I guess it’s time for me to post the second part to On Rape: Perpendicular Contradictions. I’m more trepidatious about posting this part because it’s so surreal as is most of my life when I set out to retell it to other people. It doesn’t all make sense, though in the moment – as I lived it – I wasn’t worried about it making perfect sense. And I must say the young me that lived in Bedstuy Brooklyn, hustling her way through the music industry had a serious potty mouth with my still very vibrant & direct way of looking at and speaking on life. So as I much as I want to edit this down and soften the blow, I won’t. Cause it’s me. 

Emphatic exhale. We talked. Exactly what I didn’t want to do. But bridled with anger and no easy way out, I converge when Teddy Turenne shows up at my door. Twice. In the world of misogyny Teddy seeks out my homeboy, the connector between the two of us, Shawn, to discuss how he wants to “get at me”. In the world of his ignorant bliss, my tight and drunk pussy seems quite indulgent and he wants to pursue. Never mind the fiancee that lives with him and whose medical school tuition bill he’s fully funding. Or the more-than-a-jumpoff  who he’s housing in New Jersey. Or the stripper in Long Island, who I’ve seen him 4 finger fuck with a titty in his mouth at the strip club. All women that I’ve met on his own accord. He wants to “get at me”. Somehow I fit in line with this stable. The new conquest. So he rings Shawn up the Monday after our dirty little drunken exchange. Shawn tells him he needs to have a conversation with me, as a man, because he’s action aren’t acceptable and I’m not that type of chick. At 29 years, he can’t seem to assess this for himself. So he promptly drives over to my house with Shawn.

No, I’m not answering the door. He can’t come into my house. Come back in thirty minutes.

He comes back and we head to Peaches, to eat and talk. He acts as if everything is honkey dory as I try to signal for Shawn to not leave us. Shit, I don’t want to have this conversation by myself. He keeps asking me how I’m doing. Tries to make innuendoes about our future. As if there is a future.

“Do I drive?” “Yes.”
“Good to know, so I can let you drive my car sometime.”
I guess that was suppose to get my panties wet, have me panting all over him and his Navigator, like ‘Oh daddy, I get to drive your Navi.’ Gun me.
“No, I don’t like big cars.” “Oh.”

We order. And then began the bullshit conversation that left me not touching a drop of my food and him arrogantly picking at his chicken wings while he comes up with flip flop excuses and lies. I call his bluff.

“It’s better if we no longer associate with each other.”
He looks shocked. The man with the money never takes the L. Today you will.
“I feel violated. Couldn’t you tell I was drunk. Why did you come into my bedroom. I just threw up. Bullshit, you had to taste that on my breath. Disgusting. You fuck mad bitches and then just want to stick your shit in me. Oh yeah, you thought about it, huh. I’m embarrassed. You couldn’t approach me like a man. Don’t accuse me of being attracted to you as if that is an excuse.” I spewed all this at him as my face contorted into stank, disgust, and hatred all at once.

He then switches to low blows with a giggle and smirk on his face as he tells me that I need better middle men.
“Middle men? There’s only one person we both talk to, stop talking in parables. Shawn.” “Yeah, Shawn, he told me that you’re down for whatever.” Bullshit. Lies.

We’re in a public place. I can’t yell. I can’t jump across the table and choke the shit out of him. I can’t gauge my fingernails into his cocked right eye, that never seems to be in sync with his left. We’re in public and the waitress is asking me if everything is okay. I curtly tell her yes.

“Middle man. Shawn. Testing my personal friendships. Fuck you and you’re bullshit. Fuck you and you’re lack of  respect. You are a grown ass man that can’t own up to your actions. You violated me and while I’m adult enough to accept my role in this. You were wrong. And you have to respect my feelings.”

He plays around with his macaroni and cheese. Takes a scoop of collard greens. Chews loudly, then retorts that there’s no point in discussing anything because I’m not compromising and I think everything he says is bullshit. He’s sorry that I feel violated. He has a smug look of glee. The gotcha’ bitch look. He could care less. Half ass apologies and low blows, I can’t even look at him. I’m boiling as I realize I’m talking to a sociopath. He has no remorse as I walk out of the restaurant.

He has no remorse until he again talks to Shawn who flat out tells him he’s wrong. No remorse until he realizes he might lose face amongst his homeboys. Then he thinks to call me and offer an apology. An apology that I will not hear as I double tap the ignore button.

Perpendicular Contradictions“, is a short story from the book Send It On by Jouelzy. Available for purchase via Createspace, Amazon and e-book stores internationally.