(If you’re new to the Saga, follow it from the beginning.)
Back inside Darla and Tom’s apartment, where nosy neighbors could no longer get a peep-hole view into the hallway of their domestic woes, the medics did a patch-me-up job on Tom’s bloody leg. No ambulance ride necessary. No stitches required. Officer Janssen was just about done questioning Darla on the events of the evening to decide who might potentially be cuffed and taken down to the station. But after 15 minutes of talking to the couple, and especially considering the disheveled state of the apartment (broken glass, an overturned chair, and plate of food smashed onto the wall), Officer Janssen was still suspicious.
“Ma’am, are you sure you weren’t assaulted or injured in any way by your husband this evening?”
“What the hell else do you want me to say?” said Darla. “It’s just like my husband told it to you. I’ve been drinking. I got a little loud — we both did. I knocked the stupid lamp over and it cut his leg. Am I under arrest unless I apologize to the bastard? I would have made it up to him if you cops hadn’t shown up.”
In Darla’s sarcasm, she made close eye contact with Janssen and gestured to insinuate she was going to flash her breasts at him, but then quickly turned to face Tom before exposing herself and jiggling her boobs from side to side with Girl’s Gone Wild fanfare (Officer Janssen had a few of those DVD’s back at his house).
“Ma’am, please cover yourself now!” Janssen spoke with firm authority. Tom scrambled to cover Darla’s silicone implanted boobs by forcing her hands off of her shirt while simultaneously making a plea to Officer Janssen.
“Sir, my wife has no physical injuries and she’s obviously not pressing charges for anything I’ve done – as if she’d have a reason to?” Tom spoke in a calm voice. Dealing with Darla’s games and self destructive issues gave him plenty of practice in how to calm his temper that was famous for getting him into trouble. He was also getting very good at covering up Darla’s pill-popping problems.
“Can’t we just say our goodnights now? Me and the wife will calm it down. We’re really sorry about the noise.”
Darla let out an obnoxious burst of loud laughter, plopped backwards onto the edge of the couch, then slipped off and then fell on her ass in a real life version of that famous texting lingo, “ROFLMAO” (Rolling On Floor Laughing My Ass Off). Both Tom and Janssen ignored Darla.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you to leave the premises for the evening so your wife can sleep off the alcohol without causing anymore disturbances tonight. It’s either that or she can sleep it off downtown. Do you have somewhere you can go?”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me? Tell me you’re joking.” Now Tom was pissed off.
“No, sir. Pack a quick bag if you have to. I’ll wait, but make it fast.”
“Fine. I’m outta here then. And f-ck you, Darla!” Tom’s “f-ck you” came out with such anger and force, that spit flew out of his mouth. A visible vein began to swell on the side of his head near his temple. He grabbed his keys and stormed out of the apartment. But not too stormy, because his leg still hurts and he’s gotta watch his temper, ya know. He drove off in his Acura TL, wanting to floor it past the parked cop car, but he knew better than that.
—
Darla was all alone now, and not one bit upset that Tom was forced out for the night. She liked it better with him gone. No one to bitch at her about getting well and maybe even finding a job. Ahhh, the quiet. The quiet would help her relax ever so slightly until Jerome showed up with more pills. She grabbed her cell and dialed him up. She needed that Oxycodone.
Jerome is 28-years-old. He’s tall, dark-skinned and handsome with a fine-ass face and a sexy frame. But he’s not your stereotypical drug dealer guy. Jerome doesn’t work street corners selling product. He’s got a rich mommy and daddy, an Exercise and Sport Science degree from Temple University, and a really good job. So maybe we’ll find out later why he’s got a part-time gig as a pill pusher.
He was always prompt to answer and deliver Darla’s product in a timely fashion. She was one of his best customers. There was a knock at the door within 20 minutes of her phone call. Yes, it’s Jerome and hell yes, he has what she wants – what she needs. Jerome stood at the door with a smirk on his face and a pill in his hand. He stuck his head inside the door, not really sure if Tom was gone like Darla alleged.
“Tom took all the cash in the house. He must’ve already had it in his pockets before the cops showed up,” Darla made a freebie-pills-plea to Jerome.
“Girl, why did you call me out here if you don’t have the cash?” Jerome’s voice wasn’t harsh – he didn’t sound upset at all. His voice was like a soothing salve, actually. He reached in close to caress her face and whispered in her ear, “What can you give me instead?”
Jerome knew Darla since before her boot camp back injury; since before she was hooked on pills; since before she knew he had part-time drug gig, and way before she was married to Tom. Jerome actually cared for Darla – he had for a very long time. But could he really care for her and be her supplier? Was that possible? Perhaps it’s more complicated than that.
What is he doing? Darla didn’t have much time to think. Still inside the open doorway, Jerome took off his shirt and grabbed her with gentle force. Darla didn’t refuse him. At some point soon after that the door finally closed shut, but not before one last peep-hole-nosy neighbor witnessed Darla and Jerome’s newborn lust transpire. Shameeka Jones in apartment 2C saw it happen.
—
He decided to pass on the invitation to crash at his best friend Barry’s house (Barry partied too much lately), so Tom drove over to the 24-hour gym to work off his stress instead. He had his plan all thought out: I don’t care if my leg hurts. I’ll focus on upper body work and then grab a bite to eat at that diner across the street. Then I’ll go back home to my Darla. I should be home in less than two hours. I’ll give her one pill – just one. We’ll patch things up. I’m gonna get her the help she needs.
But after only 15 minutes in the weight room, he cut everything short. He even canceled his eating plans. Tom was back in the car and his way home to Darla.
—
Stay tuned for the next episode in the Fitness Romance Saga.
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Our big ole motley crew walking/jogging/running last weekend in memory of our Sue. 
(no. this picture was not posed. yes. it does frighten me a little.)
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“me thinks I hear angelic creatures singing hallelujah”
