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diamonté is twenty five, michael's thirty two. making her twenty one and him twenty eight when they first met! ▁▁▁▁▁▁
DIAMONTÉ DOESN'T GO inside. Instead she walks up a set of outside stairs on the side of the guest house to a porch that overlooks the backyard and a fire pit. She sits heavily in one of the wider lounge chairs and doesn't move for a while, legs bent, hands clasped between her knees, staring off into the distance. Eventually the breeze picks up again and she can feel her cheeks stinging. Oh. She's been crying.
"Baby?" A door slides open and she hears Michael's voice. "I thought I saw you come up here." He flops down to sit sideways on to the lounge chair next to Diamonté and his demeanor changes as soon as he sees her face, sitting up quickly. "Hey, whoa. What happened? You okay?"
Diamonté doesn't turn to look at her boyfriend. Even moving that much feels like it would take too much energy. She sucks in a shaky breath.
Originally, she did want to just go in and cuddle him following the news she just received, maybe it'd make how sad she felt better. But instead she let the discouragement swell up and course throughout her entire body, making it hard for her to drag her way into their home.
"I thought you were working." Michael continues to push for her to speak to him. His hand comes to rub at her bare back in a soothing, his touch having her shut her eyes involuntarily before forcing them open again.
Maybe she was being dramatic or extra, but in the moment she couldn't give a damn. The anticipation she once had for the upcoming weekend had diminished, despondency and even rage eating at it.
Her breath catches in her chest, more disappointment gripping her anew as she reaches for Micheal's hand and grips it tightly, but not so impossibly hard that it may hurt him.
"Just got some bad news, baby, is all." She mutters.
"What?" Micheal concerns. He never wants to see Diamonté upset to tears. When she cries, it tugs at his stomach, making his insides churn with helpless. "You can talk to me." He adds.
Finally, she looks up at him, the white in her eyes sporting a tint of red, tears staining her cheeks. In front of her, Micheal patiently waits for her to speak up.
"They cut me out the auction this weekend," She forces herself to calm her breathing once she says that, saying it making her think about the call once again which will draw her to want to cry more. Playing with her fingers, she continues. "I finally fucking get an opportunity like this and they don't even let me fulfill it."
All she wanted was to be able to put her name out there. Her being local and she won't lie, Micheal B. Jordan's girlfriend does greatness for her work, but that's exactly the problem. Micheal B. Jordan'a girlfriend's art. Not the work of Diamonté Harper.
