass was outside freezing cold with the rest of his stuff.

It was never my intention to take it this far. I am completely and utterly in love with this man. But I will not be taken for granted, disrespected, or left out dry in no kind of way. I was worried sick about this damn man. I already knew the repercussions that came with being a black man in today's society, especially with the lifestyle Bryson chose. I always had to prepare for the worst when it came to him, and quite frankly, I was growing tired of constantly being on edge.

I had been doing a lot of thinking since the whole debacle with my friends. Although I didn't deserve Chloe's mistreatment, it sure was a wakeup call for me. The Nova everyone knew was a strong woman. She held her own and she did as she pleased. Now that I was married to Bryson, I felt some of that diminishing. I mean, don't get me wrong, marriage is a partnership. I knew I couldn't carry all of my tactics in the relationship and expected it to work seeing how strong headed Bryson and I both were. Someone had to pull back. But it seems to always be me, and I don't think that's right.

"Nova! It's cold as fuck out here! Sweetheart, I promise to explain it all to you when you let me inside. My disappearance was for a good cause. Why would you change the locks?!" Bryson pleaded.

I glanced down at this pitiful ass man from our balcony and shook my head. Bryson was now struggling to pick up his clothes and shoes swiftly because a slight rain was beginning to fall. I felt bad for possibly damaging his stuff, but I knew I had to stick to my ways if I really wanted any improvement in our marriage. I was not to be toyed with. I had taken a lot of shit from men in the past, and I dealt with some even dumber shit from Bryson when we were first dating. But now that we were married, and were supposedly working on bettering our union and bond, it was time to lay down some ground rules that I should have had infused from the start of my interaction with this man.

"Baby, my Balenciaga's, really! You threw them in mud! The shit's all ruin now! Nova, you can't be serious!"

I folded my arms and tighten my satin robe. "Sorry Rocky, but I'm not tolerating this shit from you no more. Either you gonna get it together, or I'm getting to stepping. And I'm deadass about that one."

I made my way back into the house only to hear my husband bellowing out my name harder. In the words of most black parents, this hurts me more than it hurts him. I wanted nothing more than for us to be together and happy, living prosperously. But he had to want that too. I already let his drug activities slide. It bothered me deeply but I kept it mute because that was who he was far before he met me. However, I couldn't afford for this man to go full ice skating on me. My values and views would not be left on the back burner.

I spent the rest of the night and early morning mellowing in ice cream and catching up on the latest reality shows. I was in no mood to speak to any of my friends despite the numerous messages and calls they were making towards me. I needed this time for myself. Unfortunately, Mr. Harding figured out a way to disrupt that.

"How in the fuck did you get in here?" I mumbled, flipping on a nearby lamp. "Get yo cold ass out of my bed. You're gonna mess up the sheets!"

"It's Bryson, or whatever nickname this generation comes up with to you. Hear me? Keep Rocky out yo mouth." Bryson snapped.