Then again. And again. Until it was just scraps in my hand.
“Fuck you,” I gritted as I tossed it in his face.
His nostrils flared as he snatched the glass of orange juice off the tray and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a loud crack, sending juice and glass everywhere.
My heart was pounding, but I didn’t flinch. I refused to let him break me.
I let out a bored yawn. “You done?”
He ran his tongue along his teeth and looked away, chuckling. “I’m making big moves with important people in this city. It looks better when you’re married. You need to stop trying me and get with the fucking program. It’s been days, no one's coming to save you.”
He turned on his heels and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
The tears came soon after. I slid down to the floor and folded in on myself as the sobs tore loose. I cried until my throat burned and exhaustion wrapped itself around me like a weighted blanket. Eventually, my body gave out, and I passed out right there on the floor.
When I woke up, the sun was dipping low behind the skyline, casting the room in a haze of golden light. A sticky patch of dried orange juice clung to the floor near my food, and the untouched breakfast tray was still on the nightstand.
I got up slowly myself to my feet and started cleaning—wiping the wall and floor, picking up the glass as best I could since there was no broom. I was practically done when a sharp knock at the door made me jump.
Before I could answer, it swung open, and two Black women walked in carrying kits. They looked like they were on a mission.
“We’re here to get you ready,” one said.
“I’m Dyamond,” said the thicker one with a heavy Brooklyn accent. “Hair.”
”I’m Keisha,” the other added, wheeling her case into the center of the room. “Marcus said we need you done by six.”
I stood there, hair a tangled mess, eyes puffy, still holding a crumpled paper towel. “I need a minute,” I mumbled and headed into the bathroom to shower.
“Get it together,” I whispered to myself as I stepped under the water. My chest ached, another wave of helplessness crashing over me. I hated feeling so small. So fucking pathetic because there was nothing I could do but wait this out. A fresh set of tears ran down my face as I pressed my forehead against the tile.
Marriage?
I choked back another sob. “Cash, where are you?”
By the time I stepped out and wrapped myself in my robe, my hands had stopped shaking, and my eyes were… less red. I practiced a smile in the mirror—fake, but good enough to pass if they didn’t press me too hard.
In the bedroom, Dyamond had her tools laid out across the dresser, curling irons already heated up. Keisha was scrolling through her phone, her makeup case flipped open and ready. Both of them had a calm, non-nonsense vibe, like they’d see it all and then some.
“You good?” Dyamond asked as I slid into the chair.
“Yep,” I said, forcing some cheer into my voice. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“What we doin’ with your hair?” she asked.
“Honestly, I don’t care. Do your best or worst, I’m at your mercy,” I joked.
“Nah, sis, you gotta give me more than that!” she said, planting her hands on my shoulders. “Councilman Dorsey’s galas are like that! And your man’s getting honored. Girl!” She patted me lightly. “Don’t worry, by the time I’m done, that man’s gonna be on his knees.”
I almost threw up at the thought.
Keisha walked over to the garment bag hanging on the closet door. “This the dress?”
I nodded, unzipping it to show her. I’d settled on a v-neck, sequined gown, with a high slit. She studied it for a few seconds before nodding confidently. “Bet. I got you.”
For the next three hours, they worked their magic. Keisha brought out her mini Bluetooth player and queued up her “Bad Bitch” playlist. We jammed to Meg the Stallion and Latto, and at some point, a bottle of champagne appeared, which I gladly sipped on to calm my nerves. Dyamond and Keisha were funny and easy to talk to, and neither pried too much into my personal life. It was the first real interaction I’d had outside of Amber, and it felt good.
“Voila!” Dyamond stepped back and handed me a large hand mirror.
