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| Day 72 out of 3652 |
For the first time in what felt like forever, I was starting to feel a sliver of normalcy. As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, I propped my phone up on the sink so Raelle could still see me through FaceTime while I flat-ironed my hair.
Tonight, Carlos and Tina were dragging me out of the house, and Momma J wasn't having it any other way. She'd jokingly threatened to kick me out if I didn't get dressed and leave for a few hours. Part of me appreciated their efforts to pull me back into the world, but another part—maybe the bigger part—wasn't ready. But I couldn't say no. Not to them, and certainly not to Momma J.
"I'm so happy they were able to transfer Dominic," I said, glancing into the camera at Raelle, who was lounging on her couch. "And that his surgery went well. Now I just... I just hope he wakes up soon."
My voice was steady, but I could feel the weight behind my words pressing against my chest. Raelle's soft nod through the screen reflected the same heaviness I was feeling. She's been one of the few people I could truly talk to since everything went down—one of my few calms in this storm.
"You and me both, girl," She replied, her voice tired but comforting. "It's all we can do now... wait."
Honestly, Raelle has been one of the only things keeping me grounded in this mess we've both been dragged into. It's like we share the same scars, just with different stories behind them. She was kidnapped—a nightmare I know all too well. I can still feel that same cold fear from when it happened to me, and hearing her recount her experience just brought it all rushing back. The terror, the helplessness. And the miscarriage... that's another weight we both carry. It's a pain that doesn't fade, a silent ache that lingers in places no one can see.
This is what our lives have become, especially when we fall in love with someone who lives in that world. It's not just about the fast money or the dangerous allure; it's about the sacrifices we make and the pieces of ourselves we lose along the way. Raelle and I might come from different backgrounds—me, born into this life, with the game running through my veins, and her forced into it because of who she fell for—but we've both bled the same. The struggle is universal when you're tied to someone in this life.
Talking to Raelle is effortless, like we speak a language only we understand. There's a comfort in not needing to explain every little thing—the way we both know that silent panic when the phone rings too long, or someone goes missing for just a minute. It's in the shared look, the unspoken fear that never really leaves. We don't need to compete for who's been through the worst, and it's not a one-upping game like it feels with Melanie sometimes. With Raelle, it's just real, honest, and raw—something I've come to appreciate more than I can put into words.
"You haven't brought it up, but..." I start to trail off, the lump in my throat making it harder to continue. Bringing this up feels like walking on glass, but I need her to know I'm here, even if she decides she's not ready to talk about it. "The baby... Rae, I know how hard it can be."
