Damaged Girls III: Urban Fiction by Janice Ross

Author:Janice Ross [Ross, Janice]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: United States, Romance, Coming of Age, African American, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Amazon: B00HM9M7DK
Publisher: Cultural Cocktails
Published: 2013-12-30T05:00:00+00:00

Francesca’s Tale

Francesca was scheduled to fly out the following day. Since the scene at Jessica’s home, she’d continued to question and pry into Stevie’s life. He was at the height of annoyance. The woman who had once been so enticing to him was falling into dangerous territory. He recalled his time with Jessica and how she’d whine and complain. It was like karma wanted to screw with his life.

“When did you get so miserable, baby?” he finally asked. Leaning back in his favorite drinking recliner, a nice stout glass of Remy was his comforter. Stevie could almost completely ignore Francesca’s nagging—almost.

“Didn’t I tell you before?” she asked several times.

As if a wall had suddenly appeared between the couple, Stevie felt distanced from her. There was such an appeal to her. His groins began to feel a longing, but whenever he looked up at her he grew frustrated. The more complaining she did, the more disgusted he became. The more disgusted he became, the more he wanted her out of his damn house. For the first time since he’d given her the opportunity to be with him, he longed to get rid of her.

He was about to respond to her misery with some unkind words when his cellphone shut her down. She walked out of the room, flashing a firm behind in his face. Stevie smiled. His savior on the phone was Phil. The fellas were fixing to meet up at a local bar. Phil was sure to tell him that women were not allowed, which should’ve actually gone without saying. Stevie thankfully agreed. Daley would pick him up in about an hour and forty five minutes. Stevie hung up the phone and counted down the time before he’d get some semblance of relief.

“Are you going somewhere?” Francesca asked, strolling back into the room.

Stevie paused, looked up, and sucked his teeth. The glass was now empty; it dangled from between the tips of his fingers. He didn’t respond, however, but leaned forward.

Wanting to show up for his sake, she plastered all the way into his vision. Stooping so that the tip of her nose connected with his, she breathed heavily. All he did was lean back. He gazed at her with disgust, but she didn’t move.

“Stevie, we need to talk.”

“What do we need to talk about now? What?”

“Now I know you’re not talking to me like I’m one of your little girls. Dammit, I’m Francesca De Aise!” At this point her words had turned more than rigid; they were sharp and blinding. Although he rested into the contour of the chair, she teetered forward even more.

“Look, none of this is gonna stop me from going anywhere. I need to get outta here for an hour or two. You saw the drama the other day. I can’t take this crap anymore. Francesca, you’re supposed to be my woman. You’re supposed to make things right. You’re supposed to ease my stress, not add to it.” Stevie was his usual self—detached and staring forward. He addressed her while facing his favorite lonely painting.

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