I parted it carefully, the comb dragging slow across her scalp, and began braiding close and tight the way she taught me when I was still a girl, before I understood what hands could carry besides love.
"You still injecting your body?" she asked suddenly. Her voice didn't flinch but mine did. "Yes," I whispered, fingers continuing their rhythm. Braid. Pull. Cross. Anchor. Silence filled the room again, thick as humidity before rain. "Still tryin'?" she asked next. We both knew what she meant. "Mmhmm," I hummed, throat tight.
She exhaled slow. I felt it in her shoulders before I heard it. "I been prayin' that curse off you since the day she put it on you," she said, voice heavier now. Not angry. Not dramatic. Just honest. "Since before you even had words for what was happenin' to your body." My hands faltered for half a second before I forced them steady again. She continued, softer but sharper somehow. "Have you come to terms with the fact that nothin' may ever get rid of it?"
The question landed like a stone in water no splash, just ripples I'd been tryin' not to look at. "I think part of me has," I said quietly, eyes fixed on the braid forming beneath my fingers. "But part of me hasn't." Because part of me still woke up hopeful and counted days. "Hope is a dangerous thing," she murmured. "I know," I said. "But it's the only thing that make this pain make sense." She was quiet for a long moment.
"You love that St. Jean boy, nothing could change that," she said finally. It wasn't a question either. "Yes ma'am," I answered. Too fast. She nodded once. "That kind of love don't come without cost." My fingers tightened around the braid. "I'm not scared of the cost," I said. "I'm scared of what happen if I stop believing." She leaned back slightly in the chair, trusting myhands completely. "Faith ain't about believing you gon' get what you want," she said. "It's about believing spirit is here for you, even when you don't." My chest burned. "What if I'm not strong enough for that?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "What if I wake up one day and I resent him for wantin' somethin' my body can't give?" Her voice softened then. "That fear don't make you weak," she said. "It make you human."
I swallowed hard, blinking fast. "And what if I become bitter?" I whispered. "What if I become my mama?" That made her sit up straighter. "You ain't her," she said firmly. "And you ain't her mistakes. You carry blood but you also carry choice." The words had barely settled in my chest before the house answered back.
The lights flickered twice. Then dimmed so low the room dipped into shadow, like the house itself was holdin' its breath.
Before I could speak, a sudden rush of wind slammed through the place hard enough to make the screen door fly open with a violent bang. The curtains lifted and twisted, snapping through the air like they were alive, brushing against my arms, my face, my throat.
The candles.
All of them.
Every single flame Madame Laurent had lit through the house snuffed out at once, plunging us into a heavy, unnatural stillness that rang louder than noise ever could.
My heart started racing.
Outside, the sky shifted fast blue folding into gray, gray bleeding into something darker. The clouds churned low andtight, rolling over each other like they were arguing about where to break first.
A storm was forming. No, Something was coming. My hands froze mid-braid. "Madame" I whispered. She didn't turn around. Her shoulders squared like she'd been expectin' this. "Something is happening," she said lowly, voice steady but reverent. Then she began to hum. A slow, deep melody rose from her chest. Old. Familiar. The same song she used to hum when I was small and restless, when nightmares chased me out my sleep and into her bed. The one she sang when grief sat heavy in the house and words weren't enough.
My throat tightened. I hummed along instinctively, the sound trembling at first before settling into my bones. The tune slid out of me like muscle memory, like my body remembered before my mind did. The wind eased slightly. The curtains fell back into place, swaying slow now, like they were listening. I finished braiding her hair, fingers moving without thought, guided by something deeper than instruction. Each braid felt deliberate. Sacred. Like I was stitching protection into her scalp, into myself.
-
After leaving Madame Laurent's house, I did something I almost never did. I checked Noles' location. The dot pulsed on my screen like it knew I was hesitating, like it knew I was crossing some invisible line. I stared at it for a long second longer than necessary, thumb hovering, heart beating too fast for no good reason. I didn't know why I was going. That wasn't true. I knew exactly why.
I needed to feel him. Needed to breathe the same air, hear his voice without a phone between us, remind my spirit wherehome lived. After everything that had been stirred up, I needed to ground myself in something solid. I pulled up outside Velvet and parked next to his car. The sight of it eased something tight in my chest. He was here. Alive. Moving. Existing in the same world as me. I didn't bother calling. He wouldn't answer. He never did when he was working. I locked my doors, stepped out, and walked inside like I'd been there before.
The front entrance was roped off, velvet cord stretched tight, a woman and a security guard standing watch. The woman's eyes skimmed over me slow, assessing, dismissive, her posture already sharp with judgment. "Can I help you?" the guard asked. "Yes," I said softly. "I'm here to see Noles."
The woman shifted her weight, arms crossing over her chest. "And who are you?" I smiled, sweetly. "Ayida," I said, extending my hand just enough to let her see the ring catch the light. "Ayida St. Jean. Noles' wife." Her mouth parted just slightly. The smile I gave her let her know I noticed. The guard cleared his throat. "You can follow me."
I giggled under my breath, waved at her with my ring hand, and followed him through the club. The deeper we went, the louder the bass pulsed under my feet, vibrating through my bones. Women moved through the space in silk and lace, laughter around them. Perfume, liquor, money, sweat. it all blended into something decadent and heavy. Exactly how Chiana described it. An upscale whorehouse dressed up as ambition.
We climbed a side staircase, the noise dulling as we moved higher, then walked down a long hallway lit low and gold. He stopped at the third door and knocked. "Somebody wife here," he said, cracking the door just enough to speak inside."Stupid ass nigga, who wife?" Pierre's voice snapped. "We all got wives."
"She said Noles. But I don't know."
"Look like she do voodoo?" Juste asked. The security guard nodded. I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, let her in," Juste said. The door opened fully and I stepped inside. The energy in the room hit me immediately. Jules sat off in the corner staring at nothing, his body thinner, his face harder, his spirit dimmer. It hurt to look at him like that. "Wassam," Juste said, nodding. Pierre followed suit. Juste turned and shouted down the hall, "Noles, yo wife up hea."
"What the fuck you talkin' 'bout?" Noles' voice came first, then him, walking in with a stack of money in his hands and a blunt hanging from his lips. Seeing him like that did something dangerous to me. He was in work mode cold and focused. He set the money down, pulled the blunt from his mouth, and his eyes locked on me like the room had emptied out. "Baeebbyy, you aight?" he asked, already crossing the space between us. He kissed my face, my temple, my cheek quick, grounding, familiar. I nodded. "Come on," he said, taking my hand and pulling me away from the room, down the hallway, into another space.
The room was dim, intimate. low couches built into the floor, a pole standing in the center like a quiet witness. "The longer I'm here," I murmured, looking around, "the more I see why Chiana and Amina hate it." He chuckled softly. "What you doin' here, Yi?"
"I missed you," I said honestly. "Needed to touch you. Feel you." His eyes darkened as he took me in, slow and thorough. His hair was rough, undone. His energy was sharp but tired. Beautiful in a way that scared me.
"Mmhmm," he murmured, pulling me to him, his mouth finding mine like it always did hungry, claiming. His mouth trailed down my neck and back up to my ear. I felt him reaching for my pants trying to unbutton them. I helped push them off leaving me in my panties, before I reached for his pants. He stopped made making me look at him confused.
"Take your panties off." He demanded reaching for them snatching them off before I could push them down. He grabbed me by my arm pushing me face down on the couch. He ran his finger up my wet slit making me moan out and shake at the same time. He slid under me on his back planting my pussy directly in his face. His tongue made instant contact with my clit making me writhe and moan out forgetting where I was for a minute.
_
