Distorted Perceptions Read online

  DISTORTED PERCEPTIONS

  By

  Diana W.

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  A blue Honda Civic.

  A blue Honda Civic.

  …and here it comes.

  Thursday.

  Seven on the dot like clockwork.

  I wanted to believe that my marriage hadn't turned into a verse of a post K-Ci, Mary J. Blige song but nevertheless, here I was. Camped out in the parking lot of the Hilton by the airport with a cold, half-eaten dollar menu cheeseburger on my lap, calculating my odds of beating a murder charge.

  I should've just carried my ass home and made my spinach lasagna like I planned to, but he just had to cancel… again. It was the fifth time in the past two months and I probably would've never noticed but it was becoming a habit on the night of our standing tv show ritual. We would indulge in some form of pasta, usually with a red sauce or pesto, drink Pinot Noir from our Mr. and Mrs. wine glasses we received as wedding gifts, and then watch the Shonda Rhimes lineup. I mean the whole thing was nothing special, probably even a little cheesy to outsiders looking in, but it was our thing.

  Well it was our thing.

  The first time he texted, not called, to say he would miss out, I was cool. It happened from time to time. It was nothing for me to DVR it for him, so he could play catch up on the weekend. Elliot taught African-American studies at the University and there was always a last-minute meeting or event that required his attendance. His infectious personality and intelligence made him popular amongst the administration and his students which is why his presence was often requested in the room. And if I’m being honest, I’m certain his appearance didn’t hurt his position either.

  It's hard to explain but I considered my husband a second look kind of fine. At first glance, there was nothing to take your breath away. Average height, black-framed glasses, unadventurous colored Oxford shirts, khaki or black ironed pants depending on his mood.

  But.

  If you gave yourself just a couple of creepy staring seconds, you may catch the dimple on his left toffee-colored cheek or maybe the panty dropping smirk he gives when he's in the middle of a heated debate and thinks your point is irrelevant. The way he absent-mindedly grazes his thick and curly trimmed beard when he's in deep thought. Kind of like what he was doing before this slut model of a vehicle pulled up.

  Is this negro smiling?

  He is!

  And it's a genuine one too. Not the no teeth showing one he’d given the two Jehovah witnesses at our front door this past Saturday morning.

  My stomach tightened, and a wave of nausea hit me. I leaned forward. Hands on the steering wheel, gripping for dear life. Holding my breath. I had to see for myself. I needed to see her. The woman who had him changing the lock code on his phone. The one on the opposite end of his whispered conversations. The reason that sex hadn’t been occurring for some months now.

  He reached for her driver’s side door to open it and when she stepped out….

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  I unhooked my seatbelt and scrambled out my seat with a speed that sent the burger, made with a non-Chick-fil-A effort, flying in the opposite direction. I crossed a lane of the parking lot, dodging a minivan in the process, and stopped just short of their lingering embrace. My hands trembling in anticipation of who I should choke out first.

  “I hope she was worth it,” left my mouth as Elliott’s head, which was currently nuzzled in her neck, jerked upward.

  "Cassie?" He stumbled back like he suddenly realized his inappropriate proximity to her.

  Ole girl's head whipped around faster than the Exorcist, and at the sight of her face, I felt the first blow to my ego. I could tell she was younger than me when she first stepped out of her car by her style of dress – a little social media boutique-ish - but seeing her this close was a completely different experience. She was younnng. Not the Law and Order SVU kind but she had to have just turned twenty-one yesterday...or maybe next year. Not one single blemish or line of age on her very attractive exotic face which only further pissed me off.

  "What. The. Hell. Is this about Elliott?!" My jaw flexed at the attempt to keep my composure.

  "I...Cassie...man...I," He looked utterly lost as his hands went from the top of his head, to his face, back to his head.

  "No, speak up!" I inched closer to the two love birds. "It's evident you had more than enough words to give her behind my back," I pointed in the infant's scantily clad direction, catching another glimpse of her in the process. And instead of this trick's expression giving me some form of remorse. Guilt even. She genuinely looked annoyed. Like my presence was clearly unwanted. Like I was the outsider in this situation.

  Her eyes rolled away from me. "Papi, are we going in?" She asked as she folded those underfed arms, noticeably aggravated.

  No, she didn’t.

  "Look here little girl." I stepped towards her ready to pounce.

  "Victoria," Elliott’s tone now authoritative as he maneuvered to block my path to her and the face altering blow he knew I had no problem delivering.

  "What?" She whined out to him like the child she obviously was. Seams of her cheap spandex dress about to pop off like the Fourth of July. "You're getting what you wanted." She shrugged.

  "And what's that?" I asked her, then him. "What is it that you couldn't just be a man and say to my damn face?!"

  "Cassie." His entire posture slumped making my fists ball up.

  As eloquently as Elliott spoke about the civil rights movement or social injustice to his students, him fumbling over his words right now was annoying me to the depths of my soul. "Negro, you only have but one more time to say my name before I slap it outta your mouth."

  Nothing.

  "You know what?" I pushed out a laugh as I realized a small audience had gathered around us. Some of them rushing to get their phones out. And what I would not do is become a social media post shared by a bunch of strangers. This was my life, not a quick chuckle for somebody's lunch break.

  "You and Dora the Underaged Explorer can go y'all asses to the room and play video games or whatever the hell it is you do with her." I fastened the top button of my coat that must've slipped out upon my hasty exit from the car. "If you come anywhere near the doorstep of the residence we used to call a home, I'mma El Chapo your tamale so your little chica can't el sucko it anymore. Comprende?"

  I tried to ignore the snicker from an elderly white woman to my right as Elliott's eyes bulged. I don't know if it was from me threatening to castrate him or the slew of insults I was throwing out about his little rice and beans hoe.

  To hell with the both of them.

  I turned on my heels and headed back to my car. Brain and body on autopilot. I got in and started the ignition, right along with my rant to my windshield. Screaming about how I was going to wipe our joint accounts clean right after I burned all of his shit on the front lawn.

  "Yeah, that dumbass comic book collecti
on too!"

  I pulled onto the highway, barely paying attention to oncoming traffic.

  "All these years I put into this bullshit!" I pounded the dashboard. "And for what huh?! For what?!"

  The Volvo I sped up behind apparently didn't have a destination in mind, further aggravating my already tainted spirit. I switched lanes, pressing on the gas to try and get past them. The sudden brake lights of a black SUV about two car lengths in front of me, forced me to slam down on my own. My head jerked forward, hitting the top of the steering wheel and then flew back to the headrest. Stunned, I sat there while the SUV I failed to collide with turned left towards their destination. The trickle of something in my left eye made me touch my face. I looked at my hand and the bright red blood now coating my fingertips triggered a rush of emotion from the pits of my stomach, up through my mouth in a gut-wrenching scream. The pain in my heart and head fighting for dominance. My ugly reality slamming into me like a freight train.

  My husband of seven years cheated on me.

  Correction: My pro-black husband of seven fucking years cheated on me with a younger non-black woman.

  The hysterical crying started. Could barely catch my breath, placing my hands over my eyes to catch the droves of tears falling. How could he do this to me? To me?!

  Wasn't sure how long I sat there like that, but a not so subtle knock on my window startled me and as if shit wasn't already bad, a cop stood there. His flashing blue and red lights overtook my rearview mirror.

  I let down the window, still semi-hyperventilating.

  "Ma'am, are you ok?"

  I nodded profusely although his wide, sapphire blue eyes told me he wasn't buying it. Hell, I didn't buy it.

  "You're bleeding. Hold on." He disappeared from the car before I could respond.

  Sniffling, I dropped the visor and at the sight of my face in the vanity, the waterworks commenced again.

  "Ma'am, I'm opening your door," the officer's voice reemerged but I was too caught up in my bloody face to react.

  "Can you tell me your name?"

  "It's...It's Ca...ssandra," I blubbered out.

  "Ok Cassandra. My name is Lucas. Can you tell me what happened?”

  I angled my head up towards him. "I... almost hit a car...and ...my husband," I stumbled through the words. "He...My marriage." I broke down again.

  "Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine." I felt a firm grip on my shoulder. "Is it ok if I take a look at your head?"

  I managed a nod.

  After his blue, rubber glove encased hands, inspected a few spots on my face, he stood straight up. "Well Miss Cassandra, I think you're going to need stitches and to check on any additional head trauma. Even if you feel fine, it's better to make sure. I'm going to call an ambulance."

  "No! NO!" I grabbed onto his uniform shirt panicking. "Please don't! I can't. I can't. I can't." A fear I thought I had gained control over, reared its ugly head.

  "Ok. Ok." He held up his hands, motioning them in a calming manner. It took me a second to snap back to reality. I'm acting crazy as hell right now. And as far as this officer knows, that's exactly what I am. His reaction could have been completely different.

  Like my name becomes a hashtag on the internet different.

  I took a deep breath and tried to calm down as best as I could. "I'm sorry sir. I promise you I'm not crazy." I placed both of my hands on my lap remorsefully.

  He rolled off the gloves. "Ma'am I've seen crazy and you ain't it." He smiled which somehow managed to get one out of me too. I think it was more so the fact that Lucas sounded like he grew up down the block from me despite the whole “I play rugby and wear Bermuda shorts" vibes he was giving off.

  "But, I must insist you get checked out," his tone firm. "Is there anyone I can call right now? I'm assuming not your husband." His eyebrows lifted already seeming to know that answer.

  I looked away, too embarrassed to even admit that he was right. Who could I call? Denise had an event at Tyler's school that I didn't want to interrupt and other than Elliott, I had no other family that lived close enough to come see about me. Didn't make sense to go panic my already worrisome parents who were a time zone away.

  "No," my voice trailed off.

  "Well, I'll take you. I mean you’d have to ride in the back of the unit but I think it's better than leaving you to do it on your own."

  He must’ve read the hopeless look on my face and for that, I was thankful.

  “Ok.”

  I started to gather up my things aka all the random crap I grabbed for my impromptu stakeout.

  Purse.

  Phone.

  Snacks.

  Box cutter.

  “I can probably get your car parked at the Hilton up the street until you can come pick it up,” he offered while helping me out of the driver’s seat.

  “Fuck that place,” I mumbled under my breath.

  "What was that ma'am?"

  "Nothing sir."

  Chapter 2

  Six stitches, one CT scan, and a hospital dose of pain meds later, I was pulling up to the front of my house, courtesy of Officer Lucas. I assumed his chauffeuring me to the emergency room would be his good deed for the day but while receiving my discharge papers and instructions on a follow-up from the nurse, he knocked on the hospital room door. He stated his reason was to check up on me and to inform me that he had gotten my car moved to the Hilton's parking lot. I politely thanked him once he handed me my car keys, which I somehow forgotten that I even gave to him, and continued on with my conversation. Although he closed the door, I could still see the silhouette of his body standing just outside of the room's large frosted glass window.

  Upon my exit, I stopped in front of him. Nervousness tickling the back of my neck.

  "Officer Lucas, am I being arrested or questioned for a crime or something?" My mind automatically thought the front desk workers of the Hilton may have called in my little confrontation.

  "No ma'am," his hands gripped his utility belt. "Just doing my job."

  "Which is?" My eyebrows furrowed.

  "Uhhh serve and protect. Well in your case...protect," he stated matter of factly.

  "From?"

  "Yourself."

  I wasn't sure if it was the meds were starting to kick in but my confusion took over. "Come again?"

  He smiled and brushed his hands over his sandy brown hair. "I don't need you in anymore self-caused car accidents or confrontations in front of the Hilton.

  They did snitch!

  Embarrassed, my eyes wandered to my feet. "Thanks, but I assure you I'm good."

  The same couldn't be said for my cheating ass husband if he came home though. Got me out here looking like some stereotypical, crazed angry black woman.

  "You may be right but how are you getting home?"

  I held the bridge of my nose. The headache I had on the ride to the hospital may have been fading but was still very present. "Taxi. Uber. I'll get there."

  "I'll drop you."

  Look dammit. His helpfulness was becoming a bit too creepy for me. Before my parents found a way to move our family to the suburbs, I spent the early years of my life in the St. Thomas housing projects wayyyy before they were transformed into the lovely mixed income townhomes they are now. A cop could be helpful alright. Help you right to a pair of handcuffs, a bullet, or their personal favorite: a Rodney King-styled ass whoopin'.

  "I told you I'm good. Thank you again." I walked off towards the waiting area. I pulled out my phone and went to my Uber app.

  "Cassandra." I heard his voice behind me. I was tempted to do a spin move off to the ladies' room, but today's chain of events had me feeling something tired couldn't even describe. I'd probably just end up breaking an ankle in the process.

  "Officer Lucas," I turned around. "I don't know what your deal is but once again, I'm good."

  "No offense ma'am but I can tell you're not."

  We were no more than a stride's distant apart. He still looked as coo
l as a cucumber, yet my nostrils were flared. The fact that he thought he could empathize with anything going on in my life better yet my marriage was laughable. The absence of a wedding band on his finger was all the proof I needed.

  "And you being able to see that I'm not ok does what for me exactly?" My eyes were wide, hands thrown up in the air looking for a justifiable response. I really wasn't trying to be bitch, especially not with a damn cop, but he was pushing me. All I wanted to do was go my ass home and attempt to get some sleep so that I could escape the shitty reality that had been thrown at me. "Does it fix this gash on my head? Does it tell me why husband was unfaithful with a girl that looks young enough to be his student?"

  "No," he responded quickly, eyes never wavering. "But getting things off your chest, like you're doing right now," he motioned, "is way more helpful than you going home and plotting on ways to kill him. I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't think you're a killer, but I wouldn't push you."

  "What makes you think..." I stopped mid-sentence. My eyes blinked rapidly in recognition. "Did you just indirectly quote Tupac?"

  "I did," he regretfully moaned out with the palm of his hand on his forehead.

  "Wooowwww," I whistled out and broke out laughing. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or not but oddly enough, I'm kind of impressed."

  "Good," Officer Lucas joined in on my amusement looking more relieved than anything, "because I wasn't trying to be disrespectful. I guess listening to it the majority of my shift today wasn't a good idea. Lyrics must be floating around in my subconscious." He twirled his finger by his head.

  "It's fine," my tone and mood softened at the thought of this preppy white boy jamming out to rap in general, much less Tupac.

  "Well," I looked down at my phone, noticing it was already after eleven. I had work in the morning and I needed to get home to attempt to prepare for it. I refused to allow Elliott to ruin one of my happy places even if I felt like somebody had trampled on my emotions while I was at it. "Again, thank you for everything you've done for me today and I assure you that the only thing I'm going to murder is my shower and then some sleep."