“Mekhi—”
“You ain’t never wanted to say a word to me; don’t start now,” he snapped.
Embarrassment and anger battled inside me, no doubt reddening my face.
“Fine,” I said coolly. “I ain’t gotta never say nothing to you. Trust.”
And I had every intention of keeping that vow.
(An Interlude)
After the Carl incident,everything between me and Mekhi got… weirder.
He barely spoke to me after dragging me to my car that day. Hell, I barely wanted his surly ass to. I told myself I hated him. And I did, kinda. I hated how he embarrassed me, hated how he scared me, hated how he made my chest feel tight without even touching me.
And yet, every time I saw him over the next year, something in me paused.
I hated that, too.
By the time my seventeenth birthday came around, the last thing I needed was another run-in with him. I just wanted to enjoy the day and avoid that man like the plague…
Ha!
(One year later)
“I can’t wear this!”I moaned as I glared at my image in the mirror.
Kera peeked over my shoulder at my reflection.
“Shit, why not? I wish my titties sat up like that!”
“They look like they’re about to spill out of the top.”
“And?”
Kera was a lost cause. She was somewhere between a curvy size six and eight, so she had no empathy at all for the struggles I went through with my size sixteen frame. It wasn’t that she was mean about it. No, she was all about “embracing your curves” and was always telling me how she’d kill for my breasts or hipsor ass. She was welcome to them. Personally, I’d like to be like her and go bra-less sometimes or wear tops that revealed more of my belly.
The biggest problem I had, though, was the unwanted attention my curvy body brought me. One older man had told me I looked like sex on legs, and it seemed a lot of people agreed with him. I was forever being propositioned and offered the world. That was why I had chosen the modest, one-piece bathing suit I had on. It was black and basic as possible. But not with my breasts, oh no. Suddenly, I felt like I would’ve been more covered in the damn two-piece Kera had begged me to get. I wanted to go home and hide but considering this was a joint birthday party for me and Kera—we’d been born a week apart—I knew that was impossible.
I glanced one last time in the mirror. Kera stood behind me, snapping her fingers impatiently.
“Farrah! Let’s go.”
“I’m coming,” I muttered.
She grabbed my shoulders suddenly. “Hey. You know you my nigga. I wouldn’t let you go out here looking anything less than flawless. You not a skinny girl and it looks good on you.”
The sincerity in her eyes made me smile and I covered her hands with mine quickly, before whispering, “Thank you.”
“Now, stop obsessing, bitch, and let’s make our grand entrance,” she demanded.
Grand was an understatement. Seth had rented this mansion for us, and when two of the staff opened the doors that led to the pool and we stepped through, everything stopped. Kera had the DJ playing “Feeling Myself,” by Nicki and the Queen and she was definitely feeling herself.
And why not? We were seventeen and beautiful, with the world in front of us. It helped that one of the first people that caught my attention was my friend and neighbor, Ron.This was not his scene, but he’d still come for me. He looked uncomfortable until his eyes landed on me. His face lit up, and I made my way toward him. I gave him a quick hug before linking my arm through his skinny one.
“Hey. Thanks for coming.”
“Anything for you, beautiful,” he responded. “I put your gift on the table.”
