David, My First Love

Trigger Warning:

This story contains references to childhood abuse, emotional trauma, and verbal aggression. Please read with care.

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!

"Open up! I know you're in there!"

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!

As I sat at the table editing my next book, All About Geoff, I was rudely interrupted by someone obsessively banging and yelling at my front door.

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!

"Writer Girl, I said open the door!"

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!... BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!

I paused mid-sentence. Instinctively, my head turned toward the pounding. Cautiously, I slid my chair back from the desk, careful not to make a sound. Softly, I lowered and closed my laptop.

Uneasy silence filled the room. My ears perked like radar as my brain scrambled to match the familiar voice with a name or face.

I know that voice. Who the heck is it? It’s late! Who do I know with the audacity to pound on my door like that? I squinted, as if I had superpowers that could see through the locked door.

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!... BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!... BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!

"Open up, Writer Girl! I saw your car in the driveway. I know you're home! So open your gawd-damn door!"

I huffed, shaking my head, eyes affixed like glue to the door. Whoever it is isn’t going away. As the knocking grew more insistent, I tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole.

BABOOMP, BABOOMP, BABOOMP!

My heart raced, my head pounded, and my body trembled. I quickly turned and leaned my back against the door. A whisper of air escaped my lips as I exhaled silently, trying to calm my pulse.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

What the heck! My body bounced as the door shook.

"Writer Girl! Open this mother-fricken door before I kick it in!"

THUD! THUD!

Heavily, my chest heaved as the coolness of tiny water droplets raced down my face.

Dang... It's David. Isn't he—

RATTLE, RATTLE, RATTLE!

"Writer Girl!"

Why is he here? What could he possibly want with me?

"This is the last time I'm going to ask you."

Should I call the police? The thought popped into my head, causing me to pace aimlessly in front of the door.

No. They wouldn’t get here in time. Just let him in. He sounds upset... but you know he can’t hurt you, my mind reasoned.

You’re right. It’s just David.

I sighed, extended my hand, and twisted the lock.

BLAAM!

As soon as it clicked, David shoved the door open.

"Excuse me!" I bellowed, barely jumping out of the way before it swung inward and slammed into the wall.

David's shoulders rose and fell as he stood there, breathing hard, fists clenched, eyes narrowed.

"David, what the heck! Didn't you see me standing there?" I yelled—more upset than scared of his threatening actions or frightful appearance.

Slowly, his head turned, like he was cracking his neck. His eyes locked on me, an evil smile twisting across his face.

He sauntered forward. "I heard it from a reliable source that you gave that punk-ass Geoff his own book. But me..."

He thumped his chest, then leaned in so close his nose nearly touched mine.

UGH!

My eyes misted. His rancid breath smelled like he’d just eaten a pile of hot dodo. He smirked, clearly enjoying my suffering.

HA!

He huffed.

I pinched my nose with one hand while pushing him back with the other. My knees buckled, eyes watering.

Like a boxer, he tilted his head side to side, then banged his fists together like he was wearing gloves.

I know this fool ain't trying to fight me, my mind said, while my eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapon—or an escape route.

He stepped forward. "Bitch, what the fuck did you give me?"

What did I give him? my head repeated. Then I remembered who I was. No—who I am.

I shoved my hand into his chest.

"David, back the heck up. Now!" I roared like a lion, chest puffed, voice full of authority.

"I ain't Carolyn, and I sure ain't scared of nobody I write into existence!"

HA! David laughed in defiance.

"That's just it—I ain't in existence! And nobody said you were scared. But are you?"

He grinned, flashing a row of buttery-yellow teeth.

"Are you scared of me, Writer Girl?

I'm just here because I believe I need to have my own book, as well."

"But David, you're—"

"Writer Girl, don't you know that don't mean nothing to me? Before that happened, I had a life and a story.

Shit, I was the one who dated and married Carolyn first.

And those three marriage traps?"—he thumped his chest—"I'm their dad, not that wannabe punk-ass Geoff.

So why didn't you ask me to share my beautiful love story?

Could you be jealous because I didn't break you off a piece?

Is that what this is? Do you want some of this, Writer Girl?

Is that what it's gonna take for you to write about me?"

I glared at David and craned my neck. In my most authoritative voice, I pointed a finger in his face.

"Look, I ain't scared of you. And if you can't talk to me like you got some sense, then you're gonna have to get the heck out of my face and house! Do you understand?"

My arms folded across my chest as I leaned back, foot tapping while I waited for his response.

David stared me up and down. Then he raised his hands.

CLAP, CLAP, CLAP.

"Oh, so Writer Girl got a little spunk. I applaud you—I like that..."

Seductively, David let his tongue circle his chapped lips, then stretched out his cracked, ashy hand to caress my face.

WHACK!

I smacked his hand away. “What makes you think you have the right to touch me?”

“Ooh, I love feisty women. How come you didn’t make Carolyn feisty? I wouldn’t have been so mean to her if you did that. Come here,” he demanded, reaching to jerk my braids.

My arms snapped into a defensive block like I knew karate.

EEYAH!

David countered, his arms dancing smoothly into an offensive stance. Gracefully, he spun around, his left leg snapping into a roundhouse kick that pulled back just inches from my face.

“Did you forget you wrote me to be the team captain of my college martial arts team?”

YAH! he shouted, arms retracting, then extending into a punch.

My arms quickly snapped into motion—rocking, blocking, then connecting with his nose.

How I did that, I’ll never know. But I guess since I wrote the story, I unconsciously gave myself skills too.

David’s eyes beamed as he swiped his arm under his bloody nose. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, his tongue circled his lips as he cleared the remaining blood.

“Ooh, I like it rough,” he cooed, waving for me to approach. His eyes glistened. “A good fight turns me on.”

Gracefully, I bowed in defeat as my mind told me, You can't beat him physically, but you can mentally outsmart him.

“Okay. Since you like it rough, wait right here. I’ll be right back—gonna get something to make me feel more comfortable. Would you like me to bring something for you, too?”

David busted an unholy smile and undressed me with his horrid, twinkly, beady eyes.

UGH.

I sighed as a chill raced down my spine.

Hurriedly, I dashed into the living room.

“What can I use?” I mumbled as my eyes scoured the room, finally resting on the fireplace poker.

“Yes. This will work!”

Holding it behind my back, I sauntered back into the room.

“I thought you were going to get something to make you more comfortable?” David asked, his lips downturned in disappointment. “What are you hiding behind your back?”

Grinning from ear to ear, he added, “Is it something to make you feel sexy and comfortable? Can I watch you undress to put it on?”

I cooed, stepping closer. “It’s just a little something I picked up… to help you remember old times.”

Quickly, David bent down and started removing his shoes. What the heck is he doing that for? We’ve never had a physical relationship. But who cares?

“SURPRISE!” I shouted.

A look of horror consumed his face as he glanced up. David’s body trembled. His eyes widened, and he nearly stumbled backward.

Empowered like a superhero, my chest poked out as I cocked the poker over my shoulder—poised to whack the mess out of him if necessary.

David’s eyes shimmered as they misted.

“Yeah. You know what I can do with this,” I declared, flinching toward him.

“Please stop. I didn’t come here for any of that! All I’m saying is—if you’re gonna tell their story, you need to tell mine as well,” David whined, his beady little eyes filling with tears.

“Without me, there wouldn’t be a story,” he said softly.

HMMM.

Maybe I should, I thought, as my mind raced, flooded with memories of the once-loving David, the one I thought was the better choice for her… until it wasn’t. Or until he proved me wrong.

“Writer Girl, you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything, David.”

“Yes, you do. I didn’t have a choice in how my life turned out. You decided to write what you did about me. My character flaws and all... were your doing.”

My hands cupped my face as I paused to reflect on what he said. My eyes welled up as I stared at his bloodied T-shirt.

AH!

I gasped and quickly turned my head. I couldn’t bear to gaze at his blood-clotted dreads or the gash—

UH!

My hands flared as if parting the Red Sea.

“David, I’m sorry. And you’re right. I had so much love and respect for you in the beginning.” I paused as a dull pain cut through my chest.

“What’s happening?” I cried.

David’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Oh, that? …It’s just my heart breaking.”

WHOO.

I exhaled deeply, then paused, placing my hand on a nearby table.

“David… I wanted you to be the best husband for Carolyn. But it didn’t happen that way.”

“But you can fix it. Writer Girl, please—tell my story. I don’t want everyone to hate me. Please. If you cared anything about me, tell the truth.”

The truth… I mumbled, fixing my gaze toward the ceiling.

Images of David and Carolyn’s loving romance bounced around in my head like a roulette wheel.

I sighed as they spun and spun, then finally stopped— Not at his birth, but at the moment he first introduced himself to Carolyn.

A smile warmed my heart as I fondly recalled one of the many versions of that encounter. The sounds of laughter, loud chattering, feet scampering, and chairs scraping across the cement floors echoed in my ears.

I sighed along with Carolyn as she raised her large glass of iced tea to her lips, then gently lowered it onto the wooden table, careful not to draw attention to her loneliness. A dull pain creased my heart as her eyes misted with the thought, Why don’t I have someone special in my life?

Quickly, she brushed away the tears hanging like parachute jumpers, waiting to soar. Softly, she sniffed, her nose filtering through the scent of burgers, pepperoni pizza, and tuna sandwiches.

HUH.

She exhaled, acknowledging the obvious: no one wanted her, and she was destined to sit alone. Her lip quivered in anguish as she slowly raised a warm fry, dipped in ranch dressing, to her mouth.

THUD!

Her body jumped, eyes shooting upward.

“Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the super-tall athlete said, sliding his tray across the table and plopping down in the vacant seat.

“Umm,” Carolyn gasped.

“What?” he asked, eyes wide. “Is this seat taken? Is someone joining you?”

Her eyes darted around the cafeteria. So many seats... why sit here?

“It’s okay, I’ll leave,” he said, reaching for his tray.

“No, it’s fine. The seat’s not taken,” she mumbled, keeping her head down to hide the joy racing through her chest.

“I’m David.” He picked up one of her fries, dipped it, and popped it into his mouth.

Her lip twitched. Was she supposed to say something? Complain? This was new.

“Your name’s Carolyn—with an apostrophe S, right?” he paused, holding another fry near his watery, succulent lips.

“Uh,” she mumbled, her eyes scanning the room for encouragement. But nobody noticed.

“Carolyn,” he repeated, sweeping his thick, dark-chocolate hands through his coarse, rope-like dreads that framed his face like a lion’s mane.

“You know, Carolyn,” he added, dipping a handful of fries, “you’re different.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at her tray. This has to stop. At the rate he’s going, he’s going to devour all of my fries.

“Carolyn?”

She inhaled, sucking in her stomach. Like in the cartoons, butterflies fluttered, forming a heart as her heart swooned. I love you… I mean… I love it when he calls me by my name—Mrs. Carolyn Browne.

Lightly, he tapped her shoulder. “Carolyn, are you going to respond?”

Respond? Did I miss something?

Blinking rapidly, barely breathing, she took a wild guess and said, “Yes.”

Gently, his hand rose and rested just below her chin. A soft giggle escaped her lips as he said, “I admire how you carry yourself around campus.”

A crooked smile crept onto her face. She clutched her stomach, unsure how to respond, so she just stared.

“You’re not like the other girls—always chasing or throwing themselves at me.”

A big Kool-Aid smile took over as his hand brushed her cheek.

WHOO!

Her body tingled, causing her to slightly twitch in her seat. David—a star athlete—noticed me.

“Carolyn?”

A whisper of a sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as she fought to quiet her inner thoughts and focus on his words.

Ah! She jerked as a tingling sensation rushed through her veins, causing her eyes to shoot open. Staring deeply into her, he lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it, and bowed slightly.

Oh my gosh. Am I dead? Did I die and go to heaven? Carolyn asked herself, gently pulling free from his grasp, then turning to scan the cafeteria. Who else just saw that?

“My lady,” he said, gently but firmly turning her face back toward him. “Please tell me—would you like me to pick you up at your house, or would you prefer to meet there for dinner and a movie this Friday?”

BA-DA-DA-DA-DA!

Carolyn’s heart pounded. Her eyes widened, and her body grew weak, as if she might faint. Did David just ask me out on a date—and I missed it?

It took every bit of restraint she had not to cover her mouth and gasp.

“David... thank you for asking. I’d love to go,” she whispered.

A smile lit up his face as his beady eyes twinkled with delight. “Okay. I’ll pick you up at 7 sharp,” he said, walking away.

“Wait,” Carolyn yelled, “You don’t have my address! How are you going to pick me up?”

“Love will guide me… Just be ready,” he replied as he walked off.

Carolyn’s hands clasped over her heart.

Oh my gosh! I love him. I think he’s going to propose.

SNAP! SNAP!

“Wake up, Writer Girl!”

“Huh?” I responded, not fully conscious, still caught in my daydream.

“See, I wasn’t all bad,” David said, reaching to caress my face.

I flared my hands to block him.

His head dropped. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to thank you... for writing that memory.”

I stared at him, remembering the abuse he suffered as a child and how he fought to overcome it—to become a loving, caring boyfriend, then husband to Carolyn, and father to their children. And although it shouldn’t have, my heart grieved with his.

My eyes misted as I blinked back tears.

“I wasn’t always a bully. You know that. Before you changed me, I was loving—and you wrote nice things about me.”

A tear splashed and splattered on his hand as we locked eyes.

AH!

I gasped. His pain shot through me like flames from hell, as David glared at me with a look of pure, unadulterated hate.

“Bitch, I’m the way I am because of you—you, Writer Girl. You wrote me to be this way. Now fix it!” he shouted as he stormed out of the room.

BLAAM!

My house shook like an earthquake had hit.

CRASH!

The framed copies of my bestsellers lay shattered on the floor.

“He didn’t have to close the door that hard. I can’t stand that asshole,” I muttered.

Oops—sorry. That man brings out the worst in me. Got me cussin’ in here... and I don’t even do that.

Heavily, my chest rose and fell as I locked the door, then set the poker back in place.

Yes, David is a jerk... but he’s right. His story would make an engaging read.

I opened a new tab on my laptop.

Let’s see... David, My First Love.

Where do I begin this story about you, David—the stupid-ass bully?

I know—I’ll ask Carolyn. I don’t have time for your... foolishness.

Ring.

“Hello, Carolyn. Did I wake you?... Well, David just left my house—

I know, that’s what I thought. But he was here.

No, I don’t see how that’s possible either...

Of course, it was him. He came demanding I write a book about his relationship with you...

Yeah—and get this... he wants it to be a love story!

I know, right? I should be laughing.

But honestly... he’s right. Your experiences with him would make an engaging romance story.

Do I have your permission to write it?”