Over the counter . .  

under  his grip . ..  

against the wall.

Legs over his waist

Lips under his taste

Against everything she said.

And Again.

Over, under, up against she went: a melody I was familiar with. But I wasn’t quite sure I was familiar with the She who was doing it. She wasn’t me.

She was slender, with sugar brown skin and a forehead for days. The more I examined, the more I realized  I knew her. She was the young girl who handed me my cash at the bank earlier that day. I remembered because I loved her nails. And there she was clawing her cocoa-colored , coffin-shaped nails into the back of my cousins t-shirt.

Her name was Sophie or, Sophia. . . something with a “so” in it. Though I had definitely been woken from a drunken kitty nap,  I was fairly certain that the girl sitting spread eagle on my cherry wood mini table was So-Something from the bank.

Before I could even react, Chris had wrapped her slender legs tighter around him, swept her up and disappeared into my guest room.  It happened so fast that I didn’t know how to process it.

Did they not see me? How could I not be seen sitting on the couch in the middle of  MY OWN living room?  

Maybe I was invisible. Maybe I had turned into that green pea that had been parked under the corner of my couch since lunch. . . Or maybe I had morphed into the pesky ass fly that had been hovering over my empty plate since I left it on the table. . . “What?”, I muttered as I cleared my throat preparing to roll out of my curled up position.

How much had I drank before I fell asleep? I could peep from the corner of my eye that an entire bottle of Merlot was gone which meant there was a good possibly that I had dreamed the whole my -cousin-is -having-sex- infront-of-me-ordeal. . .

Lustful Grunts staggered through the walls of my tiny apartment SHATTERING the possibility that it was all in my head and solidifying the notion that my cousin had not an ounce of respect for me.

Chris  had finally lost his 26 year old mind. “I’ve heard enough ,” I spoke out loud to myself (as I tend to do). I looked down at my $500 cherry wood mini table as I passed my fingers across its smooth texture.  It was a good table; a table that I had not been pried up against the way that homegirl was. Not yet anyway. Sadly, the only miles on my cherrywood table was Ramen noodle stains. And now it had So Something’s skinny behind Booty Marks tatted all over it

It meant war.

I shot up and  charged towards my guest room door.

“Wait! Wait !Wait! “, I heard So Something’s voice pant causing me to freeze in the middle of my living room.  

“. . .  Can we talk ? . . . Let’s talk C!” , she gulped.

“No time for talking”,  I heard my cousin’s deep ass voice rumble.

“Oh they’ll be plenty of time to talk. . . “ I whispered.

“. . . Outside of my apartment!”, I thought as I headed full speed toward the door. But before I could bring them the flames , I noticed that she was stammering about their relationship; her feelings and all. The gag is Chris had went ghost on her for a while and thought he could just slide back in without having to have this little talky talk. They had started to speak so low that I almost didn’t get the tea. Luckily they had left the door  slightly cracked. . .