Illusions of Happiness

By Sincere Jones

Anquan, a man in his twenties, decides to separate from his wife Janessa after two years of marriage. His reason for doing so is simple, he isn’t happy. Can you blame him? It wasn’t what he envisioned for his life. Anquan begins to test the dating market in search for what he believes is an ideal mate: a younger more attractive woman

• Language: English
• Publisher: Divine Lit Publishing
• Release date: Jul 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532368400

Sincere Jones

Sincere Jones is an African American entrepreneur and author; founder of Divine Lit Publishing. Born in New York City and raised in the dirt roads of South Carolina, Sincere has experienced his fair share of triumph and heartbreak as a teenager. His experiences left him with a dire need to create an outlet for self-expression. He discovered that outlet his sophomore year of high school after reciting a poem in his English class. With no lack of creative ideas Sincere and the pen have become inseparable ever since. Upon graduating high school, Sincere has relocated to Charlotte, NC and has made a living in corporate America. He has perfected his craft by finding other avenues of self expression such as public speaking, and was the divisional runner up in the Toastmaster's International Public Speaking contest two years in a row. You can follow Sincere on Instagram at SinJones11 and like his Facebook like page; Divine Lit.

Book preview

Illusions of

Happiness

By Sincere Jones

This book is the work of fiction. The characters, incidents, dialogue and places are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, companies, institutions, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by DivineLit

www.divinelit.com

Book Layout & Design ©2018 DivineLit

Edited By: Mary McBeth

Copyright © 2018 by Aaron Jones

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without written permission of the author or publisher.

Illusions of Happiness

First Edition

ISBN: 978-1-5323-6839-4

Acknowledgments

This book would not have been possible if it weren’t for certain people that I’ve crossed paths with the last few years of my life. I first want to thank Mary McBeth and the entire staff at Urban Fiction Editors. When I was searching for an editor I didn’t know who to choose. With a last name like McBeth I knew I couldn’t go wrong, and the results didn’t disappoint. Thank you for your counsel and expertise, I would have never made it past the third draft without your guidance. I would also like to thank Featherstone & Associates and Marion Designs for creating such a captivating logo and book cover design.

I don’t know where I would be without beta readers who gave me honest feedback when this story was still in its developmental stages. Thank you to Michelle Clark, Natalie Warmuskerken, Nyree Burris, Lakiesha McCain, Sheena Morrison, Jasmine Shavers, and Necia Jones for volunteering to read my work at its rawest and most vulnerable state.

I would like to send a very special thanks to my Toastmaster Mentor and friend Judith, the drill sergeant, Jamison; founder of Silky Curls. Thank you for seeing something in me that I could barely see in myself. If it wasn’t for you pushing me and being a tough friend and critic, I don’t know if this project would have gone as far as it did. Thank you for your tough love.

To my homie Rob, better known as Jewels, what can I say homie? We had a lot of fun in these streets. Thank you for coaching me through one of the darkest periods of my life and being the friend I needed at the time. Not sure if I would have the inspiration for this novel if it wasn’t for your wisdom.

Special shout out goes to the lady in my life, Patrice Tillman, a.k.a, Tweet. I love you and the inspiration and motivation you gave me to complete this book is one of the many reasons why. We’re two people wrapped in one, believing in each other’s dreams. You’re the First Lady of nails and you’re as Flawless as Michelle Obama.  Thank you for pushing me when I wanted to give up. Thank you for loving and believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself.

And last but certainly not least. I want to thank The Most High God whose son died on that tree, so that I can have life and have it more abundantly. Thank you for creating me in your image, full of intelligence and creativity. If it had not been for those characteristics this idea would have never manifested into what it is now. I’m still unsure of where you’re leading me to, but I believe this book is a step closer to where you need me to be.

If I have forgotten anybody please take heed to the old cliché, Blame it on my head and not my heart. I love you all and hope that you enjoy this book.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Contact the Author

Chapter One

What is happiness? Ask three people and you will receive three different responses. Some say happiness is an emotion, while others say it’s finding your purpose or sense of duty, but most will say it’s building wealth and collecting material possessions. Everyone has a right to define their own happiness, for no one can decide what makes you, as an individual, happy. But if you were to ask me, Anquan Jenkins, what happiness is, I would tell you that happiness is a deceiver, a lying bitch that tricked me. She sold me on an idea, told me that I would thank her when I attained it, but after I had it in my hands, happiness eluded me.

At twenty-three, I met Janessa through Nicole, my co-worker and her best friend. I wouldn’t classify her as fine, but she was far from bad looking. Her compassion and affection and the joy that seemed to radiate from her endlessly drew me to her, and our relationship took off. About a year into the courtship, she gave me an ultimatum. Take the relationship to the next level, or don’t waste my time. It came as no surprise, for she’d hinted at the goal of marriage throughout our thriving liaison, but I wasn’t sure if I was prepared for the bond of matrimony. A few things weighed on me and I told her I needed time to consider it.

First, Janessa was six years older than me. That didn’t bother me in the beginning, but I feared waking up one day to find that father time had taken her subtle beauty and given her the defects of age, while I remained in my prime.

Second, she had two kids, twins, from a previous marriage, and I had none. She said she would have more kids if I wanted, but it wasn’t the ecstatic yes I was hoping to hear. Also, our combined income of $60,000 a year would be stretched to accommodate a fifth family member. I didn’t think we were stable enough to add another mouth to feed.

Third, I cared deeply for Janessa, but my sexual attraction to her was mediocre at best. She wasn’t what I’d imagined in my future wife, with her body already deflated from bearing two kids at once. I’d envisioned someone more like Jessica Rabbit. Someone voluptuous. Janessa’s body reminded me more of a Teletubby. She wasn’t bad by any means, but it wasn’t tantalizing for me either.

My final issue was trust. Her baby daddy had impregnated another woman while Janessa was pregnant with his twins, and she carried those emotional scars into our relationship. We agreed on open social network accounts, but with no firm evidence of any flirtatious or mischievous intent, she would still exhibit signs of jealousy and resentment. I trusted her, and I’d hoped that with time she would see that my actions proved me trustworthy as well.

But I was comfortable being myself around her and didn’t have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t to accommodate her desires, being me was fulfilling enough. And Janessa’s patience, work ethic, commitment, positive attitude, communication skills, self-acceptance, respect, and love all seemed to outweigh its opposition. I had heard horror stories of unions that existed without poise, love, and esteem. We were compatible, and I saw the true beauty that lay beneath her skin. So after two weeks of deliberation, I returned to her with the most expensive ring I could afford and asked her to marry me. However, I said we should wait at least a year and that we should move in together so I could experience what it was like being the head of a household. She agreed, excited about the prospect of starting a new life with someone she loved dearly.

Less than two months after the proposal, I moved into her four-bedroom townhome in South Charlotte with a shroud of tension covering me. I was twenty-four at the time and had never lived with a woman before, let alone two children. My bond with all three of my new family member’s grew stronger, and Janessa made the idea of marriage exciting. She treated me like a king, cooking, cleaning, and showing me new things in the bedroom. I thought if that's what marriage was about, I’d have tied the knot when I was sixteen.

We reached violent seas a few months before the wedding date. Janessa was laid off her job at BB&T. After expenses, we were left with less than $100 for extras. Janessa asked if we could cancel the medium-sized wedding we’d planned and get married at the courthouse. I didn’t want that for us, and I tried to convince her that our union deserved to be sanctified before God in a church. However, the sparkle in her eyes when she wrapped her arms around me and swore that being married was all she wanted was all I needed. As long as she was happy, I was content.

We married at the courthouse with our best friends and two of my co-workers, Nicole and Leo, as our witnesses. I almost postponed the day, but as I looked into Janessa’s eyes I saw a woman who was clearly in love with me no matter how much or how little I brought to the table. I told myself that all my worries were just mental blocks, and the doubts would disappear once we were married.

I did feel relieved when the ceremony finished with a kiss, a seal of approval inaugurating me as black version of Al Bundy, because I was now officially married with children. I honored the oath I took before God, repeating my vows daily. I felt like I was doing something right before the eyes of God, and it gave me this profound sense of purpose. Janessa and I were a united front, working together to make sure every need was met.

A few months into our marriage, my old doubts and fears began to resurface stronger than before. There was this unshakeable feeling of regret, as if all my deliberation and preparation had been in vain, and I still was unprepared. Our financial situation had not changed even though Janessa was ingenious in her couponing, sewing, and shopping. It was the perfect atmosphere to build character and strength in a marriage, but it was horrible for family planning. I became shaken, anticipating the window of opportunity closing on me swiftly with Janessa’s age.

Taking on a house, children, and the fiscal responsibility left me overworked and worn out. I wasn’t a good handyman, and keeping up with the kids’ activities and homework fell under my supervision while Janessa cooked, cleaned, and went to school while searching for employment. In order to meet the demand, I withdrew from my night classes at Central Piedmont Community College, mitigating time but doing nothing for the mental and physical exhaustion. And my lack of attraction for Janessa began to plague our sex life. Even at night, my body would subconsciously roll to face away from her. Slowly, I progressed to moving to the couch for part of the night, then the whole night.

As if I wasn’t perplexed enough, temptation reared its ugly head. Not only were the new women in my life single, but they were closer to my age, with no kids, and these curvaceous bodies filled my head with lust that made my dick harder than frozen chub packaged ground beef. With my sexual appetite unquenched at home, and my vows still holding me tight, I began watching pornography as an alternative. It completely dominated and replaced what was left of the sex life I once shared with Janessa.

We had reached our one-year wedding anniversary and I was skeptical if we would make it to see a second one. I focused on the positive attributes that made me love her so dearly and avoided confronting our problems for another year. I had to fight these demons if I wanted to be with this woman for the rest of my life. It helped ease the tension when Janessa completed her two-year program at UNC Charlotte and received her Associate’s degree of Science in Pre-Medicine. A month later she found employment at Carolina’s Medical Center in Pineville as a Clinical Laboratory Technologist making over twenty-seven dollars an hour.

But even that wasn’t enough when we started trying to have a child. After months with no results, Janessa suggested a surrogate, but I couldn’t accept such an unnatural way to bring my child into the world. The only thing that seemed clear to me was that our marriage was at an end and I wanted out.

Several weeks after our second anniversary, I still wasn’t able to bring myself to break the news to her. During those days I would leave work, pull into our driveway, and sit in the car for hours. My body was there, but inwardly I had left months ago. One day, when I arrived home from work, she grabbed my hand and pulled me upstairs toward our bedroom to reignite our sex life. I could no longer drag her along in this relationship, and I told her. The sheer disappointment and hurt on her face is something that will be cemented in my mind for the rest of my life.

Specifying the details of my discontent was arduous, but I didn’t hold back. I mentioned the age difference, attraction, trust issues, and the failed attempts of having children as reasons to support my decision. I was not truly happy. The fight that followed made me glad the twins weren’t home to witness it. She begged me to try counseling, but that was something we should have done before we got married. Janessa couldn’t believe that I just didn’t want to be with her, so she accused me of seeing someone else. I have been faithful to her from the first day, but she couldn’t believe me. Janessa kicked me out, barely letting me gather enough things to survive one week of work. And said goodbye by throwing a vase at me in the driveway.

Chapter Two

Two weeks after that horrendous scene unfolded, the sound of the shattered vase still reverberates in my mind. I had retreated to my Uncle June’s house in North Charlotte. With him recently divorcing my mother’s sister, he offered me temporary refuge in one of his guest bedrooms until I found a place to stay or until he sold his home, whichever came first. Encompassed by empty cardboard boxes stacked three high, I have found a hellish prison in that room. I’m deprived of sleep, reliving the last four years of my life every night like some marathon of a bad television sitcom. I wish that the past was scripted, but it isn’t; it’s the harsh reality of the events leading up to my current circumstances.

With an unknown time left in Uncle June’s house, I take the day, November 12, 2012, to search for an apartment. According to North Carolina law, I have to spend one year separated from my wife to obtain a divorce, and this is the beginning of it.

After visiting fourteen different apartment homes, it finally dawns on me that I should try my old complex, Berkshire apartments. I lived there before I met Janessa, and since I’m near the old neighborhood, it wouldn’t’ hurt to give it a shot. Walking in the leasing office brings back fond memories of my bachelor days, but it also leaves me feeling slightly depressed as I return to where I started. Sometimes Janessa and I would pass by this place, and I used to joke that if we were to ever separate, I would come back here. Maybe subconsciously I was planning this all along. Nonetheless I was thrilled to secure an apartment. The process went smoothly, and I didn’t even need to see a floor plan. I was even able to secure a discounted rate, thanks to my employer Bank of America.

With my leasing information in hand, I make my way toward Janessa’s town house to pick up my stuff, arriving there at 2:55p.m. I have exactly three hours before her routine arrival time from work. I pull in the driveway feeling relaxed at the thought of being able to be in and out with my belongings, unseen, like a thief in the night.

My feet crunch as they hit the pavement. I lift my boot to find that Janessa removed the bigger fragments while the smaller, grainier pieces overlaid the pavement like glitter on a Christmas tree. I speed walk toward the front entrance and insert my key in the door, only for something in the lock to reject it. Janessa had broken her key off in the lock to prevent me from entering. I’m perturbed by her extreme means of hindering me, but she failed to confiscate the garage door opener, which sits in my glove box. I quickly retrieve it and gain access to the house, closing the garage door behind me.

A pile of clothes sits in the middle of the living room floor. It comes as no surprise that they are mine and after quickly inspecting them, I am thankful they haven’t been burned or damaged in any way. I gather as many items as possible, open the front door, and begin to stuff them in my car.

After several trips, my back seat disappears underneath my wardrobe collection, and I still haven’t accounted for half of what’s left inside. With the living room floor now clear of my possessions, I head upstairs to make my rounds in the bedroom where photo albums, high school memorabilia, and boxes filled with movies I had collected over the years await me in the walk-in closet. Another load in my arms, the vibrations of the garage door motor beneath me makes me stop. I put down my things and move to the bottom of the steps where Janessa greets me, two grocery bags in hand. She gives me a long, cold-hearted stare and gently sets the bags down. She exhales before parting her lips and exclaiming, Well, if it isn’t Mr. Unhappy.

Chapter Three

The stress, tension, and anxiety repressed within her is noticeable, yet there is an eerie calm upon her as Janessa methodically removes her jacket, walks toward the coat closet to her left, and hangs it neatly on the hanger. She then retrieves the two grocery bags, walks into the kitchen, and begins to empty them onto the counter.

So I see you’ve cleared the floor of your crap, she says. Tell me how you got in so I know what to tell the police when they get here.

You were so eager to send me on my way that you forgot to ask for the garage door opener. And calling the police would be useless when they consider the fact that I pay bills here.

The groceries on the counter disappear one by one as she places them inside the refrigerator. Well, if my memory serves me right, she replies, you said you didn’t want me, which means you don’t want to be here, which means you don’t live here anymore, and when the police consider the fact that my name is on the mortgage, they will be more than happy to remove you from my property.

I said I didn’t want you? I echo, approaching her. Those words never came out my mouth, I stated that it wouldn’t be beneficial for us to continue in this marriage.

Beneficial for us? she shouted as she slammed the refrigerator door. No! You were the one who said you weren’t happy. I was just fine. The invisible shroud of calm evaporates into thin air, and the repressed anger is beginning to break free within her soul. You know…Why do men always have to do this? Y’all always have to lie. Can’t ever come out and just be honest. A woman will lie too, but eventually come forth, but you men, y’all will take your lies and secrets to the grave and have the woman looking like a fool while people laugh behind our back.

What have I lied to you about? I ask. She is about to accuse me of doing something that was only conceived in my mind, and yet, while I stand there firmly ready to defend the absolute truth, I am shaken to my core as my thoughts convict me as a liar, the lingering remnants of the temptation that plagued me bearing witness against me.

Janessa squares her body to face me from about a distance of an arm’s length, then inhales deeply. Look me in the eye and swear on your life, your mother’s life, and everything that you believe in that you’re not leaving me for another woman and that you haven’t slept with anyone while we were together? Please… Just be honest and tell me.

I step closer for her to look deep into my eyes, and with my hands raised, I begin to testify. Janessa… I swear before the God who created Heaven and Earth that I have not been with any woman but you the last four years of my life and that there is no other reason why I’m leaving.

A subtle smirk graces her face while she shakes her head. Then why don’t I believe you, Anquan? Why is that so hard for me to believe? I want to believe it, but I can’t.

This is the second time I’ve declared my allegiance to her, and yet she can’t believe me, a clear indication I’m experiencing the repercussions from the emotional damage left behind by Keith. The man who committed infidelity, was handed his divorce papers, then happily took off with the adulteress, not to be seen or heard from in the last six years, leaving his children to become bastards at the expense of his ignorance. To add insult to injury, Janessa had been informed by the adulteress herself when she called Janessa’s home looking for him.

Well, only you can choose what you decide to believe, Janessa, I say as she turns back to the groceries, and I don’t know what else to tell you. You claim that you trust me, but I don’t see it. Trust is being able to put your confidence in someone, and you clearly have no confidence in me or what I’m telling you.

Trust you? she asks resoundingly. How could I trust you when you were talking to women behind my back on Facebook. What was her name? I think it was Lisa or—no! It was Alicia. I go into your inbox, and I see a message saying she would gargle your balls in her mouth! What kind of bullshit is that, Anquan? And it’s funny how you keep all your old messages going back four damn years, but all your responses to her leading up to that was deleted.

Alicia had been a seductress co-worker of mine at Bank of America. Her charming words, thick hips, and succulent lips had piqued my interest and lured me into her deviant domain. The smutty virtual chatting was exciting to me, and she was genuine eye candy for every man at work until she was fired about a year ago for giving one of the managers a blowjob in the stairwell. No crime was committed, and our flirtations remained platonic. However, I can’t defend myself against this accusation with full-fledged confidence, so I stand silently as my conscience gnaws at me.

And what about Dominique? Janessa continues. Your ex-girlfriend from high school who sent you a friend request and starts bringing up old stories of how her little brother caught y’all having sex in her room, and then has the nerve to ask if she could see you the next time you go to New Jersey.

Those chicks made advances at me, I state defensively. I didn’t respond to any of those messages and didn’t plan to. And you saw for yourself that I told Dominique I was married before she tried to hook up with me. When I accepted her friend request, I had no intentions on trying to sleep with her, you’re bringing up situations that were out of my control, I can’t determine beforehand what people are going to say to me.

That is why I don’t trust bitches, says Janessa. I know how women can be, especially them sluts at your job. I still find it hard to believe you were completely innocent, but I trusted you and let it slide. I still think there’s a woman involved. Janessa grabs the remaining item on the counter—toilet paper—and makes her way to the restrooms around the house. I closely follow behind her.

Why do you feel so strongly about there being someone else? I ask.

Because it’s the only logical explanation to why you want to separate, all that other stuff you mentioned the other night sounds fake. Talking about you not attracted to me when you and I both know that’s a lie. There is nothing wrong with my body. I don’t have what you like is the problem, so stop making it sound like I’m the problem.

And what is it that you think I like? I asked.

Oh, you know, I don’t know why you acting stupid now, she says. Those sluts that look like them nasty-ass hoes you be watching on the internet. Pinky and Kapri Styles, Lisa Ann, Sarah Jay, Cherokee D Ass. What kind of woman would get a stupid tattoo like D Ass tattooed on her right butt cheek? With cellulite all on their thighs and hips and sloppy fat stomachs with stretch marks and fake breasts filled whale fat and so much silicone that I could melt them and make a whole set of Tupperware. Then you got the audacity to point out flaws on my body, but yet you lay on the couch stroking your dick watching those whores.

What happened to every man watches porn? I protest. You said there was nothing wrong with that and didn’t complain about me watching those flicks when I was watching them.

I was under the impression we would watch it together and learn a few things, not use it as a replacement for me, she says, disgusted.

I’m not sure if I should feel disgraced for committing these lewd acts, or if I should feel humiliated that my trail of debauchery had become so redundant that it couldn’t be concealed. Janessa—being the great private eye that she is—was able to retrieve my browsing history after I assumed it was successfully deleted, which is why she could name some of my favorite erotica film stars so effortlessly. And even though at one point I did excessively indulge myself in this pleasure, it was only a substitute for her lack of sexual appeal for me. However, I dare not tell her this again for fear of destroying her self-esteem.

With two rolls of toilet paper in hand, her sleek ponytail swings in my face as she makes her way upstairs. I follow closely and attempt to change the subject. Yeah, I know the porn got a little out of hand, but that’s only one of the problems we faced. We had a lot of obstacles to overcome in this marriage, more than what the average marriage should have. It just felt like we were forcing ourselves to make it work, and it shouldn’t be like that; it shouldn’t feel like that. I know marriage is not easy but… I don’t know… maybe we really didn’t rationalize this thing through good; we didn’t think in terms of longevity, you know, trying to see how this would be five or ten years from now.

You’re giving one bullshit excuse after the other, using words like longevity and talking about five, ten years from now. Why are you so concerned with the future? You think the way I look will change that much in ten years? Hell, with those bags under your eyes and those grey hairs coming in on top of your head, people say you look older than me. You knew my age before we got married, so why is that such a big deal now? I don’t know one couple where both people are exactly the same age. Everyone I’ve spoken to about this says you sound like an idiot.

Who you been talking to, Janessa? You shouldn’t be telling nobody our business, I say sternly.

Who have you been talking to? she shoots back. And don’t be telling nobody my business, including your uncle. His lazy, stubborn ass got problems of his own and is the wrong person to be taking advice from considering he just got handed his divorce papers. And don’t lie and say you not staying over there, cause I already know you staying over there.

Damn! Now how the hell she knows that? The only living soul aware of my makeshift residence was my mother, who I’m certain