Saturday Book Read w/ Sharine Jones: The End of Ch. 2–Mutual Addiction

Reflections of A Woman’s Indiscretions

This book is dedicated to my mother Elena, grandmothers Josephine & Evril, & to all the Ladies in my life – Strong women I have seen Prevail no matter the circumstances or challenges.


20131102-145624.jpgFor the remainder of the night I cried profusely–mostly trying to make sense out of nonsense. And when I awoke on the next day, my lip was black and blue; cut up; and swollen–this is what I looked like for my daughter’s 5th birthday celebration. I was hideous. I don’t even remember what I told my kids. Pathetic. I didn’t stay angry at Slimm, or away from Slimm. This was the self-inflicted pain of an addict.


December 2004

As the arrival of December came, I received a new position as an administrative assistant through a temp agency; and my kids began a new life at a new school and with new friends. But I was growing restless and lonely in Moreno Valley; not once had Slimm come to visit me. And I drove to L.A. on Fridays and back to Moreno Valley on Sundays religiously like a damn fool.

I began to see things for what they truly were. For example, when the kids had their parent teacher conferences and award ceremonies, I would go to them like I always had before, but this time I would do it alone–without Blu. It didn’t make any sense on why I would block the father of my children; Blu was a constant factor in our children’s lives. Why was I making it harder on myself? And possibly, on my kids? Furthermore, the distance from L.A. was starting to take a toll on me; I hated the drive! When I thought about it, I asked myself who was really benefiting from these living arrangements? And it was one individual, of course: Slimm. There was no telling what Slimm was up to, but it boiled down to one factor: he wanted to isolate me from Blu; which made him feel secure and in control. So that’s when I made my decision to move back to L.A.

I love city life and I always will–plus my kids needed their father. I got them re-enrolled to their original elementary school and our living arrangements were this: the kids lived with their dad since their school was less than a block away from his apartment and I would stay with Faith until I found a place of my own – six months, tops.
Reflecting back, many of my arguments with Slimm were centered around Blu; he didn’t want me in Blu’s apartment. So everyday after work I would take my kids to the library to complete their homework and brush my daughter’s hair in my car, rather than in Blu’s home, where my kids stayed. But what really stunned me was that he would have a hissy fit everytime I gave Blu my cell number and a chirp [FYI: A lingo for a call on Nextel phones back in 2004]–A major warning sign that I chose to ignore. How did he NOT expect me to be in contact with Blu?–the father of my children. I didn’t understand his way of thinking: Was he really this ignorant? Or was his insecurities that bad? Come to find out, it was both. He didn’t have kids and didn’t understand the relationship needed between two functioning parents. And if he could keep Blu at a far distance he’d feel secure and in control. He demanded power over me, which I allowed him to have.

Christmas Eve 2004

Christmas Eve is here; the most wonderful time of the year. A day of peace and love. However, this particular Christmas Eve would soon turn out to be the complete opposite–a day of war and hate.

The idea of spending the holidays with Slimm made me smile; this was going to be our first Christmas together. He arranged for a lavish hotel suite with all the fine trimmings. [I could even tell by the way he spoke to me]. I was hyped for the day to come and when it finally did he made it a point to treat me like an annoyance to him.

Our conversation over the phone was dry and short. His disposition towards me was cold; I once again cried uncontrollably, but on Faith’s bed. I had no idea what was going on. I begged him to talk to me, I wanted to know what the problem was, but the more I tried, the more irritated he became with me. I remember him saying to me in a callous tone,

“Sharine, you’re making a fool of yourself!”

Feeling embarrassed, pitiful, and foolish, I hung up the phone. With each passing moment, I was exposing myself to more hurt. I suppose it didn’t take much energy to treat me badly.

My confidence was diminishing; my self-esteem was dwindling; and I was constantly second-guessing myself: “Why is he mad?”;“Did I do something wrong?”;“And what was it?” I’m sure he knew how needy and weak I was, which is why he took each and every episode to another level. The day continued and I hadn’t heard from him.

Around 6 pm that evening I chirped his phone to see what was up–what the plans were. Of course, he didn’t hesitate to make me wait–responding back some time later with, “I’m busy.” I was heated. He was treating me like I was nothing–like I was of no significance. I sat in my car for a few minutes thinking of the mental games he was playing, but I had to shake them off. It was time to visit my kids where I should’ve been from the start. I pulled up to Blu’s apartment; turned off my phone; threw it on the passenger seat; and went upstairs.

We had a great time! We ate dinner; watched movies; and opened presents–we were happy and cozy. I missed our family life, and I found myself wishing it would be like this all the time; it made me sad. Why couldn’t it be like this when I was with Blu? I dismissed the thought because it would only break my heart even more. I put my kids to sleep [ ready for Christmas morning!]; kissed them goodnight; and headed out the door. I walked out to my car cautiously, looking around for any sign of Slimm; he was nowhere in sight. But he was sneaky like that though. [He often rolled around trying to spot my car and would be mad if he did.] Once I got inside my car safely I realized that I needed gas. So I headed to Arco gas station on La Cienega; but not before turning on my phone to see that I had a thousand missed calls and chirps from Slimm.

I couldn’t believe this guy! He didn’t want to talk to me earlier, but now he expects me to answer his chirp on the fly? In my frustration, I decided to do the same thing that he did to me: I ignored his ass. I was so tired and not in the mood to deal with his insecurities.

After filling up my tank, I jumped in my car and went East on Rodeo Road. I just crossed over La Cienega when Slimm, out of nowhere, cut me off in the middle of the street. The streets were vacant, which would explain his bold move. He was driving a rental–a large sedan-type vehicle–which he used to block my car from proceeding forward. He quickly jumped out of the car and walked briskly toward my driver window; my window was rolled up. Sternly he said,

“Lower your muthafuckin’ window, before I break it!”

I quickly lowered it and sat there scared beyond scared. Spit once again was flying all over my face,

“Why the fuck you didn’t chirp me back? Where the fuck you been?”

I answered him truthfully with a touch of attitude, “At Blu’s house–visiting my kids on Christmas Eve!”

I can tell in his eyes that he wanted to slap the shit out of me. He told me to follow him down the street, I was hesitant, but he was adamant.

“I’ll go if you promise not to hit me,” I said.

The words just came out with no thought. I sounded like one of those women that I promised I would never become: a weak woman–with inferior standards and a lack of worth. I was ashamed of myself. Is this what love was supposed to be? To have you feel ashamed of yourself? No, not at all! But I was losing myself in him.

I followed him a few blocks; made a left turn onto a silent residential street; and proceeded to park.

“Get out. I wanna talk to you!” he shouted.

Timidly I followed his instructions. With my back against my car door he bent down to get in my face [I’m 5’0 tall and he’s 6’6, so he had to bend down to look me in my eyes].

“Why the fuck you gotta be all up in that nigga’s apartment?”

I answered furiously, “What part of ‘my kids are there’ don’t you understand?!”

Then he did the unthinkable. He grabbed my arm with his bare hand, pulled me towards his rental, and without a second thought threw me into the trunk, and slammed the door on top of me.

It went pitch-black. Instantly I began to scream and I cried hysterically. All kind of crazy thoughts started to run through my head. I didn’t know what to expect. Was he going to set me on fire? Bury me alive? Kidnap and kill me? My thoughts were never ending. Although they sickened me, the truth was I had no idea where this man’s mind was going; so I thought the worse.

What seemed like hours, being locked away in a trunk, were only minutes; he released me right after my freakishly deafening cries [which I assumed was the reason he let me out]. Once I got out he said this to me,

“I’m not fucking with you.”

This was his way of stabbing me without actually doing it. He wanted to hurt me by any means necessary and proved it again by holding a bat in his hand–attempting to terrorize, hurt or do both.

I drove to Faith’s house in tears–only to be mad at myself. I knew I had to leave him, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. My thoughts bombarded me:

“Did I really love him more than I loved myself?”;“Why else would I settle for this type of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde behavior?”; “Why didn’t I just walk away and call it quits?”

I didn’t know the answers; I just knew I loved him. After each episode, I’d think of the good times we shared, and I’d give in and call him–and he’d be waiting for that call. It was a mutual addiction. A week later we started where we left off: in a ghetto love affair.


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