I'm Yours (PRN)

xx

"No, I haven't seen him since Christmas Eve."

Her toes point on the headboard of the bed frame, head hanging off of the bed as blood rushes to skull holding Monica's full head of heavy, thick hair. Feeling warm and fuzzy, thanks to the blasting heating system of Lindsey's home, she watches Lindsey apply her makeup. They're preparing for a night on the town in preparation of the ball dropping at midnight. A shade of crystal blue residue is transferred from Lindsey's finger and sprawled across her eyelids, brightening her freckles and copper tresses.

Monica rolls over in the bed, her blown out locks landing on her should as if she's never shifted her head in any way after removing her curlers. "Me either," Monica replies, carefully readjusting her dress. Her glittery tights compliment the sparkles of her black dress. She feels like Cher. "He did stop by my Granny's place after I told him to come."

The two casually expand a side conversation after losing their shared train of thought when discussing who will and who will not be partaking in the New Year's Eve celebration at The Taste, formerly The Fox Trap. Lindsey's statement about her inquiries regarding if any of Prince's music will be played stirs up a response in Monica. Thus, a separate conversation spawned as Lindsey and Monica both reminisce on the last time they saw him.

"How was he then?"

Eyes rolling, Monica struts across the room to browse Lindsey's perfume selection. She takes after her mother with the habit of mixing scents. "I don't know. He was too busy flirting with my aunt's stepdaughter," recollects Monica. Her fingers settle on the bottle that looks the prettiest to her, lifting it to her nose for a sniff.

"Do I hear jealousy?" Lindsey puckishly simpers, holding up her blush applicator to her cheeks as she eyes Monica through the mirror she uses for herself.

Monica intuitively lies, any possible further thoughts about Prince remaining latent, all stacked up in the back of her mind as they collect dust. "No." She'll never know how much she sounds like Prince when Iris questioned if the two are related. "I'm just saying that it's kind of messed up that I invited him and he spent most of his time in the corner sniggering with the cousin we both met that same day. He said all but two words to me."

It'd take torture for Monica to admit she misses the weeks of Prince following her around like a smitten, lovesick puppy. The way he worshipped her every move became an additive ego-booster Monica could drink by the gallon. William's doings were a major blow to Monica's confidence, having never been second place to any other woman, let alone cheated on. Something within her subconscious recognizes Prince has more potential for success than William will ever possess as an athlete. Knowing a man who is almost surely to be at the Grammy's within the next year or two is chasing her blows her head up to heights unimagined. It's a sacred feeling she refuses to share with any other woman.

"Mo, he was invited before you asked him to come. He only didn't come because he was trying to respect your space like you asked." As if she is ignoring Lindsey, Monica's eyes aimlessly roam the room. Her grip on a bottle tightens as Lindsey speaks. "I'm just saying, I don't want you to do anything crazy." Lindsey, in true Lindsey fashion, jumps right off the highest edge of her thoughts. "Because the last thing anybody wants is you suddenly realizing you're in love with Prince but then you're too late because he got mad that you keep bouncing him around like a ball and then you run after him trying to profess your love and he's in the middle of having sex with some hot blonde—"

Her hand lifting to hush her best friend, Monica lets out an exasperated sigh. "Please." Lindsey's posture loosens on her stool, lips folding into a purse as she is silenced by Monica's rejection. "Thank you."

Lindsey explains, "I think Prince is great and if you're jealous he's not focused on spending time with you anymore, that's okay. He was laying it on thick."