Waking up after having an uncomfortably explicit wet dream about that fool currently occupying your mind makes you want to die a little bit and you don't know why. Maybe it's because you're supposed to be angry at him or maybe it's because said wet dream interrupted your other dream about being a famous, talented R&B singer and having the world at your feet. You'd always vainly thought about being famous when you were a teenager, but your complete lack of singing ability is probably proof that you shouldn't pursue it.
Although it hasn't stopped some people.
You lean up to stretch, painfully staring at the bruising on your ankle. You've always bruised easily but you think that this is a bit ridiculous. Still, you have no time to think about the fact that you should have probably seen a doctor as you hobble to the bathroom. The girl that braids your hair is an absolute monster if you're late to her shop, and you're a bit surprised she even answered your late night appointment text.
You're thinking extra long, butt-length, small-ish twists this time for a change of pace. And sure, you still have Kayla's wig but you're thinking of cutting it some so it's less likely to get caught in a car door as you're trying to look cute. Maybe you'll dye it.
It's still on your mind when you're out of the shower and getting dressed in the laziest outfit you own; a zip up hoodie from PINK over a tank with a pair of athletic shorts. You slip on comfortable socks and your Nikes, limping on out of the door with your hair in a bun.
The shop is near the old neighborhood but you decide against going to see your parents solely for the reason you're supposed to be at work. In fact, you haven't told anyone about your quitting yet, or the invitation to return whenever you want in the future. That's good to know, considering you may as well be on your way back now with the way that you feel about N'Jadaka.
An unknown number calls you in the line at Starbucks, and you deny the call without giving it a second glance. You had to have an Uber drop you off here, but luckily the shop is a block or so away. The woman that braids your hair likes to pretend that she doesn't like when you bring her breakfast during your appointments but you know from experience that she and her assistant finish your shit a hell of a lot faster when they eat something. That impatience has you limping to the shop with three breakfast sandwiches and a coffee for yourself. Luckily for you they're herbal tea people, and you know damn well they'd better deduct ten bucks from your price for the breakfast.
The both of them greet you when you finally get inside, the cowbell on the door janglign loud in your ear.
"Hey, Miss _____," the main braider, Shaneice, says with a smile. She's fully pregnant, and her round stomach is just so cute to you underneath her grey sweater dress. It's pretty warm outside yet her shop is freezing from two separate air conditioning units, but you chalk it up to it being a byproduct of her pregnancy. Her assistant Kelly is just coming out the bathroom when you sit down, and you hold out a paper bag toward her with a smile. On cue she takes it, giving you a look that screams You already know.
Shaniece takes your hair out of the bun and starts fluffing, her long nails scratching your scalp and that shit nearly makes you fall asleep. "You want twists today?"
"Yeah."
She wastes no time, already parting sections and that's why you love coming to her. Unfortunately, though, she wastes no time in other areas either.
"So we heard you got a man?"
You roll your eyes straight to that stain on the ceiling tile above you, knowing immediately that Sydney's big mouth ass had to spill. She'd just been here to get her hair done and she's the only one that could have possibly said anything. Word spreads so fast in the neighborhood, and the last thing you need is your mom to call you and ask about it. They'll want to meet him and that cannot happen, Jesus.
