#mamasturn

“I am so sick of this shit,” Cynthia grumbled lowly. “Always talkin’ shit about what doesn’t concern them.” Her disgruntled demeanor caught the attention of those in the living room of the illustrious Graceland estate. She tore her trench coat off her shoulders and flung it across the room. Down when a portrait of her and her lover at the courthouse. Her heeled boots shook the floor with every step she took.

“Cyn, baby!” Elvis shot up from the couch at her outburst. Confused mumbles and incoherent conversations arose at the sudden outburst. Never had they seen her act out of character, ever. And it was a concerning scene to watch play out. Jerry ushered Elvis to follow her, insisting they’d come back when she was calm.

Elvis stepped over the fallen portrait and raced up the spiral steps. He called her name like a child begging for its mother. Their bedroom door was cracked and only a slither of light entered. He pushed the door open slowly and saw Cynthia shuddering on the freshly made bed. Her body shook as gentle sobs fell from her lips. Elvis frowned.

“Cyn?” Elvis kicked off his white, leather boots and crawled onto the bed behind her. Curled into a ball like a child, she was, into the bear her father gifted her during her younger days. He frowned. “Will you talk to me?” Elvis touched her hand gently. She jerked away. He frowned.

“They hate me, Elvis,” she muttered after some time. “Everyone hates me because the man I love likes colored women. God forbid a white man like a Black woman.” A few more disgruntled rambles came from her.

He didn’t know how she felt. But, he knew how he felt. He’d spent almost ten years with her, and from the beginning, her fear of being hated by the world suffocated her until she was blue in the face. When they made their public debut the morning after their wedding, her nightmares came to fruition. The slurs, the hate mail, the blackmail, and all the like came crumbling like a freshly destroyed building. They stayed in Graceland for 21 days straight, because God forbid a white man like a Black woman, and let alone make her his wife.

Over time, people had gotten used to it, or at least pretended. Especially as the number of interracial couples increased. However, it did not eliminate the struggles they faced as an interracial couple in a racist country. There were plenty of stares, devilish comments, and threats on the lives of themselves and those around them.

“There’s nothin’ to hate, baby. It ain’t nothin’ more than ignorant, immature people who can’t see the bigger picture. Don’t nobody deserve to not love who they want to because of skin color. Yeah, we see it, but it’s not somethin’ to measure your goodness off of.” Elvis wrapped an arm around her. He leaned over her shoulder and tapped the stuffed animal a time or two. She lowered it slowly and tucked it under her chin. “I can’t imagine how you’re feelin’ right now, darlin’, but whatever you feel and whenever you feel it, lay it all on me. I don’ ever want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

“Why would I talk to your head off about what you don’t understand, Elvis?”

Ouch. Elvis huffed and sat up straight. He tugged her up with him. She did not make eye contact with him. Her chin was lowered and her arms strangled her stuffed animal.

“Because when I decided you were the one I wanted to spend my life with, I decided that I’d be the one to help carry the burden of what you deal with. I don’t understand, baby, I don’t. And I never will as long as I’m not in your shoes. But, I be damned if you think that just because that’s the case, that I can’t be a pillar for you to lean on when you can’t hold yourself up. I’m always here for you, Cyn.” Elvis’ thumb caressed Cynthia’s damp cheek. She leaned into his touch.

“They gon’ hate us, hate you regardless, baby. It ain’t stoppin’ nothin’ between us, you understand me?” She nodded slowly. “Come here.”

She abandoned her stuffed animal and let it rest against a strategically propped pillow. Cynthia’s manicured hands hiked up her pant leg to allot for movement and tucked herself under her husband’s arm. Elvis’ hand fell at her waist and squeezed.

“I love you, Cyn. Don’t forget that.”

November was once her favorite month. The leaves were long off strong branches of mighty oak trees. They were found on the soles of her expensive fur-lined boots. The warm weather had chilled, and shorts and skirts were replaced by thick leggings and sweatpants. Iced coffee was replaced by hot teas and cocoas. Family gatherings increased. It was the beginning of the holiday season. 

This time around, life was different. The tensions between families increased by the actions of one. The heart of a woman mimicked the battered one of a man. All parties suffered in the end. 

Her naivety was her downfall, she came to realize after months of introspection and reflection. Her inability to detach was the weapon that beat her into submission until she could take it no longer. Until he lassoed her heart like a runaway animal and flung it against the wall with no mercy. She wondered where’d it gone.

What once was her favorite month became the one she dreaded the most. She had to pick herself off the floor in her darkened bathroom, scrub away the dirty behind the mask, and pick out another to wear to the occasion. Their families were to meet again for the first time in months. She did not look forward to it. 

Her ragged nighttime attire was replaced by all black--a color she’d been fond of as of late. A black dress that stopped just below her knees with black stiletto heels to accompany it. Originally, she felt maybe a splash of color would keep her outfit from looking so dim, but she internally insisted a black trend coat over a red one would suffice. 

She styled her hair differently. It no longer swept her shoulder blades with every turn of her head. No, it sat at her collarbone. A part on the right side and feathered bangs covered the darkness rims of her once bright eyes. Lipstick that was once a blush pink was darkened with red to make a maroon tint. 

Her vehicle of choice was dark and discreet just as she’d come to be, yet it sped down the residential streets like a bat out of hell. 

There was an uneasiness that settled within the pit of her stomach the closer she got to her destination. It felt like hatred, disgust, self-pity, and desire. A desire to not only burn the house to ashes, but to have the life she desired with the man whom it belonged to. 

A loud beep came from her car once she slammed the driver’s door closed. One large breath after another, one foot after the previous, she walked toward the large doors of his home. The wooden trim around the door was familiar. A contrast to the darkness of the remaining. 

She was greeted by the squeals and hugs of her family members and his alike; all clamoring about her distance from gatherings and her ignorance of phone calls and texts messages. 

“I’ve just been handling some personal things,” she said with a tight-lipped smile and curt nod. All that witnessed were more than aware of the personal thing. And it became extremely evident when her breathing hastened once his presence entered the room. 

She sat at the end of the table that would put her farthest from him. Physically, she couldn’t stand to be in his presence. Mentally and emotionally, she would die for the opportunity to be trapped beneath his body, chest against hers, just one more time. 

It was foolish, she understood. To be so deeply wrapped up and entangled by the bounds of a man who didn’t want a thing to do with her. How unfortunate. She scoffed to herself and bit into a piece of broccoli. 

The conversations around her revolved around new business ventures, partnerships with dealers in the area, vacations, and everything of the like. All things that could put Alcacia to sleep. She wasn’t one to talk about her business, either. 

“Alcacia, how’s business?” His mother, Diane, spoke up after recognizing her silence. Her hazel eyes met the blue hues of Diane’s, and with a small chuckle insisted, “All is well.” No one needed to know she was the highest earning connect in the city. It was something she’d keep to herself. Too much knowledge of one’s life was an opportunity for people to sneak in and plot to destroy it. 

“And with overseas ventures?” His voice was different than she had known it to be. She’d heard it transition since childhood. From squeaky clean innocence to sensual seduction. Now, it was rough and rugged like worn leather. Warm like Tennessee Whisky. Alcacia’s jaw clenched and fingers gripped her wine glass. The deep hue of her nails was a contrast to the silver goblet. She wondered if it was easily breakable.

“Fine.” She took a large swig. 

“Just fine?” He prodded. 

“Just fine.” She repeated through gritted teeth. “If you’ll excuse me.” Alcacia knocked back the remainder of her beverage and started toward the bathroom. Her legs led her there without much thought. She’d remember no matter how hard she fought to forget. 

The bathroom was the same. Dark in color but coated in class and luxury. The hand towels were a crisp gray and the walls looked to have been touched up since she’d been pressed against them the last time. A familiar scent of cherry blossom and vanilla. But it was soon overpowered by a husky smell that was engraved in her sensorial memory. 

Through the mirror, she saw the cracked door. Behind it, a shadow moved. The door crept open and a body slid past. It was all too familiar. Trapped in a quaint hallway bathroom with a brooding presence suffocating her so good she couldn’t help but whimper at the memories that she fought ruthlessly to forget. 

“Caci…” 

“You do not get to call me that,” she said sharply. “You lost that privilege a long time ago.” She backed as far away as she could. Against the wall where the hand towels sat folded neatly against the sleek, black bar. Her hair was caught in the cotton fabric. 

“I just needed a minute. You can leave.” Her gaze was on his black boots. They needed to be replaced, she thought. Scuffed along the sides and the soles were beginning to lower. 

“I just--I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Her eyes cut to his and her nostrils flared. The audacity. Had he wanted to make sure she was okay when he tossed her out of his home like hot garbage? When he embarrassed her the evening of the last family dinner? Or when she failed to appear for months at a time all because of his own actions. 

Alcacia scoffed. “To hell with you, Calisto. You weren’t worried about me until I didn’t come crawling back to you like I did before. I wasn’t a topic of concern when you treated me like one of your whores, so why am I an area of concern now? You should be ashamed of yourself for the way you treated a woman who loves you.”

Loves. The present tense. It didn’t go through deaf ears. He understood the difference. Calisto took a step toward her. She took one backward. Her back was against the wall and her chest heaved. He couldn’t trap her like this again. She’d be a puddle at his feet. 

The leather of his jacket creaked with the swing of his arm. His extended hand reached for her. He came close, fingertips grazing her wrist. Just as he’d done months before when he pinned her hands above her head and loved her into oblivion. Normally, she’d melt into his touch, and deep down, she wanted to. However, there was a principal he failed to understand--hurt people hurt people and it would take more than false niceties and puppy-dog eyes to repair the damaged that was caused by his own hand. 

“I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” Sounded rehearsed, she thought to herself. Not remotely genuine or sincere. The young woman scoffed and dropped her hand. She pushed herself off the wall and straightened herself. Her shoulders pulled back and a force tilted her chin up.

“Don’t.” Alcacia commanded. Her voice was low and it shook, but she was serious. “You’ll have to do more than that to even think about ever repairing the damage you caused. Goodnight, Calisto.”

“Why should I accept your advances, Mr. Presley?”

He could’ve laughed at her question. A chortle of disbelief, a chuckle of shock, a howl of confusion. He pressed his lips together in a thin line as his mind turned like train-wheels, rapid and consistent. 

It would’ve embarrassed her, the answer he would’ve provided. He could already picture her eyebrows reaching her forehead and the deep frown lines that would etch into her skin. Her jaw would fall slack and her lips would form a perfectly shaped “O” as a gasp of horror crept from her throat. He’d look at her unbothered, just as unbothered as she took him to be at the moment. 

He only wished she’d shield her mind opinions from the outside influences that didn’t matter. No, they didn’t matter at all. The outside world had no clue what they’d gone through, what he wanted to go through with her. 

He slipped into a state of reminiscence. To the first time he took her as his own. The way she clung to him like a child, singing his praises as he loved her into oblivion. How she whimpered sweet nothings into his ear and encouraged him to keep making her feel good. How they exchanged I love you’s when their tango of love ended, and stared at each other like lovesick teenagers until sleep clouded their sight. 

He wanted more experiences with her. To take her to a beach where she’d run while and collect seashells while digging her feet into the sand. To move her into his home and make it theirs. To put not one, but two rings on her finger so they’d share a last name and a legacy. It all could’ve been possible, if she just said yes. If she pushed her ego to the side, if she trampled fear into submission to her authority and simply said yes to the possibility of something beautiful. He’d be the handyman of it all. She just had to be willing to receive. 

She awaited his answer. Her patience began to wear thinner than the pins that held her outfit together. “Are you gonna give me an answer?” 

He nodded slowly and took a step toward her. Her hand shot up and took rest against his chest. Her fingers clutched his black lace shirt and her nails were caught between the stitches, gazing his hot skin with every breath he took. 

“Because,” he began. He dropped his head and let his lips ghost over the shell of her ear. She shuddered. His free hand cupped her back to keep her upright against him. With each swipe of his lips against her ear, she broke down. Clenched fists, soft mewls, and fluttered eyelids. It was impossible to resist him—she knew it, yet kept trying it. “I am the only man whose put in the effort to even make advances toward you. But if you don’ want me, I won’ force you to have me.” 

“Baby…” she whispered lowly. One by one the walls of her fortress fell at his feet.

“So I’ll ask you again,” he started. His left hand caressed her body in ways only he knew she enjoyed. Down her back, across her bottom, and resting along her hip. “Are you gon’ be mine for real or am I gon’ have to step back?” Actions followed his words. He began to peel away from her however he didn’t make it more than an inch before he was thrust back against her. A smirk crept onto his full lips.