God’s Glory? God’s Wrath? God’s Eye? This is all too freaking much.
I shouldn’t have asked. There’s a reason why ignorance is bliss. I have enough to worry about as it is. Damn my curiosity.
Meela refocuses on her buffalo chicken salad, digging in withgusto. I bite into a pepperoni, but I might as well be chewing cardboard. I’m too tense to enjoy my food.
“Quit fidgeting,” Meela reprimands, rolling her eyes. “You gotta hernia or something? And your voice sounds a little hoarse too.”
“No, my butt cheek itches, and I slept with the fan blowing on me, for your information,” I lie and tilt my head sideways. “Wanna scratch it for me?”
“Bitch,” Meela mutters, flipping me the bird.
I actually forgot about our plans today, but got my ass up when she texted me. I didn’t want to stay in bed all day with my dismal thoughts. I wanted to soak in her sassy energy, and she did not disappoint. My mood instantly improved in her presence.
“And what’s with your hair?” she purses her lips, perusing my lopsided ponytail. “No offense, but it’s a raggedy mess. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you can’t be hanging with me looking all bummish. You couldn’t gel down those edges and style your hair in a cute little bun?”
My hair got wet last night and shriveled into a puff ball. By the time Sandman took me home, I was too exhausted and riddled with pain to function. Detangling my hair or even putting on a bonnet were the last things on my mind.
“Subtlety obviously isn’t your middle name,” I say dryly.
“Do you want a friend who keeps it real or afakefriend who smiles in your face and talks shit behind your back?” Meela cocks an eyebrow.
I think about my oldfakefriends—Claudette, Phyllis, and Savannah. Yeah, I don’t need those types of people in my life. Sandman is enough to contend with.
“I can do your hair next Saturday,” she offers. “I’m enrolling in cosmetology school after I graduate, and practice makes perfect.”
So there’s a silver lining to Sandman’s punishment after all. Free hairdo.
“How many tattoos do you have?”
We arrived at Angry Dragon Ink, Draco’s tattoo shop, twenty minutes ago. He’s not here, but a dozen or so of his brethren are. Some are employees, and others are just hanging out. I try my best to ignore them, which isn’t an easy feat. At least I had a heads up this time. The dragon-themed furnishings are breathtaking, particularly the murals on the ceiling and walls. It’s giving majestic, medieval-times vibes.
“Five and counting,” Meela answers proudly, flipping through the tattoo magazine on her lap.
We’re waiting in a roped-off area at the front of the shop.
“Piercings?”
“Sixteen.”
I whistle low. “Damn, that’s a lot.”
“And I’m still not done, girlie.”
“Seriously?” I ask incredulously.
“Not even close.” Meela grins. “Hey, I have an idea.”
“Well, let’s hear it.”
“You should get a piercing today,” she announces, waggling her orange eyebrows—today’s featured color scheme. “Maybe a little ink too.”
I scoff. “Chile, my momma would flip her lid.”
“Aren’t you eighteen?”
“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t matter to her.”
“Listen, you’re an adult, babe,” Meela says. “Anyway, you can get something small and discreet. She doesn’t have to know.”
