Love/Fate Page 3

  Throughout their relationship, Born had considered Jada more than a lover. She was his friend. There had never been secrets between them, and he had given her his heart. Now he felt like such a fool for ever trusting anyone with something so vital to his survival. Their relationship had sustained him. From the beginning there had been a raw honesty between them, and that was what he loved about it. That’s what made their relationship so refreshing. It was sincere; their love was real. Or so he had thought. But knowing that Jada had been getting high all along, that she had stolen from him, and had made a fool out of him, that was a deal breaker. All the trust he’d developed for her, all the love—it made him feel stupid. It made him determined never to love again. Born wanted to take his love away from Jada. If only his heart would listen to his mind.

  He walked in, and the house was dark and quiet. Jada was sitting on the couch in the dark, waiting for his return. She wasn’t high anymore. Even in the dark, he could tell by the way her body slumped discreetly in the corner of the sofa that she was upset. Her body was tense. He saw her, and he stopped walking, stood still, and stared at her. She waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, she cleared her throat. “Born, I need to talk to you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he could see tears on her face in the dark. He shook his head, and took off his jacket.

  “Get out.” Born said it calmly, with no emotion, and waited for her response.

  “I’m not leaving here until you talk to me. Born—” Jada began.

  Born walked directly toward her, his pace swift and determined. Jada jumped in defense, wondering if he would hit her for the first time in their relationship. He snatched her car keys off the coffee table then he grabbed her and dragged her, kicking and screaming, toward the door. She held on to the sofa, and tried to anchor herself. “Wait a minute! Born! Please!”

  Born wasn’t trying to hear a word she said. He silently pried her fingers off the sofa, and dragged her body across the room.

  Jada sobbed, “I’m sorry, baby! I’m sorry!” She repeated the phrase over and over, but her cries fell upon deaf ears. “Please! I’m so sorry!” He dragged her to the door, and opened it. “Just let me talk to you, Born. Please! Let me tell you what happened.” Jada clung to the door’s frame, and tried to resist his force as he pulled her toward the open air. He was silent, but his lack of words spoke volumes to her.

  “Marquis, Pleasel Let me tell you what happened!” Jada screamed, and clung to Born, calling him by the name his mama had given him in hopes that he would see how desperate she was. “I love you! I’m sorry! My God, Born, please! I just did it once!”

  Hearing this, Born became enraged, because he knew she was lying. He grabbed her by the throat, silencing her immediately. Jada’s voice got caught in her throat, and she looked terrified, as he squeezed her fragile neck. He knew that by now the neighbors were watching, but he didn’t give a damn. The only thing that saved her was the thought of facing his mama after beating Jada’s ass. “I don’t want to hurt you, Jada.” His voice cracked as he said it, because he heard the truth in those words. He didn’t want to hurt her, even after all the pain she’d caused him. But God knew he would whoop her ass if she stood in his face and lied to him one more time. It made him wonder how many other times she’d lied. His eyes filled with tears, and Jada noticed it.

  “Baby, please. I love you—”

  His adrenaline coursing through his veins, he picked her up like she was as light as a feather. He held her hands together so that she couldn’t hold on to anything else, and he carried her out to her car. He tossed her across the hood of the car with all his might, sending her skidding across the Acura and smack onto the street on the driver’s side. Jada lay on the ground, rolling around and crying loudly. Several neighbors came outside to see what was going on, while Jada sobbed uncontrollably in a heap on the ground.

  Born turned and went back inside the house, locking the doors and each of the windows. He went upstairs, and lay awake for the rest of the night, listening to the noise Jada made as she tried desperately to get back inside the house. He heard her yelling, banging on the door, and trying to open the windows downstairs, to no avail. He wondered if the neighbors might call the cops. But they didn’t. At close to 1:00 A.M., he finally heard her car pull off, and he closed his eyes and cried in the dark. It was over.

  Born sat in the darkness, thinking about Jada, and about all the signs he had missed. He remembered the conversation that he’d had with Dorian about Jada. Dorian had turned to Born and looked at him seriously. ‘You better watch her, Born. You know we spend a lot of time away from home, and they get bored. They start looking for all kinds of ways to have fun. You know what I’m saying? Just make sure you always know what kind of fun she’s having. Make sure she’s keeping her nose clean.” But Born hadn’t understood what he’d meant. Looking back now, Born understood completely. He had missed the signs. Jada had lost weight during their relationship. Not to the point of looking sickly, but enough for him to notice a change in her body. She would be restless and irritable one minute, and happy-go-lucky the next. Her voice would be hoarse all the time. He had shrugged these things off, made up excuses in his mind for them. She couldn’t be using cocaine again, he’d told himself. The truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to admit that Jada might do that to them—to him. Born felt like an idiot.

  The next morning, Jada arrived bright and early. She had spent the whole night getting high in her car. She had parked at a construction site where new town houses were being built, and got high until she had no more drugs. All of her money was in her Gucci bag on her dresser. She hadn’t expected Born to toss her out with nothing. When the sun came up, she was penniless, hungry, and still in trouble with the man she loved. She pulled up in front of the house at close to ten in the morning, and parked awkwardly at the curb. She was prepared for a showdown today. She knew that the last thing Born wanted was for one of the neighbors to call the cops. She was prepared to use this fact to her advantage.

  She walked up to the large oak doors, and began banging loudly. “Open the door, Marquis! Come οηΓ Jada kicked and pounded on the door with her fists. She was torn up inside, reduced to tears in the early morning hours.

  She heard the lock turn, saw the doorknob twist. As the door slowly creaked open, Jada perked up, opened her mouth, her eyes streaming with tears, prepared to beg Born’s forgiveness, and plead with him to hear her out. But she saw a woman’s face emerge from behind the door, and Born’s mother stood there, looking at the pitiful young thing before her.

  Ingrid shook her head as she looked at Jada’s uncombed hair, her makeup dripping down her tear-stained face. She felt sorry for the young lady, yet she had to respect how her son felt about the situation. “Hello,” she said. “Jada, Marquis ain’t home. I came over so you could get your stuff. I want to talk to you, anyway.”

  She wasn’t so much asking Jada as she was telling her what was about to take place. Ingrid stepped aside, and motioned for Jada to come inside. She did, walking slowly into the house that was her home, wishing more than anything that Born was there to talk to her. Jada knew that she looked terrible, and could only imagine what Miss Ingrid must’ve been thinking as she walked in. She was looking and smelling like yesterday.

  Ingrid ushered Jada into the living room, and sat across from her on the couch. Jada looked around at all the things she had purchased for this home—their home—all the trinkets and furniture, the curtains she’d placed throughout to enhance the decor. She wondered how Born could be so heartless as to throw her out of it now. How could he take away everything he gave her without giving her a chance to explain?

  Ingrid read the turmoil on Jada’s pitiful face. She looked at the young woman she usually saw dressed in the best, looking like a top model. The creature before her looked frail and weak and lost. She shook her head, knowing that drug addiction was no joke.

  Jada knew how much Born loved his mother. She knew how close they we
re, and that he had probably told Ingrid everything. She decided to try to level with Ingrid.

  “I want to tell you that I really love your son. I love him so much.” She started crying, realizing that she had blown her one chance at love. “I’m so sorry.” Catching her breath, she continued. “I’m not an addict anymore. I was using something years ago. Then I did it again, but not like before. I’m not addicted now. I can stop. I just was doing it once in a while when I was bored. I was at home alone a lot and … I’m not addicted, though.” In her mind, Jada rationalized that she was doing alright as long as she was snorting with Sunny. It was when she’d gone back to crack that things had fallen apart. At least, that’s what she told herself. “I wasn’t stealing from Marquis. I didn’t take from him.” She was lying, and couldn’t even look at Ingrid. The pain of what she knew was true made her cry so hard that she could hardly breathe.

  Ingrid handed her a tissue and told her, “Pull yourself together, now.” She shook her head again, knowing that Jada was in denial. “Girl, let me tell you something. Can’t nobody help you get over what you dealing with but God.” Ingrid cut right to the chase. “I don’t claim to be the most religious person,” she said. “I ain’t gon’ sit here and tell you no lies about me being a saint. But I’ve seen a lot of things. And I’ve seen how it is to be hooked on them drugs. Seen the shit up close and personal, sweetheart. So don’t think I’m just sitting here lecturing you for the hell of it. I know firsthand how it takes over. That crack can eat you alive, if you let it. The choice is yours. It’s up to you now. If you want to keep using, you can do that. But you are addicted, Jada. And you’re killing yourself. Just know that. You’re throwing away what a lot of people would love to have. My son loves you. He don’t want to say that, because he’s hurtin’ right now. You know what I’m saying? But he loves you. You hurt Marquis. You always hurt more than just yourself when you use drugs. You hurt everyone who loves you. But you know that. You went to rehab, you know what they tell you.” Jada hung her head in shame, but Ingrid pressed on. “You gotta make up your mind that something is more important than that crack. And if you want to clean yourself up, you have to give it all you got. You gotta mean it.” Ingrid looked at Jada, and could tell that she wasn’t ready to make the necessary change. She could see in her eyes that the young woman was still in denial about how serious her problem was. Ingrid touched Jada’s dirty hands, her nails broken from pounding on the door and prying at the windows the night before. “If you want to turn your life around, you can do it. You gotta ask God for His help. That’s the only way.”

  Jada was so sorry that she’d ever slipped. Sorrier that she’d been caught. Ingrid sighed deeply. “Well, unfortunately, I have to be honest with you here. Whether you want to change or not, Marquis is finished with it. He’s not budging. I done talked to him, and told him to hear you out—

  “Did you tell him that I’m sorry?” Jada ignored the snot falling from her nose. Ingrid handed her another tissue. Jada took it, wiped her nose, and cried. She spoke in a low, feeble voice. “You can’t tell him that I’m sorry. Only I can tell him that. Why can’t you get him to talk to me, Miss Ingrid? He listens to you. He respects you so much. Maybe you can get him to hear me out. I just want to tell him that I’m sorry. I’ll fix myself up. I’ll do it.”

  Ingrid looked blankly at Jada, feeling sorry for her pain, but knowing that her son was adamant that the relationship was over. She put her sympathetic feelings aside, and said what her son had asked her to say. “I need you to pack up all the stuff you want to take with you, and I’ll help you if you need it. But Marquis don’t want you here when he gets back. He left town for a few days to get his head together, and he wants me to make sure you’re gone before he gets back.”

  Jada looked at the older woman, feeling like she was turning a deaf ear to her pleas. “I love your son, Miss Ingrid—”

  “I believe you, baby. But he wants you to get your stuff up out of here today. I’m just the messenger. Don’t make this hard on yourself.” Ingrid’s tone was flat. She seemed unfeeling, and perhaps a little cruel in her delivery. But inside she felt pity for the young lady. She knew that Jada was a decent person who happened to have one hell of a monkey on her back. Ingrid had watched her own husband fight the same battle, and she knew that when they fell back into using, it was usually with a vengeance. She could sense that Jada was out there pretty far, by her lack of concern for her appearance. The Jada she knew of would never have been caught outside looking like this, regardless of the situation. Ingrid was embarrassed for her. But she believed that Jada genuinely loved her son. Born, however, was still haunted by the pain of having lost his father to cocaine addiction. He had zero tolerance for someone who allowed themselves to be weakened by narcotics. Ingrid had tried to point out to Marquis that Jada and Leo were two very separate and different people. But Born shut down whenever the topic of staying with Jada was mentioned. He was not hearing anything she said.

  Jada closed her eyes, as if she wanted to open them and find that this was all a dream. But it was very real. Accepting this, she stood up slowly, and looked around. What should she take with her? Where would she go? How much should she take? She felt a sudden surge of rage that Born hadn’t had the balls to come and face her himself. What kind of man sends his mama to do his dirty work? Jada briefly entertained the thought of spazzing and going toe-to-toe with Miss Ingrid. Shit! This was her home, this was her life that Born was taking away. But looking at his mother, Jada knew she didn’t want to challenge her. Miss Ingrid probably had a little peashooter in her pocket, and would probably not hesitate to bust a cap in her ass, Jada thought. Besides, Born’s mother wasn’t the one she was mad at. Ingrid wasn’t being mean. She was only doing what her son had asked her to do. But still, her presence signaled that this was serious, that it was final. Jada let go of a sob, wrapping her mind around the fact that it was over. He was kicking her out.

  She longed for her friend Sunny. Sunny would know what to do. She would tell her where to go. But she still hadn’t heard from Sunny much since she’d gone underground with her baby and her family, after Dorian’s murder. She longed for her friend, and was saddened by the realization that once again she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. She felt sick about it. She thought about her sister. Where was Ava now? It had been over a year since she had last spoken to her. The last time she’d spoken to Ava was the day she’d left her house after discovering Jada getting high. Jada didn’t have the heart to call her sister and give her the benefit of saying, “I told you so.” Her mother. She was her only option. But Jada didn’t want to give Edna the satisfaction of seeing her as broken and beaten by life as she was. She went upstairs, and looked in the hall closet and pulled out her luggage. She also pulled some money out of Born’s jacket pocket—a few hundred-dollar bills. She went to her spacious walk-in closet and began the process of packing all the things she wanted to bring with her. She zipped her two furs into garment bags, packed her dresses, shoes, jeans, T-shirts, and purses. Soon she had three large Samsonite suitcases filled to capacity, along with her large Coach tote bag, filled with her jewelry, underwear, and a little cash she had stashed for herself. She had $720 and the possessions she lugged downstairs in suitcases. She and Miss Ingrid loaded up Jada’s Acura, and she half expected to find out that Born wanted his car back. But he didn’t strip her of that as well, and Jada was relieved for that.

  When the car was loaded up, Jada looked at Ingrid. She knew that she smelled bad. She knew that she looked and felt even worse. But regardless of her haggard appearance, she had to tell the truth about her feelings for this woman’s son. It might be her last chance to get a message to Born. She looked into his mother’s eyes and made a final plea. “I am so sorry for messing up,” she said. “I fell. But Born can help me stand up on my feet again. He can help me get right again.”

  Ingrid shook her head. “You gotta help yourself, Jada. You gotta get right for yourself.”

  Jada star
ed at her, speechless. Then she sighed. “I love Marquis. I never meant to hurt him. He’s my everything. I don’t have nobody else.” She looked at Ingrid, and saw the pity that she tried to hide from her. “I know I have to leave. And I know he doesn’t want me to come back. But just tell him that I love him. Tell him to forgive me.” Jada resisted the urge to cry, and to hug Miss Ingrid, and she climbed into her car instead. Ingrid stood there for a few seconds, feeling the young woman’s pain, and hoping that she found the strength to get clean and stay that way. Jada pulled off slowly, looking back at the house she used to think was etched directly from the canvas of her dreams. Ingrid walked back inside, and closed the door on a love affair between two people who almost had it all.

  Jada’s life had taken a sudden plunge, and she was destroyed. She had no place to turn, and nowhere else to go. So she went to the one place that still welcomed her. Back to the streets.

  Jada slept in her car for the next several days, and even drove to her old friend Shante’s place, looking for somewhere to stay until she got back on her feet. Shante allowed Jada to stay with her for a little while, after Jada enticed her with three hundred dollars toward that month’s rent. Jada slept on Shante’s futon, and during the day she went out, looking for a job, a place to stay—something. Three months went by this way, and all the time Jada drove past the house she had shared with Born, hoping to see him. She never did. She called his cell phone, called his house phone. Every number had been changed to an unlisted one. She drove past his drug spots, but was too embarrassed to go upstairs to see if he was there. She didn’t know if Chuck had survived his beating, and she sure didn’t want to face him if he knew that she was the real thief who had caused him to be fucked up. Jada got high every day, copping from her old dealer, Lucas, in West Brighton, whenever she got the chance.