“I don’t know for sure.”
“You know something.”
I sniffed and looked toward Sosa’s cracked phone across the room. “She probably at Allure tonight. I mean it is her club.” I said and Mya got quiet.
That quiet scared me a little because Mya loud was one thing. Mya quiet meant her mind was already made up.
“Get dressed,” she said.
“What?”
“I said get dressed.”
“Mya, I’m not going nowhere.”
“Yes, you is. You not finna sit in that room crying in that man pillow while some bitch with a club and a lace front think she can play in yo’ face. Get dressed.”
I wiped my face. “I look a mess.”
“And? You still prettier than that bitch on your worst day.”
That made me laugh a little even though I was still crying.
“I’m serious, Yah. Get up. Wash yo’ face. Put on something black.”
“Mya—”
“I aint tryna hear shit. I’m on my way.”
Before I could say anything else, she hung up.
I sat there for a minute, staring at my phone like I had lost my damn mind. And maybe I had. Because any woman with sense would’ve stayed in that room, packed her shit, and waited on Sosa to come home so she could confront him like a mature adult.
But I wasn’t mature tonight. I was hurt and embarrassed. And more than anything, I was pissed the fuck off.
I climbed out the bed and walked into the bathroom, turning on the light. The woman staring back at me in the mirror looked like she’d been through hell. My lashes were wet and clumped together. My nose was red. My eyes were puffy. My hair was messed up from me crying into the pillow.
I looked like exactly what I was. A woman who had just found out the man she loved had been lying in her face.
I turned the water on cold and splashed my face until the tears stopped trying to fall. Then I brushed my hair down, fixed my edges the best I could, and changed into black leggings, a black hoodie, and my black Balenciaga slides because I wasn’t getting cute to fight no bitch. I wasn’t giving Sheree the satisfaction of thinking I came to compete.
This shit wasn’t a competition, this shit was about consequences for disrespecting me.
By the time Mya pulled up, I was standing by the front door with my purse on my shoulder and Sosa’s cracked phone in my hand. I don’t know why I brought it. Maybe because I needed proof. Maybe because I wanted to throw that shit at him when I saw him. Maybe because a part of me still couldn’t believe none of this was happening and I needed to keep looking at the message to remind myself I wasn’t crazy.
Mya honked once.
I walked out, locked the door behind me, and climbed into her passenger seat.
She looked me over. “You good?”
“No.”
“At least you honest.”
I leaned my head back against the seat. “I feel stupid as hell.”
“You not stupid.”
