Total Eclipse of the Heart Read online

  TOTAL ECLIPSE

  of

  THE HEART

  ALSO BY ZANE

  Zane’s Sex Chronicles

  Dear G-Spot: Straight Talk about Sex and Love

  Love Is Never Painless

  Afterburn

  The Sisters of APF: The Indoctrination of Soror Ride Dick

  Nervous

  Skyscraper

  The Heat Seekers

  Gettin’ Buck Wild: Sex Chronicles II

  The Sex Chronicles: Shattering the Myth

  Shame on It All

  Addicted

  Head Bangers: An APF Sexcapade

  EDITED BY ZANE

  Honey Flava: The Eroticanoir.com Anthology

  Succulent: Chocolate Flava II

  The Eroticanoir.com Anthology

  Caramel Flava: The Eroticanoir.com Anthology

  Chocolate Flava: The Eroticanoir.com Anthology

  Sensuality: Caramel Flava II

  The Eroticanoir.com Anthology

  Breaking the Cycle

  Blackgentlemen.com

  Sistergirls.com

  Purple Panties

  Missionary No More: Purple Panties 2

  Another Time, Another Place

  TOTAL ECLIPSE

  of

  THE HEART

  ZANE

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2009 by Zane

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Atria Books hardcover edition December 2009

  ATRIA Books and colophon are trademarks of

  Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or [email protected].

  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

  Designed by Rhea Braunstein

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Zane.

  Total eclipse of the heart : a novel / Zane.—1st Atria Books hardcover ed.

  p. cm.

  1. African Americans—Fiction. 2. Man-woman relationships—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3626.A63T67 2009

  813'.6—dc22

  2009039838

  ISBN 978-0-7434-9929-3

  ISBN 978-1-4391-8330-4 (ebook)

  FOR JAE

  Throughout the centuries, love has been defined in many ways. In today’s society, most people relate love to a deep feeling of sexual desire and attraction. They believe that as long as the sex is incredible, then love is definitely blooming in the air. Too many people confuse lust and sex and end up trapped in toxic relationships. The world is full of people who remain in relationships that they realize they have no business in. Yet, they stay, hoping and praying for change, believing that the other person will eventually appreciate them and recognize their value. This cycle leads to regret, despair, and oftentimes depression.

  Every once in a while, two people meet by pure chance; not while they are out on the hunt for a new lover. With no expectations between them, nature takes its course … the right way. They get to know each other, never realizing that their interaction might lead to the ultimate experience; the one thing that most of us crave our entire lives.

  What results can be “a total eclipse of the heart.”

  CONTENTS

  PART ONE—SOLAR ECLIPSE

  Solar eclipse—the obscuration of the light of the

  sun by the interposition of the moon between it and

  a point on Earth

  PART TWO—LUNAR ECLIPSE

  Lunar eclipse—the obscuration of the light of the

  moon by the interposition of Earth between it and

  the sun

  PART THREE—TOTAL ECLIPSE

  Total eclipse—an eclipse in which the surface of the

  eclipsed body is completely obscured

  PART ONE

  SOLAR ECLIPSE

  Solar eclipse—the obscuration of the light

  of the sun by the interposition of the

  moon between it and a point on Earth

  Brooke Alexander

  July 3, 2007

  Washington, D.C.

  OH, that’s it, baby.

  “Yeah, that’s the spot.

  “Lick it slow.

  “No, lick it faster.

  “Now slower.

  “Damn!

  “Oh, shit!

  “I’m cumming, baby!

  “Aw, damn!”

  I glanced up at the expression on Patrick’s face as he tried to regain some of his composure. Remnants of his semen were still trickling down my throat. In the beginning of our relationship, I would take his dick out of my mouth seconds before he came. He insisted that I swallow, even though I used to find the taste repulsive and had never done that for a man before him. At one time Patrick was so special to me that I would have walked over hot coals for him, so I did it. Now it had become mechanical.

  My best friend, Destiny, told me that men want women to swallow because it makes them feel “powerful” and “special.” It makes a man feel like a woman is somehow being submissive to him if she “drinks from his fountain.” I felt like Destiny was being way too overdramatic. Men like it because the shit feels good, just like women like it when men go down on them. After all, when we cum, they sop up all of our juices. Still, I hadn’t acquired a taste for semen and that was the bottom fucking line.

  Patrick was still shaking and whispering something that I couldn’t quite make out as I got up from the bed and began my usual “post-dick-sucking” routine. I always made a beeline for the bathroom to brush my teeth and gargle like my life depended on it. At first, Patrick was offended, but after I explained to him that I was making certain allowances to pleasure him, so he shouldn’t give a rat’s ass what I do after the act is over, we reached amicable terms. Patrick got his head regularly and I got to rinse the taste out within a few minutes afterward.

  “Come back to bed!” Patrick yelled out to me as I stood there glancing at my reflection in the mirror. “We’re not done yet.”

  Yes, we are fuckin’ done, I thought to myself. I did not want to go back out there and let him stick his dick in me. Giving head had become my way of avoiding the actual act of fucking. I’d suck him off real good, in hopes that he’d be too exhausted to do anything else. Going down on him had become an impersonal act; a chore, so to speak, to avoid hearing him complain. Actual lovemaking was something different altogether. That meant that he expected me to show him a lot of affection, to gaze into his eyes as he pumped his dick in and out of me, and to whisper sweet nothings into his ear. I couldn’t even stomach the thought of it.

  If someone had asked me even two years earlier which of my friends or family members was most likely to be involved in an abusive relationship, the last person that would have come to mind would have been me. Now, don’t get me wrong. There weren’t any late-night trips to the emergency room for broken bones, black eye
s, or cracked ribs. Patrick never struck me with his fists; he simply battered the hell out of me with his words.

  We’d been together for a little over a year, and in that significantly small amount of time compared to a lifetime, Patrick had managed to destroy my self-esteem, stress me out to the point that I’d gained nearly forty pounds, and cause me to alienate most of the people in my inner circle. Even though I’d been involved with a wide array of men with issues, Patrick took the cake. I tried to convince myself that he had a stressful job, and he did. But that wasn’t an excuse for calling me out of my name, being demeaning to me, and often acting like I was not “worthy” of him.

  It was a sick, toxic situation, but I felt trapped. More like entrapped because he was the perfect man for the first few months after we met. They always say that people should give relationships time to develop. That sooner or later a person’s real traits will be exposed. I should have listened to “they.”

  I barely recognized the woman staring back at me in the mirror. She had worry lines under her eyes. There were numerous gray hairs, even though she’d yet to turn thirty, and she looked completely drained. I had to make a change—somehow, some way.

  “Brooke, what’s taking you so long?” Patrick asked, walking into the bathroom with his half-limp dick in his hand. He walked up behind me and started slapping the head of it on my bare ass. “You going to wake Magnum back up? He’s ready for a good workout.”

  I clamped my eyes shut. I used to think it was cute that he called his dick Magnum. Patrick had an average-size dick at best, but you couldn’t tell him that he wasn’t hung like a mule. He’d always say things like “You know you want this big dick.” “Tell Daddy you want this big dick.” And “Yeah, I’m going to fill you up with all this big dick.”

  “Patrick, I don’t feel too good.” I opened my eyes and stared at his reflection behind me in the mirror. “I think my period is coming.”

  “Humph! Bullshit! Your period ended less than ten days ago, bitch!” He spewed the word bitch at me; spittle flew out of his mouth and onto my shoulder. He backed away from me. “Just remember, what you won’t do, some other whore will.”

  He stormed out, and for a few minutes after he left, I weighed my options. I could get dressed and leave. I could give in to him like I always did, go out there, spread my legs, and be nauseous while he did his dirty deed. Or I could retrieve a butcher knife from the kitchen and bury it in his chest while he was sleeping. The final choice stood out the most.

  When I finally emerged, Patrick had vanished. I hadn’t heard a door open or close, so I assumed that he was in the guest room or on the sofa. Either way, I was relieved that he wasn’t in bed waiting to jump my bones.

  I locked the bedroom door, propping a chair up underneath the handle for good measure. I didn’t think that Patrick would graduate to physical violence, but I was no dressmaker’s dummy nor blind to the possibilities. I wasn’t cut out to slaughter someone, but the thoughts were constantly filling my head. I wasn’t cut out to be someone’s slave, either, but I felt like one. The chair was placed there just as much for his protection as mine. If Patrick ever did haul off and hit me, one of us was going to the fuckin’ boneyard, pure and simple.

  I fell asleep that night with tears streaming from my eyes. The next day, we were scheduled to attend a Fourth of July party at his parents’ house, where I’d have to pretend that everything was great … once again. I’d always felt that putting on pretenses was unnecessary after a certain age. As children, we have no choice but to conform to the wishes of our parents. We pretend to like school, even if we hate it. We pretend to love church, even if we don’t really feel like attending. We pretend to enjoy food that we can’t stand to appease our mothers. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. Well, I couldn’t do it anymore. I adored Patrick—some things about him—but a change was going to come or I was going to have to leave.

  Damon Johnson

  July 4, 2007

  Wheaton, Maryland

  CARLEIGH, I’m telling you. That motherfucker is too fine for words. I bet he blows your back out every damn night.”

  “You ain’t never lied, Jordan. Do you see that rocket in those shorts? I can see that damn thing all the way over here.”

  “Do I see it? Girl, it’s making me hungry. I’m starving and I’m not talking about those ribs on the grill.”

  “Yeah, forget about him cooking out here. I wouldn’t mind heating up some shit in the bedroom.”

  “Carleigh, tell us the truth. Can you even handle all that man? He looks like he needs at least four or five women to keep him satisfied.”

  “Ya’ll crazy. I keep my shit on point. Damon is well taken care of, thank you very much.”

  “Well, if you ever need some backup pussy, give a sister a call. You can call me twenty-four/seven.”

  “I know that’s right. Call me, too. Shit, I’ll settle for simply watching him go to work. Give me a bowl of buttered popcorn, a Pepsi, and a front-row seat.”

  “You all better find you a man on Damon’s website and leave mine to me.”

  “Please, those men on that website are full of crap. Last few good men, my ass.”

  “What about Bobby and Steve? They’re cute, in an old-fashioned sort of way.”

  “Carleigh, you need glasses. Those suckers aren’t cute by any stretch of the imagination.”

  “You hear those pigeons over there?” Steve asked, as I threw another slab of baby back ribs onto the grill.

  “How can I not hear them?” I replied. “Carleigh’s friends are a trip.”

  Bobby grabbed a barbecued chicken leg out of the pan and started gnawing it down to the bone. “Have any of them ever actually tried to get busy?”

  I smirked. “They have no shame in their game. I’ll leave it at that.”

  “Oh, come on,” Steve said. “Spill the beans. You know women aren’t the only ones who gossip.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I said. “You and Bobby are worse than any women that I’ve ever seen. All you chatter about is your sex lives, or lack thereof.”

  “Rub that shit in, why don’t you?” Bobby popped the tab on his third beer. “I’m this close to finding the lady of my dreams.” With his free hand he pressed his thumb and index fingers together. “I’m simply taking my time. I only plan on getting married once.”

  “Everybody only plans to get married once,” Steve said.

  “True,” Bobby admitted. “But I’m not going to end up like a lot of these peeps. I have zero intention of being on my third or fourth marriage by the time I’m forty. I want to settle down, father some legacies to carry on my name, and have readily available pussy in my bed every night.”

  I laughed. “Seems like you have it all figured out.”

  Steve looked at me. “When are you and Carleigh going to have some kids? You’ve been married for going on four years.”

  “Damn, you sound like my mother. Everything happens in due time.” I flipped the ribs over and took another sip of my orange juice. I don’t know why I felt like I had to defend my manhood, since neither of them were getting sex on the regular. Yet, I felt compelled to add, “It’s not from lack of sex that we don’t have a child. I can tell you that much.”

  Bobby glanced at my cup of juice and shook his head. “Damon, I don’t see how you do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Refrain from drinking alcohol.”

  “Is liquor a requirement these days?” I asked.

  “No, but, shit, it helps take the edge off,” Bobby replied.

  I glanced down at Bobby’s beer gut and chuckled.

  “Preach!” Steve said, cosigning as he poured himself some whiskey—his drink of choice—into a cup. “Life is stressful and I need to be able to relax.”

  “Well, I work out to relax.”

  They both smirked, hating on me because of my body.

  Bobby looked over at the women sitting around the table on the deck still talking trash, and then back at me. “Damon, I
have to admit. You have it all. A fine wife.”

  “Amen,” Steve said.

  “A nice crib.”

  “Amen.”

  “A good job.”

  “Amen again.”

  “One of the hottest up-and-coming websites.”

  “Amen four times.”

  “And you’re cut like a statue.”

  Steve said, “I’m not commenting on another man’s body. There I draw the line; but amen to all that other shit.”

  We all laughed as I finished up the grilling so we could eat before the fireworks started later on that evening.

  As we sat around the deck eating, Carleigh’s friends continued on their tirade about how fine I was. They loved scoping out men in general, but they especially loved checking me out. Most women would feel uncomfortable if their girlfriends acted like they wanted to fuck their husband on sight, but not my Carleigh. She had me hooked and she knew it. In her mind, there was zero chance of me cheating on her. She was right.

  While Steve and Bobby were both single and looking, I will be the first to admit that most of my other buddies had a problem with being devoted to one woman, even if they had exchanged marriage vows. I’d taken mine seriously. Carleigh and I had been married for four glorious years and I wouldn’t have traded her for all the women in the world. Men tend to be egotistical creatures, and some of my married friends had the nerve to get pissed if their mistress or mistresses stepped out on them. That defied logic, but it made perfect sense to them.

  There are some decent men, but the silly, immature men make it hard for women to differentiate. On the other hand, so many women play games that men have to be damn near as cautious, or they’ll be somewhere feeling dejected or used. That was one reason why I was glad that I’d settled down early in life. Well, early for this day and age. During the last century, people married young—such as fifteen or sixteen—and had four or five kids by the time they were twenty-five. I got married at twenty-five; Carleigh was twenty-three; and while some of our friends had jumped the broom, most of them had not.