“That’s the last of it,” one of the professional movers said. Sugar thanked them all for their help and they saw themselves out, leaving her to fend for herself in her new rental home. She stood in the center of her new living room with her hands on her hips and a sense of intimidation closed in on her as she eyed the sheer abundance of boxes in need of packing. However, she got to work because any moment of silence was an opportunity to think about all that she had lost in the previous weeks.

She worked herself to the bone until the sun sunk low in the sky and dusk was nearing. She ordered some Chinese food and opened a bottle of Riesling as she waited, uncorking it with a grunt. She took deep swigs as she sat on her couch, hoping the wine would damp the reality this blank-walled rental was as empty as she felt.

When the delivery guy arrived, she coughed up payment in exchange for the greasy stapled bag. Shutting the door with her hip, she wandered into the kitchen and put her dinner down. As she pried past the staples, her attention shifted to the door as she heard three heavy knocks.

Sugar returned to the door and opened it.

“Did I forget to give you a t—" The words died in her throat as she realized it wasn’t the Chinese delivery guy coming back for a forgotten tip but her ex-fiancé whom she hadn’t seen since she threw her engagement ring at him and had security guards escort him from her hospital room.

He deserved better than that.

He deserved better than her.

She lowered her gaze to the ground as she felt a momentary burst of unworthiness to look him in the eye. “How did you get my new address, Chef?”

“Sullivan,” he replied.

Snitch, she thought.

Sugar cleared her throat. “What do you want?”

“You want my honest-to-God answer to that question?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “It’s not like knowing the truth will change anything between us, Chef. We’re over.”

He stroked his salt-and-pepper beard. Once upon a time, it was a properly groomed facial feature, but now it was thicker and wilder. All over, he looked wilder in his own way.

“Well, the movers forgot some of your things,” he said, jerking a head toward his Mustang parked in the driveway behind hers. “I came on by to drop off to their rightful owner. If that’s alright, of course.”

She eyed him carefully for a moment before she nodded. “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you. I’ll go get them.”

She moved past him--trying her damnedest to avoid skin contact—and marched to his vehicle in her short overalls. She peered through the tinted windows in search of said boxes but came up empty.

“Um, pop the trunk will you,” she called over her shoulder as she stationed herself at the back of the car. He obliged from her doorstep with a click of a car keypad and the trunk door came undone. Inside, a single box awaited her. Retrieving it, she was surprised how heavy it was.

She closed his trunk and returned into her house, passing him by. Putting the box down near the doorway, she turned to face him.

“Thank you for coming all this way,” she said with a curt nod.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” he returned with a two-finger salute, his gray eyes boring into her—a window to all his thoughts.

“Goodbye, Chef.”

“Bye, honey.”

She then shut the door, sealing off that old part of her life. She strolled back into her kitchen to unpack her food delivery but halted as she heard three solid knocks. Her eyelids slid shut, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. She considered ignoring him all together, but she knew she wasn’t that cruel.

Not to him.

What she had done to him was cruel enough.

Opening the front door slightly, she sighed heavily. “Yes, Chef?”

Miles cleared his throat and coughed a little.

“Well, if you could offer an old dog somethin’ to drink. I worked up a thirst on the way over,” he stated, giving her his best scratchy dry voice.

Sugar rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. “You’re trying to use old tricks on me?”

He leaned in, wedging his head perfectly between the ajar door and the doorframe. “You know what they say, darlin’. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. The least you can do is give me a proper send-off.”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment and darted her eyes away from him, in fear of being hypnotized by him. Which most likely worked because she widened the door and backed away from the door, releasing the doorknob. Permission for entry. She went back to the kitchen and resumed her task while he locked them inside her new place.

He peered around curiously as he ventured into the kitchen.

She offered him the bottle she drank from. “It’s either this or the house special.”

“And what’s that?”

“Tap water,” she answered, earning herself a throaty chuckle. Goosebumps arose on her brown skin at the familiar sound. God, she forgot how much she missed it. She cleared her throat sharply and shook her head.

Get yourself together, Sugar, she warned herself.

He accepted her offer of wine and took a few good gulps.

“Nice place,” he commented.

“Thanks.”

“How many rooms?”

“One.” Then she devoured a cheese wonton. “It’s just me. I don’t need a lot of space. I’m a simple girl.”

“You’re far from simple, Sugar,” he replied, his breath fanning against her sensitive flesh of her neck. She shuddered and her eyelids closed, a tiny exhale passing through her lips. It was then she realized how he saddled up behind her. Her hair was pinned up in a bun to keep it from being a nuisance as she unpacked. Now she wished she had it down.

She whispered pathetically, “Miles, don’t. Please.”

A thick finger curled around a delicate strand of her at her nape. He chuckled slightly. “Now, I’m Miles. What happened to Chef?”

She ignored him and ate another wonton, chewing it roughly to channel her rising sexual frustration elsewhere. He buried his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply.

“God, I missed your scent. I can’t smell you in our bedroom anymore.”

“It’s not our bedroom anymore. It’s your bedroom now,” she reminded.

He disregarded the reminder and queried, “You gonna offer me something to eat?”

“You said you were only thirsty.”

“Now, I’m hungry.” Calloused fingers trailed her arm and she shivered in her spot. “Offer me something to eat.”

“Where are my manners?” She began sarcastically, but the color waned in her voice as the sensation of his fingers brushing along her exposed thighs affected her. “W-w-would you like something to e-e-eat, Chef?”

“I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” He pulled away.

He sat down in an empty kitchen chair, watching her expectantly. She finished unpacking her Chinese order and offered him chopsticks. He took the chicken Lo-Mein and she claimed the honey chicken with white rice. A tense silence fell between them as they consumed their dinner in her new kitchen. When the event was over, she rose to clean up.

He began to stand as well, but she held up a hand. “It’s my house. It’s my responsibility.”

He settled back down and cocked his head, blatantly watching her. She ignored him as she tidied up. After putting away the leftovers in the fridge, an idea came to her and she beelined to the box of things he returned to her. She peeled back the packing tape and opened it, widening her eyes as she realized what was inside.

A big rock.

She straightened her back but refused to turn to face him—at least not yet. “Is this rock your way of telling me you’re hard for me right now?”

Chair legs slid against the title floor as he rose, and footsteps fell as he approached her from behind. “It’s my way of telling you I’m rock bottom without you, Sugar Magnolia.”

“I can’t be with you, Miles Renard,” she returned.

He grabbed her hips and swirled her around, backing her roughly into a wall. “You can’t be with me, but if I undid these overall buttons and shoved your panties down, you’d let me kneel down and bury my tongue that sweet pussy, wouldn’t you? If I make you juicy and dripping, you’d let me fuck you against this wall, wouldn’t you?”

She needed to put him between a rock and a hard place. They had come to a complete full circle again. Oh, how they’d come such a long way since that night at Jazzmyne Garden Club.

She clenched her jaw. “Yes, I would.”

Anger flared in his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I can’t love you like you want me to. I’m not meant to be in a committed romantic relationship, Miles. We tried. We failed. I don’t have the time, energy, or the heart to devote myself to you for us to crash and burn again. I can’t give you what you need or deserve.” She pushed roughly at his shoulders, egging him on. “If you want to fuck, let’s fuck! If not, then get the fuck out!”

Please, run away, Miles. You need to run away. You don’t deserve this. You don’t fucking deserve this, she begged him within the darkest corners of her mind. She held back her tears as her soul shattered all over again. He didn’t want this. She knew it. She could see the internal war brewing inside of him through the windows of his stormy gray eyes. He wanted to love her like a man. Not fuck her like a complete stranger.

Without a word, he undid her overall buttons and forced the garment down her legs. He glared at her like he hated her fucking guts. At least, they could agree on something.

She hated herself too.

He dropped to his knees and helped her step out of the overalls. He hooked his fingers into her panties, however, he didn’t pull them down. Instead, he dropped his forehead against her belly. At first, she thought he was inhaling her scent again, but his shoulders trembled and her belly became wet with warm droplets.

He cried silently. She rested a tender hand on his head. She cast her watery eyes to the ceiling to keep her tears under control.

He gripped her thighs needily as raw emotions overcame him.

“Miles,” she trailed off, her voice crackling.

He roared out, “Fuck!”

She squeezed her eyes shut as the word slammed into her.

He stood up and grabbed his hair at the roots, tugging meanly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She flinched every time he chanted the curse. Not because she was afraid of him, but because it drove a blade into her heart deeper and deeper. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. It went against what he was. In the beginning, it was easier to say yes to a no-strings arrangement because he knew he could bend the rules to get her.

Now, there were no loopholes. It was all or nothing.

He barreled toward her, cupped her wet cheeks, and claimed her lips desperately. Her fingers entangled in his hair as she obliged to him one last time. Their tongues argued and their lips battled. A frantic and frenzied tempo was set.

Earlier, he said he wanted a proper send-off.

This was it.

He broke away and panted, “I fuckin’ love you dammit. I need you to always know that.”

Then he overwhelmed her with hungry pecks until she was breathless and woozy. Finally, he pressed his forehead against hers, his breath shaky and uneven.

He backed away with a slight stagger and left without a single word or glance, slamming the door shut behind him. The strength of her knees waned at his departure and she slid down the length of the wall until her bottom hit the floor. She cried into her hands, falling over onto her side like a tree blown over by a violent storm.

She had hit rock bottom.

{}{}{}

“Alright, who would like to start us off?”

An unsettling quiet filled the recreation center’s seminar room. Sugar adjusted her oversized sunglasses and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. As a puppet, she rose to her feet but not of her accord.

Chairs shifted, heads turned, and eyes stared.

She cleared her throat nervously and licked her lips. “Hi, my name is…Magnolia.”

“Hi, Magnolia,” a scattered chorus greeted her back.

A meek sad smile briefly graced her lips before she realized why she was here.

Why she was doing this.

“And like all of you, I’m an…adult survivor of child molestation,” she admitted the truth to complete strangers, her voice faltering as a surge of emotions coursed through her as surely as her own blood.

A 34-year-old truth she had only known about it for two months.

“All my life, I thought something wrong with me because of me,” she continued, the half-bottle of wine loosening her lips. “I’ve endured miscarriages. An abusive marriage. An entire life of insecurities. I was getting better. Until I found out why I was the way I was. Not because I deserved to know, but because the person who did this to me wanted forgiveness so he didn’t feel as bad. Now, I disowned my parents. I’ve isolated myself from my siblings. I’ve just about abandoned my successful business. I lost my baby. And…and…”

She sobbed, “I ran the man I loved away. I’m alone and scared. Of the world and of myself. Th-thank you for listening.”

She plopped down in the metal chair, brushing away her tears.

“You’ve come to the right place, Sugar. You’ve begun the most important step. And that’s coming here for help and that’s the bravest thing you can do,” the support group leader stated sympathetically from her podium and applauded Sugar, leading the rest of the group into a soft applause as well.

She nodded, sniffling.

Yes, she needed help.

“Would anyone else like to share?”

A black man in his mid-twenties stood up, fidgeting his hoodie. He glanced over his shoulder at her and gave her an appreciative nod for being the first speak up at the group session.

“Uh, my name’s Ferrell and…”

The young man’s words faded away as she glanced around at the cluster of people nodding their heads in understanding.

Being here was important.

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel alone.

A grain of hope appeared in her heart for a sweeter future even though she knew there were many bitter trials to be had.

To be continued in… 

 Now, it’s Chef’s turn to tell his side of things! If Sugar Mama was the main course then don’t miss the dessert!