Loyalty Is Royalty - Unfortunately

Chapter 2

If there was one thing Catherine despised whole- heartedly, it was embarrassment. It made it worse this time around, it was self-inflicted. She had no fingers to point to, but herself. A scale goat would console her soul, but not this time around. She was the mother to her killer, daylight matricide.

The last time she was embarrassed (and famous) was when she went off the wagon and started dancing at the counter at Razz Matazz Night Club. Thanks to technology, the night riders had captured photos and videos of this "special day".

Little did she know she would wake up with a heavy hangover with a headache that is not curable by two painkillers, to add some icing on the cake, she had become an over-night celebrity on YouTube. If you thought those girls on Nelly's Trip Drill "bounce-it-bounce-it-drop-it-down-drop- it-shake-it-shake-it" were professional butt-dancers, you had something coming your way. Catherine had outsmarted Miley Cyrus in twerking and if you thought Kim Kardashian was a nudist, you had something coming your way; when you layed your eyes on that video.

She had stripped-down for the barman, threw her bra to a bunch of young men who were glaring with their mouths wide open, saliva dripping, like horny zombies (less hideous). Her panties were a crown on the barman's head as The Supplier of More Booze. There was one question for this drunk pageant.

"Can you still stand on one foot? recited by whole club in un

That night people would have sworn she had won the Lottery or had consulted her ancestors for "Ghost Money", by the way she was calling shots but she was with her walking A.T.M, Yarita Forbes. The guy was cool, he did not want anything in return for buying her booze. He just enjoyed her company (her craziness, that is). She was the bastard who had wanted a quickie after having a couple of tequilas. Which led to an agreement, not a relationship, an agreement - a mutual understanding. The guy was a considerate gentleman; always opened the door for her, saved her from the vultures of night-life, drove her home, locked the door, and threw the key in, through the window. Where the fuck did he come from, was he her long-unknown half-brother or some Good Samaritan or some Guardian Angel, definitely not a man. Whatever he was, she was glad he was in his life. You can only imagine the tension and weird stares she had to be receptive towards and not trip, because it would end up badly: someone taking out a camera phone to capture "Catherine's Tantrums" then upload them on his or her blog. People would watch or read anything with Catherine in the beginning. They would spend their last dime on it. It was weirdly comforting to know that her mother had experienced embarrassment and glares on the street at her prime days at school after having a threesome with brothers. So Catherine and her mother cuddled on the sofa as they as they watched their daily soapie, The Bold And The Beautiful.

"It will fade away, Cathy, don't you worry my baby", and it did.

Apart from what made Catherine goddessly worshiped and stunning beautiful; the look on the boys who had a new found crush on her. It was as if their wet dreams had come to life (something to masturbate with for the decade or longer) "Kids", Catherine would sigh.

She had the assets; the body, the walk, curves, boobs, lusty brownish eyes, dark and lovely, a maturing young African women (not so much with her personality though) with long dark natural hair tied at the back like a ponytail, book average and street smart. Even the teachers wished to head back to junior years just to try their luck, reality hit hard. She was off limits.

That was last year, and the walk to the flat at Troyville was taking hours. She had tried to distract her mind from her recent blunder with past experience. It was a bad habit of the tonnes she had and she knew it. All she needed was her room to scream and a bottle of Bells (no dash), so it would kick her straight into a blackout. Her hand was on the doorknob, the key rattling vigorously.

Patience was never her thing and the stupid phone just had to ring. It definitely was not her mother, she only called with a "special number" when she was on her bizarre trips. It was then, her spirit spiraled with hope; hope for a job interview. Fruits of her own labor. A million possible things to do with the first cheque. Her own "gwaub". She had been physically still, mentally miles away and the phone had been ringing for the fourth time. Abruptly, her thumb reached for the receiver button. She had answered the phone.