#ari thomas

“Damn, Nigga, what the hell’s wrong with you?” Ari kept his hand on his private dancer’s abs while he reluctantly turned smoldering eyes Bryson’s way.

“I’m out, man. I can’t do this right now.”

Pulling his hand away from his companion, who took the hint to exit, Ar, softened just a bit at the glisten that hit Bryson’s eyes. A quick dap with the slightest squeeze as he looked him over did little to ease the worry on Ari's mind for his friend.

“Stay up, bro. I’ll holla at you sometime tomorrow, aight?

Bryson nodded in reply before rising to his feet and stalking toward the exit. Alexa's rain sounds would have to be better company tonight.

After a week of unanswered calls but one-word texts, Bryson finally made his way over to David’s place. Bible study and some reflection and mediation couldn’t hurt, right? David had said it to him enough times he just might start believing it. Plus, he’d promised him a home-cooked meal.

Forty-five minutes, including scripture and at least two long prayers, Bryson was tired. He’d just laid his head back, with eyes half closed when he heard the doorbell ring. Home cooked Postmates, no doubt.

He was shocked when he heard Crystal’s voice. She had brought dinner, and from the aroma filling the air from the pan she walked past him and straight to the table with- it was her famous lasagna. His favorite and she knew it. Crystal's soft smile said just enough to melt away any of his nervousness at her being there.

David's words and arm around his shoulder as he sat back down beside him was the final assurance he needed to rise to his feet to take his seat at the table.

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”

“Praise Be.”

Crystal’s gentle hand on his arm after she said it pulled a slight smile to his face. Finally.

By the next week, he felt more like himself. His day had started out fine. He’d gotten some resumes sent out, showered, and even started up Alexa so he could finally get his place “really clean" when the song hit shuffle. Memories of them dancing together in his living room stopped him and the swifter wet jet he was pushing across his kitchen floor in his tracks.

“Alexa, stop!”

Looking at the clock he was suddenly glad his next therapy appointment was an hour away.

“Let me go get dressed.“

Wiping his eyes he avoided his therapist’s gaze as he processed her suggestion for “homework.”

“Can I do it here? …Now?”

“If that makes you more comfortable. We have time.”

Watery eyes meet hers before reaching for his phone in his pocket. His fingers hover over the screen for a moment before he presses for his contacts to come up and put the call through. She answered by some miracle on the third ring.