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He called back several times before I just completely shut my phone off. I got in the shower and followed it with going back downstairs to grab me a glass of wine before bed. Shameek had a way of making my security do what he wanted, so I decided to walk out there and have a conversation with them myself. I didn’t feel like being bothered with Shameek and his jealousy tonight.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. King?” one of them said as I approached.

“How much does Shameek pay y’all?”

They looked at each other, then back at me.

“He pays us well, Mrs. King.”

“What do I need to pay y’all tonight to make sure he does not bother me?”

“Mrs.–”

“Nope,” I stopped him. “I said, what do I need to do? I don’t need excuses. I’m not afraid of Shameek; y’all are.”

“You don’t have to pay us anything. We are at your service,” the other one said.

“I know that. Yet, when Shameek is mad, you let him. I need your word that no matter what, you do not let his ass in my house.”

“You have our word.”

“I really appreciate it.”

“Have a good night, Mrs. King.”

“Y’all too.”

When I got back in the house, I grabbed my glass of wine and went upstairs to my bedroom. Now that I didn’t have to worry about any company, all I wanted to do was chill and watch a few shows. After spending time with Lloyd, I wasn’t in the mood to explain shit to Shameek. After a few hours, my body was finally starting to relax so I could fall asleep.

The next morning, I woke up before my alarm and decided to take some time for myself. Usually, I would find some type of excuse that something or someone else needed me more than I needed myself. I rolled over, grabbed my phone, and turned it back on. It immediately lit up with missed calls and text messages from Shameek. I didn’t even open them. Whatever mood he was in last night could stay right there until I felt like dealing with it. I responded to my daddy’s text and answered a few emails before tossing my phone back on the bed.

For once, my entire day had nothing to do with work. I was going to get my hair done and do some shopping. I wanted to spend money without feeling an ounce of guilt. Since all of this happened, I felt like being happy was against the law. I didn’t want to be caught out spending money because people would think I was blowing through my husband’s money. For a few hours, I wanted to be shallow. After showering, I stood in the closet longer than necessary, trying to decide what to wear. There was a time when getting dressed came easy. I loved clothes. Rah used to get on me about ordering shit and forgetting I bought it until a box showed up weeks later. Now, getting dressed had turned into throwing on whatever made sense for where I was going.

Today, I took my time. After taking my time to figure out my outfit, I moved on to my face. I did my skincare and then applied my makeup. Now that I was put together, I sprayed on my favorite perfume and looked at myself in the mirror.

“Okay, bitch.”

I grabbed my purse, keys, and cell phone and headed out the door. My hair stylist was known for filming when I came in, so I was glad that I took my time with how I looked. By eleven, I was sitting in her chair.

“You know you only call me when you’re tired of dealing with all this hair,” my stylist said.

“That’s a lie,” I said, looking at her through the mirror.

“It is not. You go missing for months, then you suddenly hit me with ‘you got anything today?’ like I ain’t got a booking site.”

“And I pay your ass for squeezing me in every time. You know I’ve been struggling, so I just throw my hair in a ponytail and go on about my business.”

“I’m not saying you have to come weekly like you used to, but you need to still take care of yourself. You’re still that bitch.”

I had been coming to her long enough that neither one of us had to fill every second with conversation. That was one of the reasons I liked sitting in her chair. I could talk if I wanted to, scroll through my phone, close my eyes, or sit in silence without anybody asking me what was wrong. I took in what she said, though. Halfway through, she turned the chair slightly and looked at me through the mirror as she ran her fingers through the hair.

“You want the same curls?”

“I think so. Nothing dramatic. I just want it to look expensive.”

“Your hair always looks expensive,” she said, and laughed.

I smiled and went back to scrolling. Then I looked at the unread messages from Shameek. I still hadn’t opened them. I could only imagine what they said. Probably something about pissing him off, something about Lloyd, then another message pretending he wasn’t bothered. I just wasn’t in the mood right now. By the time my hair was done, I felt ten times better. I took a few pictures in the mirror, paid, tipped her well, and headed downtown. I had nothing specific in mind to buy. That was my point. My first stop was one of my favorite boutiques. I hadn't been inside in months, but the owner recognized me the second I walked through the door.