Black Man White Man by Nathan Squiers & Joe Janowicz

Author:Nathan Squiers & Joe Janowicz [Squiers, Nathan & Janowicz, Joe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: NewField Publications
Published: 2020-02-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Threats of Romance

He loved her. He hated her. He loved that he hated her, and he hated that he loved her. It made his heart ache that his blood boiled, even to that very day, just to see her; it choked him up to realize how badly he wanted to see the breath stop in her lungs.

But this?

No! Levont couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t entertain the idea of it for even an instant.

Sierra was a lot of things. He’d called her almost every nasty thing there was to call another human being and, when she wasn’t around to hear it, even called her plenty of nasty things that were typically reserved for animals. He hated himself for that, for not only thinking ill of the woman he’d sworn to spend the rest of his days with but going so far as to dehumanize her when nobody else was around. For Levont, an insult was never more insulting than when it was delivered in secret—face-to-face was hardly ever as sincere as people liked to treat it, the cruel words only serving as a means to an end: hurting the other worse than they hurt you. Those statements were quick to slip from the binds of truth and, from there, were quick to evolve to outright falsities.

How many times had Levont screamed “I HATE YOU!” in Sierra’s face in the heat of an argument? Dozens of times? Hundreds? All for the sake of chipping her down a little further as she hurled all manner of equally chipping lie-cries at him.

It wasn’t until the night when, alone and unheard in the solitude of his little apartment, he’d whispered the words “I hate her” to nobody that the true seeds of the insult took root.

He’d been worried then that that had been the end, that those three words when said to nobody but himself meant more than they’d ever meant before.

It scared him.

The truth that the words had become scared the hell out of Levont, and, realizing this, he’d spent the rest of that night screaming to his empty apartment all manner of awful thing about Sierra. But he dared not speak those three words again. Those three words represented an insult that did more than just chip him away, they burnt up every last splinter of hope.

And, bad as things got for Levont, he knew that hope was the one thing that could get him through anything.

Was there anything so vital and crucial as hope?

The rush, the focus; that sudden flare of certainty that surged through every fiber of one’s being—a singularity echoing through the entire body and pushing towards one, single, beautiful instant.

“It’s too late!” cries the mind. “PUSH!”

“It’s too far!” cries the mind. “PUSH!”

“It’s too much!” cries the mind. “PUSH!”

Because that was the only way of coping with all the weight that was piling up atop the shoulders of every man, woman, and child on the planet, wasn’t it? When it had hope. The anxiety hungered for chaos that crippled the drive.

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