by Nia Arthurs
Just like my life.
I drag myself inside and flop into the couch, smothering the scream that wants to tear out of my throat into the nearest pillow.
Why does nothing work out for me?
A streetlamp sheds a silver glow through the window.
At least it can’t get any worse than this.
Today was… a lot.
First, I got fired from my job at the Roly Poly Moley.
Which… to be honest…
It’s not a huge loss.
Skating around in a tacky pink uniform for crappy pay and fielding rowdy male customers who request I ‘shake my boobs’ for a higher tip was never something I saw myself doing at twenty-four.
Leaving that job behind was long overdue.
Know what else is over-due?
My tuition.
Rent.
My student loans.
It was a crappy job.
Minimum wage.
But it was mine.
I was good at it.
And then it was gone.
After getting fired, I called my boyfriend. We met up at his place. I fell into his arms. His big muscular chest surrounded me, protected me from the panic. I forgot about losing my job. I forgot about my bills. Everything.
It was almost perfect.
Almost.
Until Kenny sat up and told me he had something to talk about.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to sink deeper into the couch. Try to find some position that eases the ache in my chest.
Misery digs into the underbelly of my heart and lurks in the shadows of my soul. I didn’t realize I had such strong feelings for Kenny until he broke up with me.
That was the worst part—realizing how vulnerable I was.
I let myself be weak.
I should have known better.
Over and over again, I’ve been hurt by people who leave me when things get hard, but instead of growing thicker skin, I let Kenny pierce through the walls and get to my soft, sensitive places.
I begged him not to abandon me.
Told him I would change.
I would do anything for him.
To not lose another person.
I’ve endured my share of rejections. My heart is used to being tossed around like trash. I endured a lot, but this break-up… it’s worse than all the rest.
I felt a deep connection to Kenny.
But I guess it was one-sided.
In the end, he stared at me with his cold brown eyes and asked me to leave.
Another silent scream gets smothered in the pillow.
I wish I’d been more careful.
If I had kept him at arms length, would I have spared myself this pain?
The ‘what ifs’ dance around me like a game of Ring-Around the Roses. The heartache doesn’t leave.
My entire being is drowning in hopelessness.
This is truly one of the worst days of my life.
No job.
No boyfriend.
No family to care either way.
In fact, Mom and Dad will enjoy rubbing all my failures in my face. It’ll be a grim reassurance. One more piece of evidence to prove the wrong daughter died.
Being the sole survivor of a terrible accident is like that.
Should I just end it all? Give them the satisfaction?
Fear hits me.
I don’t want to die, but I yearn for an escape—into another body, into another skin, into another world where no one can hurt me. Where I know the end before it comes. I feel helpless, like when I was a little girl, screaming at the edge of lake as my sister drowned.
I have to stop thinking about Jenna. Why am I so up in my feelings today? I have to move on. I have to…
Grief doesn’t care about my pep talk. Pain has no respect for my scars.
Distraction.
I need—
Just something to stop the thoughts.
To plug up the hole in the sinking boat called my life.
A good, cheesy movie should calm the storm.
Or at least replace my memories of Jenna.
Hopefully, it’ll be louder than the little voice in my head telling me to empty my prescription pills.
I hop out of the couch and turn on the TV.
There’s a news story on.
Some guy named Patrick Collard with bug eyes and frantic hand gestures is going on about planets and moon alignments. He looks a few fries short of a happy meal. All he’s missing is a little silver cone on his head.
I snort and listen to him a bit more.
So the planets are aligning.
Are we all going to die?
I hope so.
I hope the world goes up in flames.
That would be fitting.
If only.
I aim my remote at the screen and click to Netflix. I already know what I’m going to watch. A vapid, rom-com. One where obviously twenty-five to thirty year old actors are playing high school seniors.
I scroll to my ‘frequently watched’ list.
A giant poster of a steely-eyed hunk in a preppy vest that looks sexy and dangerous on his broad shoulders looks back at me.
Hawk.
Even with the snobbiest expression on his face, the actor radiates explosive charm. He has the look of an international model—broody, yet perfectly put-together. Dark hair roguishly mussed. Sharp jaw.
His eyebrows are two dark slashes above devastatingly gorgeous blue eyes.
Beside his stunning face the title flashes in gold.
The Heirs of Brighton Academy.
I sigh in relief. I’m desperate for a romp into a world where the sweet, naïve New Girl gets the Hot, Angst-ridden, Misunderstood Bad Boy.
It’s the age-old love story.
They hate each other.
They fall in love.
Some stupid misunderstanding breaks them up.
And in the end, they get back together via grand gesture.
But this is no ordinary ‘high school’ rom-com.
No.
The Heirs of Brighton Academy has the added appeal of being set on a private island where billionaires, celebrities and politicians send their kids to get the best education far away from tabloids and regular society.
It’s a perfectly cliché Cinderella story sitting inside a cutting edge package.
While the movie starts, I pad to the freezer to snag a tub of ice cream.
I already know what’s happening on the screen anyway.
Catherine, the main character, is walking into Brighton Academy. She’s meeting the principal and getting her first taste of the Brighton posh cold shoulder.
Then she’s going to run into Kaz, the token black friend who does plenty of eye-rolling, says the cheesiest lines and barely gets any screen time or character development.
Yay for representation.
I hurry to dish my ice cream into a bowl. I want to get back before Catherine’s first encounter with Hawk—the school bad boy and the hunk who’s the face of the movie.
As I grab a spoon, I hear a tinkling sound.
I stop.
Glance around.
The forks in the sink start to dance.
“Earthquake!” I shriek.
The cupboard doors fly open as the quake gets more intense. Glass dishes slide out of the shelves and crash to the floor.
I scream as one plate hurls dangerously close to my head. Holding my arms high to protect myself from the missiles, I dive beneath a table and wait for the madness to end.
Inside, my heart is pounding.
I hate that I’m alone right now.
It feels worse, going through a disaster like this with no one beside me.
Whatever.
I’m stronger alone.
At least I can fake it.
That is until the earthquake gets worse.
I abandon all attempts at courage and scream for all I’m worth, burying my head in my hands and squeezing my eyes shut.
Sudde
nly, it stops.
Silence.
Breathing hard, I shove my curly weave out of my eyes and glance around.
The kitchen is a mess.
Glass shards everywhere.
Broken china.
I wince, imagining how annoying it’ll be to clean that up. Looks like I’ll be eating out of plastic plates until I can get a job to afford proper dishes.
I can’t believe we just had an earthquake.
What a perfect ending to this disaster of a day.
Slowly, I crawl from under the table, careful not to place the heel of my hands or my knees on any of the glass shards. The place is an absolute mess.
I look for the broom to start cleaning up.
But…
The broom isn’t where it’s supposed to be. I keep it tucked between the counter and my old and tiny oven.
Which…
The oven in front of me is not.
Tiny, I mean.
Or old.
It’s stainless steel. Top of the line.
Fancy.
What the…?
My gaze whips to the cupboards that I now see are glass and wood-finished, nothing like the cheap, plastic ones I had back in the apartment.
The floor is marble.
The foyer opens wide to an impressive living room area.
The place is huge.
Like ridiculously huge.
This isn’t my apartment.
I blink once.
Twice.
Nothing around me changes.
Panic builds in my heart, a keening wail in my head that won’t fade.
If this isn’t my apartment then… where the hell am I?
***
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More books about strong yet vulnerable black women and the diverse men who love them are coming soon.
Also by Nia Arthurs
Caribbean Crush Series
His Exception
Her Deception
The Complication
Grudging Hearts Series
Forever Loving You
Forever Craving You
Forever Claiming You
Make It Marriage Series
Be My Always
Be My Forever
Be My Darling
Be My Lady (A Make It Marriage Short)
Be My Light
Be My Spark
Be My Wife
more coming in 2020
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