Page 27 of Pretty and Loco

“Nah, take your stuff too. We need some time away from each other.” He still hadn’t changed the calm tone of his voice, but that didn’t mean that his words offended me any less.

“Fuck you, Rocko.” I snapped, went up the stairs, and grabbed my things.

That was the catch-22 about Leah Blanco. I may do some strange things to get what I want, but I’ve never begged a soul for anything. If he said that he wanted me out of his space, I would leave. It would just be hell to pay once I was gone.

And trust me, the hell I raised was quite expensive. Like my grandmother always said, it’s cheaper to keep her.

Inside his room, I packed my things. I accidentally knocked down his cologne collection and jewelry box. My hands were so full that I couldn’t even see how much jewelry I stepped on as I went to put my things in my bag. All I could hear were the sounds of VVS, bust downs and glass crunching underneath my sandals. Different notes of cologne filled the air, mixing into one toxic smell that gave me an instant headache.

He came into the room after hearing the crash and wrapped his arms around me.

“All this cause I told you we need space? This is exactly why you gotta go.”

I pushed away from his grasp, dropped my things into my bag, and made a grand exit.

Had he not asked me to take my things, I would have felt like he just needed time to cool off. But his insistence that I grab my clothing meant he was trying to tell me we’re done. That was his first mistake.

He followed me down the stairs like he wanted to make sure I didn’t destroy anything else from his home.

“I don’t need an escort.” I snarled, using the back of my phone to crack the glass of one of the paintings on his wall.

“Man, chill.” He said as he grilled me. I knew he was losing his cool. He clenched his jaw so hard it looked like he might break it.

I opened the door, swinging it so hard I hoped the doorknob would go through the back wall. Then I turned toward him and gave him one final warning.

“Rock, if I haven’t promised you anything else, I promise you that you will regret the day that you played with my feelings.”

I could see his eyes change, but I left the same way that I came. I typed in the nearest hotel so I could stay there. It was still relatively early. I could have driven home. But I didn’t want to. I knew that if Daya checked my location in the middle of the night and it said I was home after I had just told her how happy I was, she would probably leave her shift to make sure I was okay.

I would go to a hotel for now; I would keep it cute, then go home tomorrow after I stopped by his house and asked if he had enough space.

But this wasn’t the last time that he would hear from me.

Space was one thing and getting rid of me was another. Ricardo Sanders was about to learn the difference.

Flashback- 6 years prior

“Girl, calm down. Hell, you’re making my nerves bad. You are the most beautiful bride in America.” My grandmother beamed as she fixed my veil. I tried to breathe through my nose and out of my mouth, but it wasn’t helping.

It was the day that I was about to marry the love of my life. The man who saw past the tomboy in me who just wanted to keep up with the boys. The man who cleaned my rebel wounds since I was eleven years old and knocked out the boys in the neighborhood if they got too rough with me or too disrespectful. Though he started as one of my closest childhood friends, we lost touch throughout the years. We ran into each other once he moved back to Sacramento and have been inseparable since. Brandon and I had been together for the last two years, and I loved him more than plants needed water. He was so smart, handsome, and so affectionate with me.

My anxiety was unusually high, because this should feel like a walk in the park. I had kissed the same man for the last 730 days. I would shout that I loved him from the mountaintop. Our wedding day should have been no different. But it felt like it. This felt like the biggest leap of faith I would ever take. Although I couldn’t wait to be his wife, my stomach was in knots.

I placed my hand on my stomach and hummed. What would normally calm me down in seconds did nothing in that moment.

“Breathe, Bossy.” My father coached me from my side, calling me by the nickname that he had given me when I was just a toddler.

He kissed my forehead.

The room felt like it was swallowing me whole.

“Can everyone just give me a minute?”

I asked, glancing around at all the moving parts in the room, which were overstimulating me. There were hairdressers with hot tools and pins, the makeup artist waiting to touch up my look, the designer who had come to do any last-minute alterations and steam my sister’s dress.

All the movement stopped at once.

Some nodded knowingly, and the others just scurried out of the room. I was grateful for the silence and a second to be left with my thoughts and have a minute to breathe. But then the door opened.