And next to that sat a closed toiletry bag, made of the same leather as the overnight tote in Zion’s room. But something lying in front of the bag snagged my eyes—something I’d been meaning to buy for a while before Dennis showed up.
Suddenly, my mind lit up with a new idea… and a possible solve for my current dilemma.
I couldn’t get myself to go to my daughters just yet. But I also didn’t want to live with three men who were only helping me because they wanted to… make me their mate.
I wasn’t surprised their help came with strings attached. I knew how the world worked, and really, how long could I hope to live here before they expected me to put out?
But my stomach turned at the thought of any of them moving on top of me like Dennis did.
No, I had to figure out how to make the three delusional guys who’d convinced themselves I was their mate see that I was damaged goods, wrong for them in every way.
With that in mind, I stepped into the bathroom and grabbed the one tool I needed to make myself a lot less appealing: Zion’s electric clippers.
15/
by ursa, what have you done?
BELL
I’d just emerged from the ensuite bathroom of the downstairs bedroom I’d been given when I heard muffled voices.
As determined as I’d been before entering the bathroom, I froze in place at the sound of not one, not two, but three guys who would all be upset with me when they saw the results of my impromptu guy-repelling makeover.
“We talked about this, Belly! You can’t just go around making drastic changes without consulting me first! What will my constituents think?”
I’d laughed at Dennis’s reaction to me deciding to get my hair lightened to blonde. The first step to getting to the vibrant teal blue I was aiming for without significant damage.
The truth was, I hadn’t consulted him because I knew he’d talk me out of it, just like he’d convinced me to get shoulder-length extensions and wear dresses that made me feel like I was cosplaying a fifties housewife. I needed something to make mefeel like myself again after Noelle’s birth, and I thought he was being silly since he’d already been elected.
That was the first time he’d hit me.
When he’d stopped pretending to be my Prince Husband Charming withstrong preferencesand became my master withrulesI wasn’t allowed to break or question without consequences.
I knew the three guys outside would feel the same way as Dennis about my love of altering my look on a whim. But I braced myself… not just for the pain they might inflict for daring to go against them. But also for the disappointment.
I thought of how I’d clung to Boone last night. I don’t know when I went from rightfully wary to turning to him in my moment of need. But for some reason, I’d trusted him completely while I was at my most vulnerable.
When I debuted my new look, he’d show his true colors, and whatever trust I’d developed over the last few days would pop like a balloon.
Good, the embittered part of my brain piped up to remind me.You’re not some dumb girl in your twenties anymore. You need these guys to show you their true colors so you can stop relying on them and figure out how to get on with your life. Alone.
That thought unfroze me and sent me forward on my mission.
This time, it was dead quiet when I exited the bedroom, and no one came running when I got to the stairs.
However, I found all three guys standing on opposite sides of the counter and looking in the direction of the hallway entrance, as if they’d just been silently waiting for my arrival.
All three of their faces fell with shock when they saw my new look. The urge to flee rose sharp and primal, like something biological.
But I forced myself to stand my ground, waiting for the criticism, the anger, the disappointment.
The shocked silence stretched. Then Zion said, “By Ursa, what have you done to your hair!”
I cringed inwardly as they took in the decidedly way more punk rock look I’d been planning for the new year—before Dennis showed up.
I still had dreadlocks on top of my head, but I’d pulled them into a top bun to highlight that I’d shaved both sides and the entire undercarriage down to the shortest length I could with Zion’s electric razor.
I’d already been warned by Jada, the Black Heritage Museum director, who’d told me what a cesspool the over-50 dating scene was these days.
