“Surprise me,” I whispered. “I’ll be eagerly awaiting the demonstration. You know, hands on.” I giggled.
“Hands. Tongue. Lips. Cock. I’m going to make you get loud.” D grinned.
“Keyon,” I reminded him.
“I’m going to make you wish you could get loud?” He chuckled.
“That’s more like it.” I hugged him tightly. This was a man I never wanted to let go.
Half an hour later, Keyon and I were waving goodbye from the laundry room. “Almost bedtime,” I reminded him. “Let’s go read some books.”
“Yay! Books!” Keyon did his little dance then grabbed my hand and tugged me up the stairs.
He was already in pajamas and climbed happily into his bed. “T stay here,” he announced.
“I’ll stay with you for a few minutes, then I need to go work in the office and you need to get some rest.” I smiled as I sank down onto the mattress beside him.
“No, T stay with Daddy. T stay with Keyon.” He wrapped his arms around my neck.
“We’ll see,” I murmured, unwilling to lie to the little boy I’d so quickly grown to love. “For now, let’s read and snuggle. We’ll even send Daddy a picture so he knows we’re okay.”
So, we read our story, and we took a selfie and texted it to DeSean with a message: Miss you! Love you. See you soon.
Eventually, I bored him to sleep. After planting one last kiss on his forehead and making sure he was well covered, I walked down the stairs and straight into the office. I was rather enjoying this new routine of having my days off to play with Keyon and D, then working while he was out and the little one slept. Even though this place didn’t feel like home, I was comfortable here, more so than I’d been at my house lately. And caring for Keyon gave me more structure and a bigger sense of purpose that my life had previously been lacking.
I liked the calm quiet in this house. And I loved the excitement that built with each passing hour. As requested, I kept the blinds closed and the curtains drawn. When I saw it was only closing in on midnight, I decided to go bake those cookies I’d promised him. Shortly after one in the morning while I was taking the last batch out of the oven, I heard the garage door start to rise, which had me dropping the baking sheet and yanking off my hot mitt, while quickly wiping all the flour off my face and clothes. Rushing to the door, I flung it open practically dancing in excitement. Only by the time I made it, I realized something was different. D’s truck wasn’t there. I saw no headlights. Instead, there was a black woman in dark clothing, holding a revolver in one hand, the remote to the garage in the other. I gasped and hit the button to shut the garage. It worked, for a second, but then it started to go up again and the woman laughed.
I needed more time. I hit the button again and raced back to the kitchen to snatch my phone up off the counter and send a text to D.
Me: Woman breaking in. Gun. Garage remote. Hurry home!
He responded immediately.
DeSean: Call 911. I’m coming, baby.
I called911 and tried to explain the situation while hitting the button. The garage door was getting confused. The constant up and down had the motor smoking. I hoped it would go down and stay down, but the woman was probably watching for the same thing and she quickly scampered under the door when it froze with about an eighteen-inch clearance from the driveway.
“Shit!” I screamed.
The operator answered. “911. What is your emergency?”
I was panting and frantic. “I need police.” I recited the address. “Hurry. A woman with a gun broke into the house. I’m home with a toddler. I have no weapons.”
Then I set the phone down and did the first thing that came to mind. I yanked the dryer forward to block the door as best I could. I knew it wasn’t a permanent fix and if the woman tried hard enough, she could move it. She rather struck me as the determined type. And though the idea seemed insane, I had a feeling I might know who she was.
She stomped up the garage steps. I’d barricaded the door just in time. When she turned the handle and tried to shove it open, the door barely gave.
“Do you know the intruder?” The operator asked as the pounding on the door began.
“Maybe,” I murmured. And to test my theory, I called out. “Camilla, DeSean’s not here.” Then I waited.
“I ain’t here for him. I’m coming for you!” She shouted through the door.
I was shaking and terrified that no one would get here in time. Most of all, I worried what would happen to Keyon. “Tell me the police are on the way,” I begged the dispatcher as I slammed shut the door separating the laundry room from the hall. I didn’t want her to see where I was going.
“They are on the way. Stay on the line until they get there,” she responded.
I sighed. “I can’t promise that. If she gets in, I need to go get the little boy sleeping upstairs,” I whispered as I moved toward the stairs. “She’s pushing on the door. Dammit.” I could hear she had the door open enough to stick the gun through from the sounds of the metal on metal. And now, with enough leverage, she’d be able to push the dryer out of the way.