I'm Yours (PRN)

vii

Monica could not believe her ears, her legs lifting from the comfort of being propped on her vanity's stool. A call to Wisconsin to check on William's left her brain thumping with a heavy ache. She couldn't calculate when had he ever signed for the right to be able to get as mad at her as he was. Monica struggled to digest his flaring attitude. Jealousy is an ugly trait and green was the least flattering color she'd ever seen her boyfriend in. She swore William had much better control over his emotions than what was being displayed. She thought higher of him. It seemed that Monica may have gotten lost in a corn maze when picking him. Suddenly, within a ten minute phone call, William was no longer who she initially thought he was.

"Monica, you didn't call me!"

Fighting the heavy sigh her lungs wanted to express, Monica's words are strained, wilted by weighted frustrations. "I know, baby, and I just told you I'm sorry. I mean that. I am sorry. I was out all night with my friends. We were skating, went to a movie, then he drove me home," She explained, the phone lodged in the crook of her neck as she unraveled the curlers in her hair. She was multitasking, also half packing her clothes. "It was a busy night that I didn't expect."

William's ember of an attitude tickled a delicate rope of patience that caught fire within him. "Who is he, Monica?"

"This boy I grew up with, a real family friend, y'know? Anthony brought him here."

Monica was more than willing to gladly give William the details of everything that happened because, in her eyes, she didn't do anything. She hadn't thought up any naughty fantasies or dirty mind trips featuring Prince. They had fun and she forgot to call her boyfriend. She thought to herself, 'Is that really all that bad?' Monica understood why William was a little on edge but she knew that if only he'd saw Prince then he, too, would not be able to fathom the idea of her cheating on him with her ex-boyfriend. No matter how much of a sweetheart Prince is. It was a simple no. Monica remained sorry as it's wasn't her idealistic relationship anymore but multiple ways it never was. She and Prince simply happened as a spark appeared from thin air.

"Mo," a voice called out to her from the hallway. As the years passed, she needed more than three seconds to register if the voice is the budding baritone of Benny or her loving step-father, Jorge.

Lifting her head from the floor, Monica turned, looking over her shoulder to meet Jorge eye to eye with a soft glance. "You're friend's downstairs." She always did cringe at the way he referred to Lindsey as her red-headed friend. For Jorge to drop the red-headed portion of his statement within recent visits, Lindsey felt as if she was getting somewhere. Jorge didn't have ill intensions with his words. Her hair being highlighted was an on-going joke between the Wells-Flores and Hastings families.

"Just send her up, I'm on the phone," Monica quickly belted before turning back to her telephone. The stress of packing to return to school by the upcoming Sunday, doing her hair, and her boyfriend all had her on edge. "Look, William, can we talk about this when I get back? I'm packing right now. This is my last full day at home and I'm trying to enjoy it as much as I can." Monica nuzzled the phone back into the crevice of her neck.

A low crack of the hardwood floors creaking as heels clicked against them left the balance of weight varying by an extra hundred and forty-two here, an extra hundred and forty-two there. Monica folded her second blouse, throwing it into the suitcase as she lost control of her agitation. Her boyfriend really ground her gears. She didn't like not a single thing William had to say to her and the phone call left her irate.

She yelled at him, "Well, what the hell do you want me to do?" His constant groans and growls were working her neves and had been since he'd picked up the phone. Monica felt her friend stand still for a moment, assuming it was nothing more than Lindsey questioning Monica's condition. Monica called out over her shoulder, "Close the door. I have to change shirts and I don't want Jorge's son running in here." Turning back to her telephone, she awaited the response of her boyfriend.