I sat by the windows, wrapped in a robe, smoking while the city moved outside like life was normal.
Meanwhile, I was sitting in a penthouse smelling like weed and throwing up.
My father was dying.
That thought kept finding me no matter what I smoked or drank.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him in that hospital bed, looking weaker than I had ever seen him. My father wasn’t supposed to look weak. That nigga raised me on discipline and pressure. Now cancer was eating through his brain while I sat in a luxury suite, barely keeping myself together.
I had businesses to run, people depending on me, and a whole family watching me become the next head after him.
And I was in here hiding from life.
By day four, I stopped opening the curtains completely.
My phone kept going off somewhere in the room.
Food deliveries stayed by the door untouched.
I smoked. Threw up. Stood in the shower. Repeated it. But nighttime got strange.
I would wake up thinking somebody was standing in the room.
Twice, I could’ve sworn I saw Sade near the windows in one of my shirts.
Another night, I heard her laugh from the kitchen, clear as day.
I got up fast, looking for her before realizing I was talking to shadows and dark corners.
“Sade?”
I stood in the middle of the suite, rubbing my face hard.
I sat back down on the couch and stared toward the hallway.
“Why you keep looking at me like that?”
Nobody was there.
“You think I’m weak or something?”
I closed my eyes after that.
My mind was shot.
Another night, I could’ve sworn she was sitting on the edge of the bed watching me smoke.
“You should’ve stayed my employee.”
That stayed with me because everything got worse once feelings got involved.
By day five, my family doctor showed up with Vanessa.
I barely opened the door, but my sis barged in.
“You look terrible,” Vanessa said immediately.
“Thank you.” I actually gave her a smirk. My sister was stronger than I was. My father's death hadn’t hit her yet, like it was doing to me.
