Chardonnay: A Novel by Jacquilynn Martine Read Free Book Online Page A

I don’t want you
fuckin’ in my house with that girl in particular. You want to fuck her, get
your own shit. If you planning on marrying her anyway.
    But you got some smut or a milf,” Mr. Kent
chuckled.
    “Fuck ‘em in your room here...they don’t deserve the decency and
privacy of a shack...they hoe’s. You hear me?”

    I didn’t
hear Myron’s response. I just assumed he had nodded yes, especially when he had
gotten that penthouse that year in downtown Kansas City for 1.2 million
dollars. Whatever the case, I couldn’t hear anymore. I returned back to the den
were Mrs. Lim-Kent waited, never to go to the restroom to get myself together.
She didn’t ask me what had taken so long or why I had a look of despair on my
face. All she did was walk over to me, sit down beside me on the love seat, and
rubbed my back. During the talk where Myron and I were in the room together, I
was crying the whole time. My parents weren’t called and Mrs. Lim-Kent let me
stay at their home in the guest room, which I wasn’t sure I wanted to do. She
assured me that she wasn’t mad at me and that when the love is good, sometimes
two people can’t help but want to express it in the most intimate way. She didn’t
tell me that sometimes people couldn’t help but express it in the most
demoniacal way nevertheless.
    Now he lay atop me gazing into my eyes, full of fear, lust, pain
and then he. . . stopped. He suddenly came to and
looked shocked, realizing his insanity and scooped my flaccid body into his
arms holding me tight as my tears fell through my eyes. Like nothing I’d ever
seen Myron attempt to do, he tried to pray to God. He wasn’t a God fearing man
and that’s when I saw it in his eyes—there was something he wanted to say.
    “Oh Lord, what did I do? I—I don’t know what to do. Tell me—please
tell me.”
    He let me go and sat quiet in the back seat staring off at
nothing. Suddenly he let go of a building outburst.
    “Aaaahhh! Damn I can’t believe you!” he screamed.
    Myron looked over at me with so much anger and hurt.
    “You don’t love me or sumthin’?” he whispered, through clinched
teeth.
    “Do-you-know-what-you’ve-just-done to me?! And you’re
asking me if I love you are not? How dare you!” I hollered
through my tears.
    Myron retorted his hate written eyes out the window. A man could
not take defeat.
    He could not take any form of defiance. His ego was hurt. His
heart was hurt. Although through unfortunate circumstance, I could finally tell
he truly loved me. If this is what you called love. Young and
with the first. I was his first love as well. Hardest
fucking break-up in the history of mankind to get over. He climbed to
the front seat and then asked,
    “You coming up here?” he said
    I got out the car, limping, and got in the passenger seat, but
Myron didn’t start the car.
    “What was the good news you had to tell me?” I asked curiously
remembering what his mother asked before we went out the door.
    “You really want to know?” his tone taut and frank.
    “What is it?” I said in an annoyed high pitched tone.
    “I’m in the NFL draft. First round pick. Top
ten, number two.”
    I inhaled and then exhaled his good news and looked straight ahead
on, my middle throbbing and burning.
    “You don’t care.” he asked.
    “No... but that’s good for you.”
    “It ain’t if I don’t have you to share it all with.” he said as he
looked at me with his glassy, blood shot red eyes.
    Tears rolled down his face again. As a young impressionable girl,
that sounded really tempting. But I had been accustomed to all the delicacies
Myron could provide me. For example: his world renowned trip to Italy we took
in his senior year of high school, his caviar dinner’s in the summer time at his
parents time share in Montego Bay. Or even this past Valentine’s day gift of a
red and silver Coach   purse with matching heels. When I opened the damned purse a week
later I found a platinum ring with a