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"So, what happened?"
I slowly observed Irish pulling her braids into a ponytail, leaving one on each side of her face out. Despite her focus on her done-up reflection in the mirror, the attention was on me. I hated it.
"And don't say nothing," her southern accent tried its best to mock my own. "Because that's a lie. We're alone now." Turning around, she showcased her bedazzled long-sleeved mini dress. Shiny rhinestones decorated the mesh fabric, barely leaving space. "Speak, sister."
"I—"
"Pause."
My lips quickly closed together like they were magnets. Don't threaten me with a good time.
Irish stiffly rushed to the opposite end of the bed where a large pink suitcase resided flat on the comforter. The silver pair of stilettos strapped around her ankles prevented a smooth movement. She lifted the lid and began rummaging inside. The longer she searched, the more frustrated she became. It was apparent from her tight facial expression and frequent huffs. Her rage was boiling seconds from bursting until her dark brown eyes lit up, and her glossed-covered lips formed an o shape—like she came to a realization. The next stop her heels took her was to the side of the bed I occupied and another suitcase. It was jet black, with multiple keychains on the handle. It had to be Dalvin's. Opening the lid, Irish slipped her small French manicured hands through the mesh pocket and grabbed a miniature glass bottle containing a clear liquid.
"I forgot I didn't have enough space." She stepped a few feet away from me—heels clicking, and spritzed the bottle on her neck.
When she descended to her lower body, the sprays increased. Was she trying to drown herself? That was a lot of perfume.
With a quick inhale, my nostrils captured a floral scent—too much of it, and my nose began to burn and sneeze. My throat felt like it was going to close. This reaction reminded me why I don't wear perfume.
"Oh, stop being so dramatic," Irish carelessly waved off me almost dying, and set the perfume on the nightstand. "Anyways, go ahead."
"I don't know." My eyes shamefully glanced down to watch my hands fiddle with the bracelets on my wrist.
That was my answer, and more so the truth. It felt like the rugged path at our crossroads was about to be repaired, but I got shut down mid-process—right before I could fully enjoy it.
