Papi

Papi. That’s what I liked to call him. He was my little slice of chocolate cake. I loved him like no other. He meant the world to me. His skin was like milk chocolate. That turned me on. What really made me fall for him was his brain. He told me that I was sapiosexual. I had to look it up. He was right. Every word that came from his mouth made me want to bend to his every will. We could have conversations about anything and everything and I could not be happier with him. When I was with him; I was complete. I really wanted us. I had a vision for us.

The first night I met him, he drew me into his web like a spider to the fly. I was mesmerized by his smile. I was awestruck by his manners and mannerisms. We talked for a few hours and then he rubbed my back. It went from a light rub to a sensual massage, and I really wanted to give in. If he had really pushed the issue, I would have given my all to him then. It took everything in me to NOT give in. I wanted to, in more ways than one. I resisted. I went home to shower and cool off. His touch was maddening.

The second night we met, more laughter and conversation. This time I did give in. We sat on his bed and the look that he gave me said it all. In my head I wanted to run. In my heart – I … just melted. I needed him though. In that short time of getting to know each other he captured something within me that yearned for him. The moment he touched my arm to pull me closer – I threw caution to the wind. His kiss was delicious. Just as sweet as my favorite chocolate cake. It was more than delectable. I closed my eyes to receive what was next.

He undressed me slowly and my heart began to race. As he kissed my body all I could see was us sharing a slice of chocolate cake. The cake is three layers from my favorite bakery. It is moist like his lips. It is soft like his kisses. It is as sensational as the feeling that I am receiving now. The universe saw fit for us to be together in this moment. In my thoughts, as I am whisked away by these feelings, I see us sharing the cake from each other’s forks much like a married couple sharing a slice of their wedding cake for the first time. I imagine the hunger for the cake is like the hunger he has for my body now.

The moment he entered me – I lost myself. I lost control of every emotion. I lost the ability to reason that maybe I should have held out. But I wanted him in the worst way. Turns out; he was my “Mr. Grey”. That only captivated me even more. His whispers brought me back. I was too far gone in the moment. I was so caught up in the magic. I open my eyes to see he is staring at me contently. There was something about him. I wanted to know more. He is quiet and reserved. Only giving me bits and pieces of himself at a time. That was so agonizing. It was like dangling a carrot in front of a horse.

But alas. Now, that is a distant memory, and I can no longer share these moments with him. What I have now are apparitions. Images that become scary when I think of him. Moments that were once sweet now turn my stomach sour. I hate him and her for this. Why? Why didn’t I see through the ruse? Why was I so blinded by him? He made me feel so special and now … I don’t feel anything. It could be the saline drip and 15 mg of Buspirone, Pentobarbital, and Olanzapine every hour. Lying in bed with nothing to think of, but how my life turned upside down in a matter of moments.

That fateful night – we met like usual. Only this night it was to share my favorite piece of cake. It was the most perfect date night planned. It was a wonderful night. The mood was light. The air was sweet. We sat on the back porch drinking a glass of wine and talking. It began with how our day was going to what we will do for dinner. The birds were singing the sweetest lullaby. The breeze was impeccable. Nearby, someone was cooking only what I could recall as fried chicken. It smelled so delectable. I truly wanted to find the house and ask for a dinner plate.

We never made it to tasting the cake. It lay in its clear container on the kitchen table. I had asked if he wanted to taste the cake now and the way that he said yes; I instantly knew it was not the three layered yummy, deliciousness that sat on the table. I stood up and stretched as we had sat there for a couple of hours taking everything in. That’s when he came behind me and kissed me on my neck. My knees buckled. I turned to face him, and we kissed passionately. He started undoing my dress. I chuckled and moved his hand so that I can open the door.

I stepped into the house with him quickly following behind me. He told me all the things that he would do to me. I told him that he would have to catch me first. Then, I took off running to the bedroom. He was hot on my trail. I jumped onto the bed and he jumped on top of me, showering me with kisses that I could not keep up with. It felt as if my heart would jump out of my body. In fact, I know my soul left. The sinful things we did were out of a movie. I didn’t want it to stop. That was until he called me her name. I didn’t flinch.

I wanted to believe it was something else. I wanted to believe that maybe just maybe it was something else. Immediately, my mind went from bliss to rage. I rolled over and sat on top of him. I kissed him feverishly. I needed him to believe what was to happen next was all a game. I needed him to believe that he did not call me anyone else. I needed him to believe that it was just rough sex when I placed the pillow over his face. He did. Hook. Line. And sinker. He had called me beguiling a few times. So, I guess I was.

I pressed harder. At first, he didn’t fight back. In fact, he pulled me closer and tighter. It gave me the leverage I needed to overpower his arms so that the more he struggled the worse it became for him. I pinned his arms with my knees until his body went limp. I stayed another minute just in case. I blackout and usually do not come back to reality until the damage has been done. Sometimes I think I am possessed, and the demons only come out to serve me when needed. I lift the pillow and sure enough – he is gone. Now to clean up and formulate my next move.

I remove any evidence that would indicate or implicate me. I stage the house as if all is right with the world. I turn the air on 68°. This should preserve the body nicely. I open a bottle of pills and leave them by his side. I add a glass of wine on the dresser. No one will be the wiser until it is too late. I really wanted us. I touch his hand one last time trying to have positive thoughts in my head about us. I keep thinking about the chocolate cake. The cake we will never share. Then I think about her. The woman’s name he had called me. I need to see who she was.

The next few days. I watch his house from across the street in the park. No activity. Then I see her. It had to be her. It surprised me that no one had called or come by, even for him. While he is one to not make many calls, the second day he didn’t show up for work, one would think someone would call the police for a wellness check. Maybe even a family member. No one. Until the silver Chevy Impala pulled into the driveway. I leaned in closer to get a better look. I can hear parts of the call as she gets out of the car. I heard her say that she is in the driveway and why is he not answering her calls. I also heard, “I hope you’re not with her”. So that meant she at least knew about me. It had to be.

What caught me completely off guard was that she used a key to get in. He had told me that he was seeing other people, but that I was the only one that he was intimate with. So why in the hell does she have a key? and not me. By the sounds of it – it was not his sister. I dash back to my car and decide that maybe I should also check on him. I pull in behind her and memorize her license plates. I walk up casually. The door is open. I walk in. I speak in Spanish letting him know that I was here.

She rounds the corner with a look on her face which was priceless to me. Is she shocked of finding his body? Is she shocked of me? Or both? Either way. I smirk. Then I ask who she is and of course she says that she is the girlfriend. Great. I have all that I need. I ask where he is, and she bursts into tears. Interesting. She doesn’t ask who I am. Okay. She knows who I am. We don’t get into a screaming match. I walk into the room. I grasped at my heart and screamed what did she do. I call the police. I am sobbing into the phone. I explain what I encountered. She’s screaming she didn’t do anything. I describe everything about her.

The catch? I know the police officers that respond. Guess who they believed. I was so convincing – I deserved an Oscar. She is arrested on the spot. I give the story of how we made passionate love a few nights earlier and when I left, I texted him when I arrived home safely. They were so gullible. But who would think that I was capable of something so horrific? I asked if I could get a glass of water from the kitchen. I didn’t want one. I just wanted to see the slice of chocolate cake. It was beginning to mold. For some reason – my heart begins to beat erratically. I can’t breathe. I am having a panic attack. I pass out.

I wake up to find myself in the hospital. There is an IV in my arm. I see his face when I close my eyes. I see his face everywhere I turn. I see the chocolate cake melting. Everything is a blur. I can’t stop screaming. He stands over me. As I scream for him to get away from me, the nurse increases my dosage. The lights go out. I feel like Lady Macbeth. “Out, out damn spot!” Only, he never leaves my thoughts even when heavily sedated.