Afraid to Love Read Online Free

fell asleep, I made a fictional college class where I could help people see the world for themselves, where I could teach them to shape their own lives free from the influence of what others thought they should be. Hadn't I been living that way since I came of age? I would be the perfect teacher for it.
     
                                                                          Chapter 3: Cynthia
     
    I didn't know what the hell had come over me at the coffee shop. I never discussed the finer points of my father's illness with anyone. Not even Sasha knew the details of the false hope the doctor had given him. I suspected that the doctor knew my father was going to die soon, but wanted to put his mind at ease to make his death easier. Maybe he thought my father wasn't strong enough for the truth, but he could have at least told me to be prepared. But would that really have been enough? Could I have smiled at my father, knowing he was going to die soon?
    I shook my head to clear the thoughts from my mind. The doctor did what he thought was best. He had been good to my father and helped him win the fight for many years. I missed him, but we all have to go sometime. It was something my father had told me when he was first diagnosed. It was what we did with our lives that mattered, not when or how they ended.
    My hands shook as I cooked dinner. I wasn't hungry, but knew it was time to eat. I didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night with my stomach growling. I paced the floor as I waited for the water to boil.
    I had been on my own for the last two years and had done fine. I got up every day and faced the world. I hadn't allowed anyone to keep me down, no matter how hard they tried. I made my father's dream come true, too. I wasn't living in the ghetto and I was working at a respectable job. I should be happy, so why wasn't I? I knew the answer to my question, but quickly dismissed it from my thoughts. I was too alone to be happy.
    I ate dinner and settled down in front of the television. I watched a medical drama that was supposed to be funny, but it only reminded me of how crappy my first week of work had begun. I turned the television off and decided to go for a run. Before college I had never been one for exercise, but Sasha had gotten me into running with her. I never thought of it as something a black woman would do, but apparently that thought never occurred to her.
    I changed into my running clothes and pulled on my sneakers. It felt good to feel my feet hitting the pavement again. My mind raced as I jogged. Memories of my father hit hard, and I ran faster. I felt if I ran fast enough I would outrun the memories that chased me. I could outrun the way everyone thought I shouldn't succeed because I was a black woman, a double minority. I know white women can have it rough because they're women, but being both seems to paint a target on your back that even your own gender can't resist taking aim at.
    My heart thumped against my chest and I panted for air, but I pushed my sore muscles harder. I didn't want to quit running until I felt better, but that might have meant running forever and my legs weren't going to put up with that shit. I stopped and leaned back against a building. I was panting hard and sweating, but the physical sensations I felt were overriding my mental confusion and misery. After resting for a few minutes, I continued my run. I only ran about two more blocks before I turned back and headed home.
    I kicked off my shoes at the door and headed into the shower. I decided that I'd style my weave tonight before I went to bed. I had never been much of a morning person, so I knew it was now or never. I scrubbed my body, enjoying the soapy lather on my skin. I ran my fingers over my slippery body enjoying the powerful muscles moving under my hands. My build was lean for the most part, but I was proud of the work I did to stay in shape. My ass was