“Believe that. Look, I’ll get with you tomorrow, Tee,” I said and got in the car.
Chris was asleep by the time I drove off, and stayed that way until we got to his house. I woke him up and helped him out of the car. He said he was all right to walk. I watched him until he got inside, before I left.
Angelique was asleep when I got home, but she woke up when I got in the bed with her. I told her about Tavarus’s musical debut. She seemed a little put out because I didn’t take her with me. I told her that I had no idea that was the reason he wanted us to meet him there. I promised that I would take her to see him the next night, and that seemed to satisfy her.
We talked for a while and then Angelique curled up next me and said good night. I kissed her and made an attempt to make love to her. But this time when she rejected my advance, I decided that instead of letting her go to sleep, I would try to talk to her about it.
“Because I don’t want to, Zack,” Angelique said and rolled over.
“I know that, baby, but what I’m asking you is, why?”
“I just told you—because I don’t want to.”
“Come on, Angelique, but there has to be a reason why you don’t like making love to your husband.”
We went back and forth about it like we usually do, and then I asked her the question that had been on my mind. “Is it that you like women?”
“What?”
“Do you like women?”
“No, Zack, I don’t like women. I am not a lesbian. I love you, not woman. I don’t believe you had the nerve to ask me that.”
“Then what is it? You say you love me, but you don’t like making love with me.”
“It’s not that I don’t like making love to you.”
“You coulda fooled me, because sometimes it’s like it’s killing you to do it. And when you do, you don’t wanna try anything different. We do it the same way every time.”
“Is that all this is about?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?” Angelique yelled.
“I just wanna know why my wife doesn’t wanna make love to her husband!” I yelled back, and regretted it right away. We looked at each other for what seemed like a long time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“I sorry, too, Zack. It’s just hard for me, that’s all.”
“But why, Angelique. I just need to know why.”
Angelique rolled over and hugged her pillow. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, baby. I need to know.”
She turned around and looked at me. “I was molested by her stepfather,” Angelique said, and the tears
began rolling down her cheeks.
“Oh my god.” I immediately feel bad for the things I was thinking and all the shit I was doing. “I’m sorry, baby. I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because I didn’t want you to think less of me.”
“Why would I think less of you? It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, and I’ve tried to convince myself of that for years. I’ve read a lot of self-help books for sexual abuse survivors. They all say that same thing: that it wasn’t my fault. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully accept that.”
“You could have told me.”