Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [44]
“I see you enjoy pain,” Malcolm said, moving me gently with his shoes.
For the third time in my life, I felt powerless. Here I was, a grown fucking man, being beaten like a child by a man twice my age who wasn’t my father. I was in a pitiful state. I lay on the ground, like the bitch I was, knowing that one day my time would come.
“Are you finished? Because I could turn the other cheek,” I said.
“I’m finished for today,” he replied.
I managed to get my hands underneath me so that I could slowly push myself up. My head was pounding and my right eye was practically swollen shut.
“Donald, I don’t like beating you. I haven’t had to lay my hands on anyone but you in over twenty years.” Malcolm spoke to me as if he was talking to a seven-year-old child. “But, like I said before, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make my wife happy.”
“I have a suggestion. Let me walk away with my son.”
Malcolm laughed at me. “Why would I do that?”
I tried my best to look him in the eyes but the pain was overwhelming. “Because, one day, you won’t have a choice.”
“Donald, you’ve gone and lost your fucking mind. You’re definitely not taking my grandson. The only way Emerald is moving out with you is over my dead body.”
I mustered all the strength I could. “Then so be it,” I said as I awaited another blow.
“Your balls are growing, Donald, but you’re still way out of your league. I have put down men much bigger and stronger than you.”
Since shooting my father, I noticed that I had become much stronger. I had killed a man; killing another one wouldn’t be that difficult. The only reason I didn’t kill my father-in-law that day was because it would have destroyed me. I had to be smarter than that and wait for the right opportunity. We were going to meet again and, the next time, I was going to make sure that I was in a better position to live or die as a man.
“Aren’t you going to hit me again?” I asked.
“No, Donald. The next time I hit you, you won’t be getting up. I’m going to give you two weeks to get my daughter pregnant. After that, I’ll talk to you again. But our conversation will not go as beautifully as this one. This time you could get up off the floor; next time you will lose some limbs. Which one?” he said, smiling. “I’m not going to tell you. But you will lose one limb after another until my daughter is pregnant.”
“Might as well start now because your daughter and I will never fuck again,” I said. At that point, I didn’t care. One thing was certain; there was no way in hell I was going to have another child with Lauren. Emerald was not a mistake; Lauren was. I had been a fool once and that was forgivable. To act foolish again would make me an idiot and I was no fucking idiot.
Chapter 11
10TH DAY
The first day of the work week had started like any other. New Yorkers were hustling at the break of dawn. I dropped Emerald off at school before heading into Manhattan where I was meeting a friend for lunch. Even though it was never advisable to drive into Manhattan around midday, I still pulled the car onto the Brooklyn Bridge and headed to the sights and sounds of our trademark city. After deciphering the recent traffic changes, I pulled into a parking lot on 57th Street. The sign on the parking lot advertised the best rate in town; $35 a day. I gave the attendant my keys and started to walk toward the restaurant. I was meeting a lawyer friend who had gone through some serious drama in his life. But, lately, things had been good. The new practice he had opened with an older gentleman was flourishing. He was happily married with a son. His story was enough to fill three books.
Rashaun was a black man and, when I say black, I mean the shiny kind. I spotted him as soon as I walked into the restaurant. He stood out like an elephant amongst chickens.
“What’s up, Blacky?” I shook his hand and gave him a bear hug.
“What happened to you?” Rashaun asked, looking at my right eye. “No, let me guess. You had to jump through a window.”
“It’s a long story,