All I thought about was Yemaya the whole night. When I got the chance to get away from Elio, I hid in the restroom in a handicap stall. I called Yemaya, but her phone went straight to voicemail. Fuck. So I called three more times, just hoping she'd pick up.
I lie to myself saying her phone probably died or she was asleep just any fucking thing that would make me feel better but I couldn't breathe, my chest hurts and my vision blurs — I could only blame myself for whatever happened to Yemaya.
"Mr. Jensen?" Elio's voice booms throughout the restroom.
Of course, he would come and find me. Saying nothing would be for the best, but I see his brown dress shoes similar to mine, standing outside the stall door.
"Come out."
"I'm taking a piss. Fuck off, Elio." And fuck I hate how my voice pitched higher and then cracks.
"You're upset."
"Can you fuck off?"
"Just open the door, please."
Funny how he knew the word, please. Still, I wasn't unlatching the door. I sat on the toilet, wiped my eyes, and tried texting Yemaya. And it was like Elio knew what I was doing.
"She's gone," he said remorsefully. "Now please open the door, my patience is wearing thin."
Screaming at him wouldn't bring Yemaya back wouldn't do anything.
Two men talk to Elio for a moment. They tell rich white people jokes that go over my head. My legs bounce up and down. Elio taps on the stall door.
"I'll count to ten, and if you don't unlatch the door, I'll kick it in."
Now I know his threats weren't empty. He's counting slowly. Swallowing the lump in my throat I get off the toilet unlatching the door when he gets to nine. I walk past Elio and over to the sinks. A couple of men were washing their hands. Elio stands behind me, looking into the mirror at me.
"I'm sorry."
"You gonna bring her back?"
"I can't do that," he said. "You didn't listen."
I walk out of the restroom and down the hall back into the ballroom. A beautiful woman stood on stage singing. As the waiters passed by, I quickly grabbed a glass of champagne from one of their trays, feeling the cool condensation on the glass. Why the fuck did he even want me to come with him to this shit?
When I knew Elio wouldn't come and find me, I stepped out onto the balcony. Sea salt and seaweed layered the cool night air. I gulped down the champagne and I didn't realize how tight I held the empty glass; it shattered, pieces of glass cutting into the palm of my hand, and the wet splatter of blood hit the marble balcony floor.
Fuck.
When I turned around, I collided with someone, jolting us both. I stepped back. It's another black dude. He looks down at my bleeding hand.
"You are hurt?" His accent I couldn't place. He steps closer. "May I?" He gently took my hurt hand and guided me back into the ballroom, down the hall, and into the restroom.
He asked the man working the restroom if there was a first aid kit or anything he could use to bandage up my wound.
I leaned against a sink with my bloody hand on my suit and the blood soaked into the fabric. The guy takes my hand again and carefully looks at it. He ran the palm of my hand under cold water and I hissed. Relax. He mumbles. I found out his name was Mikhail, but he told me I could call him Mike instead.
