When History Repeats Itself

Chapter Two

** Damien - Jesse Williams**

Fine. I was fine.

Fine felt like a lie I told myself so often I almost believed it. Driving my mother's silver Corolla — still technically hers — I kept the radio off. Romantic ballads were the only thing on, like the universe was mocking me with reminders of Damien and his betrayal.

The silence inside the car was loud. I told myself, I'm fine. Again. And again. Self-denial is powerful, like a drug. Maybe if I said it enough times, it would stick. No inspirational quotes came to mind, just the hollow echo of those words.

Pulling into the apartment complex, dread settled in my chest. The whole building had witnessed our family's unraveling, and the neighbors had their opinions—mostly silent, but heavy in the way they looked at me. Almara was the one I dreaded seeing most.

Almara. Sumaya's old friend, moved in next door just last week. She was everything I wasn't: flawless, a black German supermodel with a smile that could cut glass, and still bitter about losing her spot as Sumaya's maid of honor—to me. I was still searching for my first real job, she'd already won at life. But she cared. Too much. And that meant I had to brace myself every time I crossed paths with her.

Lost in that thought, I bumped into someone. Strong hands steadied me before I could stumble. I looked up.

"Christopher Chase," I breathed.

"Well, well, Kerry Effah." His smile still had that boyish charm, the dimple in his cheek pulling at memories of teenage crushes and awkward stares.

But this wasn't the same awkward girl anymore. He looked at me like he saw the woman I was becoming — not the lost teenager I used to be. Thank you, Alexa, for dragging me to the gym through college.

"Almara's moved in next door. Lucky me," I said, sarcasm coating my words.

"Let's skip the part where you say you hate my girlfriend," he laughed, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his grey jeans. "How's Sumaya holding up? Almara filled me in."

"Strong, or at least trying to be. She's got family around. You know, the usual." I leaned against the peeling paint of the hallway wall, voice flat.

He smirked. "That sounds rehearsed. Tell me the real story."

"She's fighting through the mess. Kobby broke her trust in two years. How do you think she's doing?"

"I hoped we were all wrong about him. Who cheats on Sumaya? There were plenty of guys in med school lined up for her."

I didn't want to talk about it anymore. "This weekend's been a nightmare. I need a distraction."

He grinned. "Drinks and dinner at Illusion. You and Alexa should come. Almara's got an early shoot, so you're safe."

"Sure, why not?"

"Eight o'clock. I'll pick you both up."

Before I could respond, Alexa's voice came from the elevator. "Taking both Almara and me out? Sounds like a date."

Alexa—the friend who was both a lifeline and a thorn—smiled wide, draped in my oversized white shirt while I wore hers. Our sisterhood was messy but real.

Christopher laughed. "I'm picking you both up. As for you being 'on the market,' I heard that."

"Eight o'clock. I call shotgun. You're getting an unobstructed view of these legs," Alexa winked. Christopher shook his head but surprised me with a quick hug before leaving.

Inside, Alexa and I faced the mess on the kitchen floor — shards of ceramic, memories of chaos.

"Should we take photos? Evidence?" she joked.