During our first meeting, I wanted to seduce him by throwing in his face all the confidence that my character contained. Usually that scares guys away. With him it worked pretty well. He was not shocked by my crude language or my flirtatious attitude. No, I've been intrigued. It must be said that I am a small piece of woman at the head of a garage. Yes, I know that I am atypical.

I have just repaired his car which was broken down and He is smiling at me! But why ? Because I can afford it and also because I have a weakness for guys with happy teeth. Some find it ugly because it sometimes gives the impression that a tooth is missing, but I don't. The guy has a civilized black complexion and I should find him ugly? I know "civilized complexion" doesn't mean anything but I can't describe it any other way. Its black is deep, uniform, perfect. And since he is tall and rather slender, it gives him the air of a model from the 70s.

The kind of model we chose at the time to create contrasts with white clothes. It's sexy because apart from the teeth of happiness, the harmonious black complexion and the high waist, he has nothing to please. He's not a pretty kid, he's not flamboyant. Ah! I almost forgot that he has the most beautiful pair of buttocks in the interstellar universe. I don't know what "interstellar" means, but I think it's important to use it in a sentence that describes Jimmy's butt.

When you think of all he already has going for him, a hell of a personality, a nice pair of buttocks and pretty teeth, does he still need to be handsome? He carries self-confidence on his shoulders like others wear designer jackets. And that works for women. Even to a chick as jaded as me. Anyway, I'm not the best person to criticize. I myself am far from being a hottie. It's not my fault even if I'm not trying masses to improve myself, I must admit.

It could have matched us directly. There was a little thing going on with every word exchanged, every knowing look. But on our first date, neither of us could keep our seriousness for more than five minutes. It's hard to plan sleeping with a guy when you spend your time having fun with him. Because without realizing it, we subtly slip it into the box of friends. Jimmy is the most cultured guy I know. He is curious about everything. He knows everything about everything and he always has a very didactic way of explaining things to me. For me who ruined my chances of having my first university degree, one day by leaving school too early, it feels good to have someone who teaches me stuff without judging me or looking down on me.

At the end of the first meeting, I asked him his last name. He said Diop. And that's when I discovered that he was Senegalese and a practicing Muslim. In short, rather tidy as a boy. Not a runner, so clearly not my type. I am a real storm. You have to hang with me because when I do something stupid, it's always a very scary thing! It's already very complicated for me to go out with a practicing Christian so a practicing Muslim, that was out of the question.

"Finally, I don't think I'm your kind of woman," I told him, finishing my bottle of malta as he methodically added ice cubes to his glass of coke without taking his eyes off me.

"I don't have a type of woman.

Even today, I remember him saying it calmly but with such an intonation that it resonated in me like: I like you so much that I'm going to pass on my usual kind of woman.

"I would have to stop drinking to go out with you.

"You're not an alcoholic so it shouldn't be that hard.

"Rule number 1: I never change for a guy. Never. It won't do honey.

"Muslim doesn't mean fundamentalist you know. I'm not going to force you to do things you don't want to do.

"That's what we always say at the beginning.

I crossed my hands on the table and rested my chin on my hands. He did the same and we stared into each other's eyes for a long time. I admit that at that exact moment, I felt something quiver in my stomach when he let his lips stretch into a super sexy smile. But the quivering was very light like the caress of a feather. He was looking at me with such intensity that I finally looked away to call the waitress. Then he sat up and wanted to take out his wallet but I put a purple note on the table before he opened it. I had made him waste his time, it was up to me to pay. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He pushed my note towards me with one finger and replaced it with his own. I did not insist. Later that evening, he walked me home and I almost changed my mind.

I don't know about other women, but a man with a nice butt, I believe, can contribute to world peace much better than the useless wishes of misses in beauty pageants. I hadn't noticed how perfectly the cigarette pants he was wearing hugged his buttocks and the arch of his legs. I thought about. Weighed the pros and cons. And decided in the end not to have eyes bigger than your stomach by changing your mind. Then we didn't see each other for three months. I promised to call him back but I didn't. Obviously.

A Muslim guy? Nahhhh. I moved on. Especially at that time, to a guy who was returning from France because he had been poached by a bank or a firm, I don't really remember. We toured the clubs every weekend. What was his name again? Herman. Yes that's it. A nice bastard that one.

Today between us, I'm talking about Jimmy, not Herman. motherfucker, things have changed a lot. I learned to know him and to have less prejudice about Muslims and he learned to put up with me. They `re my best friend. The one to whom I entrust everything and the one whose secrets I will keep until my death.

Today I know that we are so close that the day he gets married, he will have to choose between his marriage and our very special relationship. No wife who is head on her shoulders could agree to let us continue to see each other as we do. He's a good guy who always tries to do the right thing. And what's right when you get married is to protect your marriage. That's a shame. Too bad I'm not the right one for him. But if there's one thing I don't regret in the end, it's that I have plenty of exes. Yes I'm not going to be my saint or touch and say that I've only slept with one man since I was born. This kind of useless lie, very little for me. So I was saying that exes, I had FULL, but a Jimmy, there will only ever be one in my life.

"You're still dreaming," he points out to me, without taking his eyes off the computer.

" No why ?

His fingers run over the keyboard like those of a virtuoso pianist on his instrument. He's one of the few people I know who writes without looking at the keys like a steno.

I'm starting to have a stomach ache. I breathe in slowly to calm the disorderly beating of my heart, which is panicking at the idea of ​​having to bear the pain that will eventually set in for the next few days. We are in my studio which is just behind my garage. Before knowing Jimmy, I rented a small apartment in the Louis district. But today, on his advice, I managed to set up a nice little studio consisting of three main rooms.

He gets up and rummages in his bag before returning with a packet of medicine. I quickly read the name. The little white pills mean nothing to me. He throws the box at me before lying down on my bed, his computer in hand. Normally today is Cinema Friday between us. It's been my favorite day of the week since I've known Jimmy. He always finds us a good action movie that we watch in streaming on his computer, never without an internet connection. I check the box and throw it at him! He dodges it, laughing like a kid. I love his laugh. Deep and low.

Damn Jimmy and his infallible memory. Since this morning, I've had crazy cramps in my lower stomach because the English are going to land. Sometimes I don't really know how to calculate my cycle. It is so irregular that often it is useless to try to predict the date of the next period. Jimmy always tells him when it's going to start because he has a damn app on his phone that sends him notifications about my period and adjusts the forecast with my mood etc. Yeah I know it's weird but me and him aren't even weird anymore. And he often plans something to calm my pain because I always forget to take care of myself as he often reminds me.

"I don't want to take them. Drugs are toxic, don't you know that? Didn't you explain to me that it's an industry that makes money from people's pain?

"Don't be a kid. Swallow them now," he replies harshly.

" Nope !

He rolls his eyes in exasperation and then takes a mini nutella jar with a disposable spoon out of his backpack. I snatch it all out of his hands smiling at him like Chesthire's cat.

“All my salary ends up in your mouth!

“Better if it was your salary rather than your…

" Please don't say it even if you just thought it! He cuts in by pressing the play button on his computer.

The music from the film's credits explodes in the speakers he gave me last year, forcing me to shut up.

It's true that my mouth has no brakes and that I often say salacious things. Especially when he's there because he thinks it's rude for a woman to say swear words. So from time to time I give him little booster shots and give it to my heart's content. But never too long because you shouldn't overdo it either, eh.

The fucking pains that are coming have made me throw up in my bathroom for the past month. When I think that some women hardly feel anything while I feel like I'm being torn inside out by a serial killer every time I have my period. I tell myself that life is far too unfair. He lowers the volume.

"Are you not looking?

"We've already seen Avengers 4 times. And we both agree that this ending is shit. Are you doing a thesis on it or what?

"Very good idea, I'm going to get started, he quips. You know I'm quite capable of it.

"Yes, sir, the eternal first in the class. We all know that in Belgium.

Suddenly, I feel such excruciating pain that I bend my fist to keep from screaming. I get up quickly and run to the shower. I close the door behind me. I turn on the hot water tap and run the water from the shower into a small basin in which I had left a clean towel. Then I go sit on the toilet seat. Toes curled up, eyes closed, the pain must pass. I free myself, wipe myself and flush the toilet before undressing and going to sit in the shower to put the hot towel on my stomach. In my head I count the seconds because I know he knows how much I hurt. At the 10th, he knocks on the door.

"Go home, I manage to moan.

"Open the fucking door.

If he uses the word "damn" it's that he's pissed off at pissed off. He can say anything, I won't open. Not with the smell in the shower anyway. I know he doesn't want to piss me off but he's worried. 6 months ago, he found me passed out in my room, the pain was so strong, my brain must have tripped.

"Okay, look what we're going to do. The pain medicine should start working shortly. I'm going for a walk, that gives you time to wash up and go to bed. I'll be back in 2 or 3 hours, OK ?

There's no point in continuing to say no. He looks so nice like that but he's a hidden scab. He only does what he wants to do and nothing else. This is the mistake his friends often make with him. As they see him smiling often and always being helpful, they say to themselves that he is soft, easily influenced. I told myself that too. Before. Until the day he slapped a beefier guy in front of me for a story of disrespect to his mother or whatever.

Jimmy is the kind of guy who makes you feel like the best person in the world. And technically you are, because he treats you like one. But he only does this on the condition that you continue to correspond to his idea of ​​you. If you deviate from the path, even a little bit, if you disappoint him, if you change, he goes straight away before you even have time to say: but what have I done? This guy can't forgive. And I think that if today we are so close to each other it is because with me, from the start he knew what to expect.

"Anyway, I'll leave my things and I'll come back in 3 hours. Double the dose if you're in too much pain.

" Yes Dad.

"Do what I tell you.

"Are you a doctor now?

"I read the stupid notice!

A few seconds later, I hear the bedroom door slam. He left. My vision is blurry because tears are welling up in my eyes. The pain is more intense. I grit my teeth to keep from moaning in pain. A warm, thick liquid flows from my crotch. It doesn't even relieve me.

Thirty minutes later, I feel a little better even if my head is spinning a little. It's probably the painkillers that are already working. I haven't eaten much all day. With the effect of the drugs I feel a heaviness in my limbs. I have to get out of here. Anyway, the towel is now cold and doesn't provide much relief. I take deep breaths and then stand up, leaning against the wall. I'm hungry. I open the cupboard above the shower mirror, pull out a sanitary napkin, the thickest I can find in stores, and freshen up.

When I get out of the shower, I open my closet and look for a more comfortable outfit to put on. I put on new underpants, tight enough to be sure the towel doesn't move, black shorts and a completely faded sweater that Jimmy left behind here.

A pot noise comes to me from the living room and makes me jump. I'm a little freaked out because the neighborhood isn't very safe and last week a young girl was assaulted on her way home from a drunken night out. Shit. I reach for my phone to ask Jimmy if he's away. But I can't find it. I think I left it on the living room table. Shit !

With small steps, I approach the door which separates the two parts and seizes the broom posed on the wall to be able to use it like weapon. I slowly open the door, careful not to make it creak, and knock on something. The sound of a plate smashing on the floor makes me jump again.

“Manuuuuu?” Jimmy exclaims, stepping back so I can fully open the door.

It was him ? But he didn't leave!?

"You just spilled the food on me," he said, peeling his sauce-soaked T-shirt off his chest.

"Excuse me, I thought you were gone. I freaked out when I heard the noise.

"As if I was really going to leave you alone.

Now that I realize I'm safe, my legs start to wobble. I lean against the wall and gently let myself slide. I close my eyes and don't worry about him anymore. I'm not hungry anymore. I'm tired. I just want to sleep and not think about anything. As I was about to doze off, I feel arms lift me up and gently land me on the bed. I fall asleep a few minutes later.

The next morning

I open one eye and then a second before vigorously rubbing my face to wake me up. Another day with this damn pain. I grab the glass from the bedside table and swallow yesterday's pain relief pills. I have to go wash up to change. Once in the shower, I turn on the tap to wet my brush and brush my teeth.

I don't like my head in the morning. I don't like it at night either, but in the morning when I've had a bad night it's worse. I never liked my head, my muscular body, my shitty life some days. But you have to deal with it, don't you? I don't like my lips too thick, my nose too wide, I don't like anything on my face. And my body. I have the body of a sprinter, of a high-level sportswoman, so I don't do any sport. For me, it's natural. I tried for a year to stuff myself like a pig to gain curves but nothing worked. I didn't take a single gram. I'm still square while guys like round ones. In fact, several times in a row at the garage, customers took me for a man when they saw me from behind. This was also the case for Jimmy by the way. It must be said that with the dimunitif Manu, I only confuse them more. I run my hand over my cropped hair. My androgynous appearance does not help at all. I miss my hair. I had a beautiful afro cut that many old people envied me. It reminded them of the independence years with women with natural hair. Today no one thinks it's pretty. Everyone wants long, smooth hair. I have lost count of the number of times the hairdresser has charged me extra for taking care of my tuft. I ended up giving up. If even black women despise what God has given us to adorn our heads, the battle is lost in advance. I shaved them the last time because I no longer found the time or the courage to maintain them naturally.

I finish my toilet and go to the living room to take my favorite crackers. Buttered crackers and milk tea is all that can make me feel good this morning. In thirty minutes it will be 7 o'clock, I will have to open the garage and do what I know how to do best: repair cars, run my small SME with two employees. In the kitchen area, I boil some water and turn on the television to get some background noise.

A telephone vibrates in the only sofa in the room. It's not mine since I see it on the table. It's probably Jimmy who forgot his again. I pick it up and unlock it. A message from his mother appears, as long as a presidential speech. I know I shouldn't read it but I can't help it if my eyes don't have brakes either.

“I have things to tell you but you avoid me and refuse to sit down so that we can have a real discussion. to do. I would like you to stop dating this girl, the one who is a boy. People talk, she has a very bad reputation. How are you going to get married if you hang out with her every day. I am sick and you know it I too want like other moms to see the happiest day of my son's life, before Almighty God calls me home. Please my son, take your responsibilities. The family of Zeinabou is interested in you. You remember how much you loved her when you were younger. She is finally within your reach."

Very slowly I put the phone down as if it were made of ultra toxic stuff or that it was going to explode in my face. I jump when the kettle starts whistling. I get up to go put out the stove fire. A few moments later, the rusk is soaking in the tea without my moving a finger. I no longer think about the pain, the garage or my crazy nights in the nightclub. I think of Jimmy and the fact that I have absolutely no idea how I can continue to live my life as I know it without him. But I'm not going to play the bitch. He is my best friend and I wish him all the happiness in the world. So if it's the same Zeinabou he told me about, he has to take his chance.

To be continued...