"I can't breathe."

I peered down at Micheal's face and allowed a sly smile to cross my full, salty lips. We were in the second hour of love making so intense, my legs were getting numb while my pussy throbbed for more. Pressing the balls of my hands into his shoulder blades, I closed my eyes, groaned, then raised my ass up so slow I could feel his veins pulsating.

"D, I can't breathe." He belted out again as his nails dug into my wide, slippery, rotating hips.

"Me either, babe. Oh my God, you are killing me tonight, and I'm here for it." Throwing my head back, my damp, shoulder length bob barely moved. I swear my sweat was sweating. After three years of dating, Michael and I were finally committed after realizing we were one another's  "the one." 

A recent divorcee, he was skeptical about getting back into the dating game that night when we ran into one another at Marely's fortieth birthday party. Apparently he had a crush on me in since the sixth grade. I thought he was a nappy headed hoe in high school, mainly because he was, but something about his vulnerability on the Mirage's dark, packed dance floor had finally made him attractive. Either that or the pre-party blunts and back to back Painkillers created a "damn he fine" filter.

It wasn't long after that night that we began to date. We dated, broke up, dated again, almost made it to moving in together, broke up in Ikea's parking lot, then dated again before he transferred to University of Bologna to finish up a post doctorate degree in Law.

I hated to admit that I was in love with him, but the last break up threw my ass into a major depression. Netflix and chill became Netflix and pills as I popped oxy's from my leg fracture days like Pez candies. How could I, the queen of independence, actually need this man in my life?  I didn't know, but I did.

After brooding for nearly a damn year, I asked Marley to fly with me to Italy, and we basically stalked his college campus until, surprisingly, he was the twentieth beautiful, majestic, Black king to stroll into the coffee shop.

His stoic facial expression had me confused until his 'study buddy,' strolled in and placed her funky ass, pencil thin lips on his cheek. Marley pulled me away from the scene, but as she did, I didn't take my eyes off of him, nor did his leave me.  By the time we made it a few blocks away, he was yelling behind us, and I wanted to jump in front of a Vespa, then get plummeted into a city bus to end my misery. Not only had he moved on, but with... her? Marley jerked me backwards as my foot lifted so that I could step off the curb.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Nothing," I mumbled while glaring towards Michael's punk ass jogging towards us.

"I didn't fly my ass halfway round the damn universe so that you could run away from this man. Fuck her. You came here for him, and he's running behind you. Get your shit together, and make this work."

By the time he caught up to the potential location of my suicide investigation, I was livid and craving oxy's again.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

Marley's lip smack was so loud, I swear the Pope heard it. "Duh, idiot," she announced before taking a seat at an empty bistro table.

"Dana, what's going on?" He asked again while pulling me towards the same face that bitch put her DNA on.

"I missed you." I muttered as I fought back tears.

"Babe, you have my number. You weren't returning my calls, texts, Facebook messages. I'm confused as hell right now."

"I missed you, Michael. I was lonely and sad without you."

From the peanut gallery came, "Sad, girl your ass was one Gone Without A Trace episode from disappearing into the depths of a depression. Tell that man the damn truth."

After swiveling my head like an Exorcist stand-in, I glared at my best friend, then grit my teeth as I promised fuck her up later.

"Is this true?"

This man and his damn compassionate, velvety tone could make Satan vow to be a saint.  Unable to hold back my tears, I cried. "Yes."

Without another word, Michael pulled me into his arms and held me so lovingly, everything wrong in my life faded away, at least until the winch found us. In her native tongue, she asked him who I was. That's what my two years of high school French led me to believe. Forever the gentleman, Michael let me go, promised to come right back, then strolled with little Ms. Frenchie back down the block.

"Ummm mmm, poor thing," Marley mumbled as she joined me on the sidewalk. "Don't they know the power we hold?"

We both chuckled, then high-fived one another before he spun to return in our direction. Then, there we were, one PhD and a marriage proposal later, rolling around in our bed having a sexy ass MMA brawl.

"D." Micheal groaned as he grimaced, then pushed my lower body backwards.

Simpering, I allowed him to tap out, kissed him on the cheek, then rocked my hips as I meandered toward the bathroom. "Care to join me?"

"Dana... I."

I placed my hand on my side, lowered my chin, then grinned as I glanced over my shoulder.  "Yes?"

He lay there, with his eyes open.

"That good, huh?" I bragged as I faced his direction. He didn't move. "Michael?"

My heart knew before I made it back across the room.  "Michael." I screamed as I rubbed his sternum, then violently rocked his shoulders. The life in his eyes had already faded, but I started CPR and shouted for Alexa to dial 911. By the time the paramedics arrived, I was exhausted, still pumping on his chest and praying each desperate breath would resume his life, our lives, but Micheal, the love of my life, was still dead.