#dricki ff

“Bitch bye!” With a bowl of steamy kettle popcorn nested in her arms, Brooklyne waltz in taking a seat on the chaise close by with a clear objection written on her face. “I know you’re ass ain’t lyin’ like that.”

“Well what do y'all expect? Y’all see how picky I am about my shoes, should a man be any less? I’m simply ridding myself of potential headaches.”

“But you have to be fully open in giving love a try, and that won’t happen if you have standards higher than a fiend, London.”

One thing was for sure, and certain: Benjamin and Naimah Pierre didn’t raise a fool. But a witty, no nonsense princess rather, who never settled, or compromised anything for the sake of her value. London could literally meet what’s considered Prince Charming in his purest form in front of her eyes, but something so trivial like a failing grade in his past could dim his worth in her eyes. The girl was just that complex.

“Can we talk about something or someone else, please? You bitches are annoying.” Brooklyne, and Kiersten both giggled simultaneously, causing a mush to reach Kiersten head. Her eyes rolled to the ceiling taking a seat.

“Don’t get mad cause we’re tellin’ the truth, hoe. Keep it up, and your ass will be lonely with cats with your mean ass. It’s cause you haven’t been fuckin’ for the past three months huh?” With her mouth hung open at agape, a gasp followed from Kiersten and her both. Giggles, and snorts sounding off from Kiersten shortly after.

“Shut the fuck up, B! No!”

“Yes! You told me your last time was Frazier Lamonte  last semester and you said his shit was weak, and you’ve been upset ever since promising you’ll never fuck him, or another baseball player again. Unless it ain’t somethin’ you’re tellin’ us then, cause uh..as far as I know, ain’t nobody been dippin’ in them sheets.” Truth was, aside from her battery operated boyfriend, she hadn’t indulged in any sexual acts in months. She was silently admitting that the pent up aggression she had to be coming from somewhere, and horny aggravation could be that place.

“You. Bitches. Are. The. Worsttttt!” She groaned, and muttered in a pillow nearby that covered her face.

“Awww Lo Looo, it’s okay. You’re not alone. It hasn’t been as long as three months though, but still it’s okay.” She allowed herself to be pulled in Kiersten embrace, pouting against her will.

“That’s so fuckin’ sad, that’s expected from Ki’s prude ass. But your ass…” She didn’t appreciate the chastisement no matter how accurate it may have been. Brooklyne shook her head and waved her hand in the air. “Point blank simmer down from your high ass horse, hoe. Speakin’ of which, hey hot ass…” She turned to Kiersten who averted her attention to the screen gulping subtly. The yellowness of her skin reddening by the seconds. “Tell us alllllll about your trip to LA.”

“And don’t leave anything out.” London could admit she was still feeling some type of way that Kiersten not only secretly jetted off, but ignored damn near everybody for the entirety of the time.

“Okay, okay gosh. I was actually working, so you guys don’t have to look at me like that…shit.” With a twiddle of her thumbs staring down at them, the brim of her lips broke into a grin. “ It was fun, as you know LA is gorgeous but the nightlife? Man, its really amazing out there. The fact that I rubbed elbows with industry heads behind the scenes, aside from the everyday celebs we see was pretty cool. Put things in perspective for me, you know?”

“Cut the shit, you fucked him? Hm? Don’t lie either.” A gab was placed in London’s hip as Brooklyne crawled closer to them, forming a circle, with the now half eaten popcorn bowl enclosed in the middle.

“No! Goodness Lo, what do you think of me? We haven’t even kissed…well technically.” Of course she believed Kiersten, but the speculation from her had to be voiced.

“We’ll speak about him, later. As long as you weren’t doing anything I wouldn’t d-”

“Won’t do.” Brooklyne mumbled through a snort.

“Shut the fuck up! Wouldn’t do, we don’t even have to discuss all that at the moment. But about you moving out Ki…are you sure? I mean Aunty Fi has her moments, but I think things will be better. That’s a big step you’re taking.”

“…I’m sure. ” They all heard the crack in her voice, seen the tears form, and knew what had to be done. Firstly before anything, a warm embrace they circled her with a soft stroke of her back; which although may have ceased the tears,  London knew was just the start of the the havoc that awaited. Following a call made to their father’s real estate agent the very next morning.

“I call first dibs on decorating the living room, bitches.”  

————————

TWO WEEKS LATER…

Slow deep breaths. From the moment she traveled the long hall that led to the dungeon of doom also known as her daddy’s office, London blocked all oxygen passageways out of nerves that crept up out of the blue. She never knew what to expect from her father; and not wanting to be a disappointment always fucked with her nerves and senses. She gulped so deep she ended up swallowing her doublemint gum. As she entered, watching him focus keenly, like expected, on the pile of papers nestled in front of him, she stood in place for a lengthy pregnancy pause. Alright, here we go…She motioned for Rosie to now enter fully who was instructed to trail behind her for safety purposes.

“Daddy I did it, and it only took me a week, an extra three days including, my über sense of style.”

“Okay, let’s hear it.” There she stood in her DSQUARED2 stilettos broken into perfection two days prior for this given moment. The close fit hot pink suit, thanks to Burberry aiding as an accessory to her new found glory of sophistication.

“You are now looking at the apprentice to Monica Punes, of Punes Industries and publishing. I’m like her shadow; a level up from the help-” She glanced over at Rosie, who was holding with patience, her neon yellow snakeskin briefcase courtesy of Kate’s Spade. “Sorry Rosie, not to say that’s not an…okay profession to add to accolades. But anyways it’s a level up from her assistant. Who might I say had these awful muddy brown shoes. And the-”

“London, when do you start? How did you get hired? Focus baby girl…”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry daddy. So It boiled down to me shopping,” His brow raised. “But! But…I wasn’t getting something for myself, okay I was. But it was for a suit, anyway this old lady was making the biggest mistake of her life. I mean biggest! She tried matching velvet with latex, and suede shoes! The colors didn’t even coordinate.” His gazed reflected tortuous boredom signaling her to get to the point.

“So your amazing daughter stepped up to the plate, and did her magic. Turning tragedy to triumph, the old lady just so happened to be my now boss’s, mother-in-law! She was watching the whole time, ducked in the section of Prada like a creep, but that’s not the point. I was basically hired on the spot when she realized the level of expertise I had with haute couture; giving me a greater advantage after my interview. Plus I had my resume in my messenger bag.” Her cheese expanded for miles, as a rain of claps sounded off from her father. Approval. Especially coming from her hardass of a father, felt great. Being his disappointment  was never something she could even fathom, in every aspect of her life. With her mother not physically here to witness her growth to womanhood, she needed someone besides herself to make proud, and her daddy was at the very top of that list.

“I’m very proud of you baby girl,” He slid back a drawer in his desk, and a sparkle of silver, with a platinum gold emblem caught her eyes. My Keyssss! She held back a squeal, as he slid across the pine oak desk, that and her other plastic blessing: her black card. “Here you are, a deal is a deal.”

For the next twenty minutes, after a long lecture of expectations, and instructions, she was free to go. Her first day on the job was to start in approximately an hour, and every minute that passed felt like a stripping of the old, and the build of a new and approved London. It was the sexy layer known as responsibility coating her aura. Being elated was an understatement.

iMessage: “Better Half ❤️”

          - Good luck, congrats on the job bitch! Send me pics of your attire. I know you’re snatched, and properly perched. 😘💋.

Her grin further expanded as she read the text from her better half, pulling up to the massive office at Madison Square Garden’s Monica told her to be. Well here goes nothing..

NOLEN

“Shorty! Come the fuck on, they said by six, the hell you doin’? Restructuring your face? Shit…” Nolen had to breathe, remain his full focus on the simple pattern of his oxygen flow before he snapped like he was bound to. For the life of him he couldn’t understand why it was taking so long just for her just to change out of one thing. He rested his head upon the leather sectional, waiting with his impatience building as the seconds accumulated. From the distance he heard rapid heels click.

“I’m sorry Noleyyyyyy, I just had to get real pretty for you. Sooo, how do I look?” Cheap. The flimsy blouse sagged off of her shoulder, that was see-through, adorned with a suede material skirt that barely reached the bottom of her finger tips. Her long elongated legs famously known for working the runways looked toned and slightly appealing in the scrappy stilettos that framed her feet. However as his eyes trailed up, in inspection of her face, the caked makeup made him grimace. He grabbed his keys headed for the door.

“If Monica carryin’ on complaining and shit, that’s your ass.”

The figure that stayed planted beside him, every runway show, every public appearance of concerts, industry parties, and gigs for these past weeks since day one was a nuisance; nonetheless a beautiful one he was forced to tolerate for the sake of showmanship, and publicity. As a Victoria’s Secret Angel, Sport Illustrated model, and Covergirl, Chance Hembrow delved him through the Hollywood doors he nonchalantly disregarded.

He was accustomed to the rusty, and tattered ones of the ghetto where the hinges were barely on, so for the worlds to collide at this given moment was a problem. Fashion, music, and pussy that’s all I need, this love shit though? Not happening; I don’t give a fuck how many models Monica shoved my way. He ignored the yaps, of Chance as they pulled up to the office that rested in the heart of Madison Square Garden, and gritted his teeth as her fingers wrapped into his own headed for the entrance. Flashes of cameras greeted them by the doorway from the paparazzi as their bodyguards kept them at bay. Chance wasn’t even that bad, and he was trying to come around to the dating thing, but the superficiality of it all, and the forced concept was something hard to stomach. I just can’t get with…

Before his eyes was the busy set of a Photoshoot, Mina the tiny Latina he recognized as one of the industries notable stylists, and wardrobe coordinators for music videos, came rushing in his direction sharing an air smooch with Chance.

“Nori, Chance glad y'all can make it. As a new fresh couple on the scene this is going to be…huge! I’m telling you,”

This.

She flipped away her bangs dyed in a fiery red framing her pudgy heart shaped face; the array of curls adding a girly but just as edgy touch to the mass amounts of tattoos decorating her body. She pulled Chance away giving him free reign to dart for the exit close by that he knew he couldn’t how ever, as Monica emerged shortly after with someone close behind.

“Oh, smile. Don’t look like such a grump, This is Vogue, a four page spread with your new Beau,” As delighted as things may have seemed, he couldn’t share the same sentiments with Monica. His scowl deepened facing her bright smile, that only agitated him more. The figure behind her however made his demeanor soften; the bright pink attire she adorned making her highlight amongst the place. What ever had her full focus, gave him the open opportunity for silent inspection, his eyes dripping down to her slender frame. Bad to the bone. Easily the jewelry laced in her ear, he recognized as simple studs from Lorraine Schwartz, complimented  the emerald patterned of diamonds framing her tiny wrist that held up her device, she speedily typed in. She balanced the tipping scale of her appearance showcasing unnecessary extravagance, but enough casualty to blend in, although it was quite hard to by first glance alone.

“Monica I told you…I don’t give a fuck. I’m not talkin’ to any interviewer about shit either.”

“Oh, hush! Bloody hell, London darling come hither,” Finally her head shot up, those piercing eyes that held a level of reservation he could remember since they graced forces on the plush carpeted flooring of Saks two weeks prior, was glanced into; the spark of recognition etched across her face. Her slow steps bridged the space they stood at.

“This is my new apprentice, a.k.a my shadow,” The smirk he offered wasn’t matched, instead her plump lips tinted in a glossy pinkish hue frowned slightly. “Shadow, meet my nuisance of a client-”

“By force,” He interjected placing his hands inside of his bomber Jacket from Hood By Air.

“…Nori, Nori meet London. As you can see, and what you’ll have the misfortune of knowing he’s quite a bit of an asshole.” If it wasn’t for the cheeriness that sparkled throughout her tone, you’d have trouble wondering if she was actually serious. But Nolen unapologetically could agree with the accuracy. He nodded his head, plastering a smile that showcased his beautiful pearly whites.

“Warranted of course. Nice suit.”

“Thanks.” London…Mmm. She walked past him not providing so much as a glance in his direction, and his gaze traveled to the material he could agree made her ass look amazing. She assisted Mina with wardrobe for Chance for the past hour. Choices for him however being discarded left to right as he refused to wear it frustrating the male stylist that gave up and stormed out. The commotion causing Monica to try and console the young dudes ego, as he surveyed the array of beverages provided on the side of set. The facade of this all reeked of a smell that seemingly heightened, and grew more aggressive at such occasions. No matter the fresh and crispness of the apparel, sweet smell of donuts, and light refreshments given for his convenience, he could still smell the bullshit linger in the atmosphere. I gotta get the fuck out of here, for real…

“Like I’ve been stating since I arrived I should just dress my fuckin’ self. I’m already here which is an issue within it’s damn self.” He grew more irritated as he settled for an apple he bit into spotting London quietly working at the corner, spreading a lint brush across a suede Lanvin Trench Coat. Her pretty slim fingers spread across rows of shoes she arranged below, and tucked a long wavy strand of hair behind her ears. He walked over leaning against the wall, looking below and watched in silence.

“You have a staring issue, it’s tragic.” She straightened her stance never looking his way and bypassed grabbing the coat rack of other jackets.

“It’s either you have personal issues to be dealt with, if a nigga can’t simply stare or you may be right, which wouldn’t matter.” He could bet his bottom dollar she wasn’t doing it intentionally, but it was almost if one was forced to zoom focus on her regal motions, again casual. But made to believe was practiced since birth she hadn’t realized herself, like she was simply naturally poised. When looked as if in haste the least bit, Nolen could see time was finding ways to keep up with her; he was truly wondering if London had the ability to make the world stop for her own convenience. Walking the perimeter of set like she owned it, and he had no doubts she could if she wanted to. She delayed a response, finally locking eyes with him.

“Your girlfriend, literally ten feet away from us both, is on a set for a spread about y'all relationship. But your eyes can’t seem to tear from my ass for two seconds to continue this Photoshoot, not to mention the temper tantrums you’re relishing out to, for those who’ll care to listen like a spoiled little boy. And you think I’m worried about you staring at me? Trust, I know I look good. Now quit pestering, while I attempt at making your girl do as well.”’

A twitch greeted his dick, the insult strangely providing further attraction, he wasn’t opposed to now make blatant. In Nolen’s world, privileged now with perks of having such fame, was decorated with “Yes” women, and men aiming to please. Their tolerance for the spoiled God son of one of the greats motivated by the assurance of a hefty check. But this…hot wire of a woman, was a rarity he found himself not minding too much. It was safe to say he didn’t cease with the pestering. It was far too late, in the midst of the commotion, rapid clothes selections, style changes, and a persistent Chance not letting up with the charades, it was made clear. He wanted her.

KIERSTEN

She coddled Trixie while walking the perimeter of what was to be her shoe closet, the crystal chandelier illuminating the peach colored walls. Heavy footsteps made an entrance, the striking cologne of Tom Ford’s Neroli Portofino tickling her nostrils as she turned to him, and blushed at his slow roam of eyes hovering above her; the daisy Dukes gave her thunder thighs of caramel thickness a full view for him to admire, that paired with a simple white crisp V-neck. I should’ve changed into sweats. She self consciously tugged down the bottom rim, in attempt to somehow magically make them longer, but it was no use. As Trixie twisted in her arms, in Messiah’s direction her barks started.

“You’s a mean little girl, you know that? Your mommy need to spank you, right after I spank her…” Kiersten cheeks flushed red, burying her face into Trixie’s sparkly white fur.  

“Trixie is perfectly fine, she’s just protecting her mommy from the big bully. Messiah look what I had to change into with you playing, I look like a dork.” She pouted, as he pressed his soft lips against her forehead, Trixies elevating barks not intimidate Messiah the least bit. After a painting session the two indulged in for the whole morning, the playful splatter of paint on the other took place. they washed up in the two bathrooms that occupied the first and second floor of the condo and took a break. Kiersten preferring her bedroom bathroom, as he took the one down the second hall. Approximately 40 minutes after much scruffing, she was finally able to relieve her nail beds the flombe peach color she at first glanced swooned over after much searching with her interior designer.

“You look…” He bit into his bottom lip, and a speckle of nerves rushed over her entire being. Tingling her toes, and fluttering her tummy further where her fingertips holding a loud and relentless Trixie, grew numb. Slowly the feeling was becoming the mundane when in his presence; where she couldn’t contain herself feeling like a shy little girl under the spectacle of the sexy specimen she was growing extremely fond of. Where Messiah was outright, and forward with his intentions and pursuit, her coyness was the response to it all. He was just too…much; not that she was complaining however.

“Mmm. Don’t try to hide shit. Matter fact, change out of that shit before we leave, or I’ma step over boundaries, and not be as respectful as I should.” As he walked out casually, as if he didn’t cause the friction between her thighs to heighten to a slight throb, she stared at Trixie playfully scowling.

“And you stop cockblocking.”

——————–

“Why must we fight over a color we decided was amazingly our favorite? It’s cobalt blue, ‘Siah. Like so pretty, and a custom from Tiffany’s gifted from my god mommy…”

“Blue is blue. Regardless, the shit is still ugly Kieks.” Her fist collided with his toned forearm, as the reserve effect resulted in her hurting her own self; wincing as she pouted, and wagged her fingers, she gave him a side eye pushing past him.

“So you mad at me cause your god ma got bad taste? Look at you, hurtin’ ya self.” A trail of chuckles was sounded off behind her as they walked the confines of House nestled in the corner of Manhattan. After a last minute cancel from London because of an emergency she had to handle, she was left to deal with the insults from Messiah for the past of hour of what he considered “ugly shit”.

“You have…One. More. Time.” The price gun was trained on him as they stood face to face. Antique items of leather chaises and sectionals from Bradley Cooper, and Lillian August standing as a witness inches near. Legs slightly parted, with her arms extended, her hands wrapped around the gun tightly, Messiah thick brows furrowed.

“Or…what?” He glanced up at her, while lifting a crystal vase he grimaced at. “Kieks, look at this man. Five stacks for this ugly shit, just because it’s designed by who…uh,” he took a step back and looked at the sign. “Knoll. They really bugg-”

She withheld a snicker, as a beep sounded off placing the price gun alongside his elbow, following his triceps, and finally his nose, walking closer bridging their gap.

“You’re ringing up to $0 Mr. King. That’s not a good thing.” She whispered softly as her chin rested on his shoulder walking behind him, her arms proceeding in wrapping around him. “And have some damn respect for the interior designing gods, okay? Knoll is amazing.”

“What was that?” She couldn’t fathom how these past weeks she wasn’t nauseated from being sea sick; she glanced up at his swimming waves, traveling her gaze to the plumpness of those lips she was getting quite familiar with, and withheld a breath as his face dipped closer. His strong arms wrapping around her waist, as their foreheads connected.

“You’re priced at zero with no respect.”

“Mami…I’m priceless.” Her teeth collided on her bottom lip as he whispered coolly into her ear. The minty substance of his breath providing a cool she shuttered at aside from his natural effect. A light peck was placed on her temple. “Bring your ass on so we can finish getting the rest of your things.”

After regaining enough strength to even walk across the room, she spoke with the sales associate checking in her items for delivery. With moments of interruptions from Messiah ridding her any hope of peace with every smooch, grope, and sweet whispers of shit talking he could only do best, they left out and met with the city’s concrete.

“You know you’re too arrogant right? Like its mind blowing.” Her cheeky grin broadened despite how annoyed she may have seemed. It was a contradictory, cause the same aspects she complained about, was what attracted her the most.

“Confidence, baby. I’m always accurate when drawing conclusions,” They crossed the intersection where his truck stayed planted, gleaming in black beneath the 90 degree weather that roasted the city. Shelling out a grand total of eight grand, didn’t break out much a sweat for her as much as this weather did.

“Whatever you say, Messiah.”

“You rollin’ with me for the rest of the day?”

She offered a nod as they were settled in his car letting the cool air caress their skin before any moves was attempted to be made. The sleekness of her fresh blowout shown through the rear view mirror she was now peeking at; she laid off on her usual dye jobs for a bit just to grow a little length. Soothingly a finger was traced through her scalp by Messiah, as she turned to look at him.

“You called your mom back, beautiful?” Despite the endearment, a scowl settled against her lips. The pure mention of her mother made irritation scatter across her entire being that her whole mood spoiled; Since moving out, she hadn’t spoken a word to her mother who became frequent with relishing out threats towards the voicemail she was met with. She didn’t anticipate leaving the bird’s nest so soon, but she was left with no choice. When it came to her father, as long as she was safe, making sensible choices, and often acknowledged through any form of communication that she had a father to speak to from time to time, he was content. So content, he proceeded in paying her rent in its entirety for a full year. The guilty conscience he must’ve felt was paid in full, with him neglecting to be at home as well. She turned away connecting her eyes with the busy street ways as he pulled off finally emerging with traffic.

“No, and I’m not going to. Can we stop at Freda’s please? I’m starving,”

“Kieks, I told you, you only have one mother, that’s all you got. I understand you’re hurt baby, and you have every right to be. But call her and at least see what she has to say.”

She contemplated the full ride over at Freda’s, with the attack of her nail beds giving some form of nerve control that failed. She knew the disappointment that remained on that side of the phone, so questioning to herself if she was actually ready to face such turmoil was expected. With reluctance, she finally dialed the number as they took seating upon entering the restaurant..

“Kiersten…Stephanie…Whitaker! You know I-…I thought I was dreaming, better yet having a nightmare when my only child decided to leave her home. But it was just my luck to see her not return for these past two weeks, what is wrong with you!?” Her terse tone projected in the phone line as she answered on the first ring.

“Consider how embarrassed I am! Where are you!? I shouldn’t have the Woman’s annual brunch in my home, just for them to question me the whereabouts of my family! I never, ” She must’ve been that loud, like she concluded because Messiah, slightly startled as his eyes surveyed the menu looked in her direction mouthing a “That’s her?”, nodding to which she nodded confirming so as she continued to listen.

“Mom, all you need to know is that I’m safe, I’ve been with London and B, so relax. You carrying on like this is unnecessary.”

“All I need to kno- DON’T YOU TELL ME WHAT’S NECESSARY WHEN I HAVE NO CLUE WHERE YOU ARE!” Did she truly care? Was the root of her frustration coming from  a mother filled with worry for her child’s well being, or an angry woman embarrassed because how this altered the perfect picture, she couldn’t seem to see was detrimental?

“Mom can I say something, please?” The rambles of shouts and screams pounding into her ear from the phone line, was disheartening. Messiah bore a hole to the side of her face while placing their food on the table, grabbing her hand as the tears threatened to fall. This is just…She took that as a no as the woman continued. Literally screaming, and lashing out expletives she recognized some containing a slight slur. Of course she’s drinking…at 11 fucking am. She hung up and allowed her head to droop into her hands, sliding her phone far away; in a motion that she hope escaped her from the issue with even such little of a distance.

“I take it that didn’t go well.”

“I’m sure you heard her loud enough to determine that for yourself. Messiah, I’m not going back…ever.”

“She needs time. Timing is everything; and although this isn’t the right time, things can still change for the better.” He cupped her face, providing a look of sincerity and assurance, that served as a dose of relief. She was enjoying every second it was to be in his presence as much as she could, because pretty soon she had reasons to deem all this as temporary.

“I don’t believe any of that, and frankly I don’t care anymore ‘Siah so please.”

He’s going to get sick of my issues, that hasn’t even remotely showed all of its self in true form every nook and cranny, yet. Kiersten wondered if entertaining the emotional cute, but chubby chick would be such a fun thing for him for long. She peddled his silence for judgement, as he locked eyes with her. Too intense. Kiersten quickly stared off and on the ground, clenching her eyelids closed as she pulled her face away.

“Look at me,” Her gaze remained on the black and white tiled floors, where his Timberland booted feet, nestled close to her Chanel tropiconic chained slides.

“I’m not asking you again.” The sternness of his voice was alarming; she slowly lifted her head meeting his eyes. “First things first, I’m not on the ground. When I’m talking to you, I need you to look at me. Furthermore, this defeatist attitude, ma? I’m not going for it. You spend so much time pondering on the negative all the time, that shit will fuck with your mental and I’m not having it. I don’t know about other niggas you’ve dealt with in the past, but I’m not one to sit witness to you emotionally, and damn near physically draining yourself to exhaustion over shit you can’t control. I’m gonna be your man, but on the flip? I’m keeping it as real as possible with you too. Me spoiling you with a affection, should never be mistaken as me babying you into letting you thinking this attitude is cool.”

She fluttered her lashes, trying her damndest to rid the tears emerging.

“Baby this world is cold, and precious souls like yours will diminish quickly if we don’t toughen that skin. I’m not about to have you have a chip on your shoulder, and live life like that. We gotta too much shit to do, I need that beautiful ass spirit to keep a nigga goin’. You hear me?” She nodded, and allowed the tears to pour through, slip down her cheek, and sprinkle droplets staining her face. Sniffles, could be heard in the midst of the casual murmurs of the attendees surrounding them, not paying them any mind. God, why must you be so emotional? Her doubts elevated with the thought her really being able to handle the likes of Messiah King, because again he was too much; but that wasn’t the problem, it was the thought of being inadequate that she fought to determine.

“I…I hear you, Messiah.”

“Good, now come here.” Their lips collided, and deepened sensual, and sweetly. The rarity of the occurrence, only kissing him twice,made her sketch the feeling in her memory, it being just that damn good, but she eventually pulled back. Her morale surfacing to aid in encouraging the decision to settle herself, and turn it off. Getting hot and bothered by a simple kiss, was another decision not so wise she concluded as she smiled weakly and began eating.

IMANI

For the life of her, Imani couldn’t comprehend how a scent made so sweet could reek upon the person who wore it. Like claps to her ears, the slither of steps could be mistaken for a hiss. Caged Gianvito Rossi’s pranced in her direction, causing with each step her smug to deepen. The squint in her bright brown almond shaped eyes concealed under lavishly long individual lashes, further crinkled in annoyance. Her mood was shot instantaneously, taking a pause in her tampering of the GHD flat irons nestled in her tight grip.

“What in the fuck are you doing here? And I’m bein’ generous to even be askin’ your ass right now.”

“Whose the bitch Mi? Keep it real. I don’t have time to waste.”

Her set of deep chocolate eyes, a perfect match to her rich skin tone, held a withdrawn coldness to them Imani stared into with just as much, if not more fury. It took a good dose of restraint, with the help of her office desk bridged between them both that kept her from lunging forward.

“When I clocked your funny lookin’ ass upside the head the last time, you ain’t learn right? Monique get the fuck out my establishment before I really show my ass. Fuck you askin’ me questions about another bitch, for?”

Nothing troubled, and stirred her soul more than the presence that lied before her, since she was introduced. Her conniving ways dripped from her pores, and stained her designer attire that was paid courtesy of being Messiah’s one and only baby mama…from hell.

“For the past two weeks, I’ve barely been able to get a hold of him, and if it’s not pertaining to Tori, two seconds of his time is too much!” Imani rapidly blinked, and furrowed her brows, as she drilled her own brain in thought. Well he has been pretty ghost, even being home, since his last escape. Aside from the calls made, and his random drop ins to stick his nose, in her business, since chewing him a new asshole for his trip, she hasn’t been in his; regrettably so she pondered what really was the reason. Still that’s none of this bitch’s business.

“Don’t ask me nothing, if you were supposed to know you would have. It’s been five years and your ass still can’t comprehend when someone doesn’t want your ass. By the time I come back, be out my fuckin’ office.”

The slam of her door to the back, where another portion of her office, a vast walk-in closet resided, was walked into as she slammed the door shut leaving Monique confused, and furious.

————–

“Soooo,” It’s crazy how how this boy looks so much like dad.  After some negotiation, and declare of an emergency needed of his presence, Messiah trailed over to Imani’s which wasn’t an issue although he was curious as to why the visit was such an urgency; Imani leveled her gaze over the rim of her wine glass she thought was crucial for the occasion. Six clients since 9am, and the presence of her stubborn sibling was enough for her to pour another glass in which she did.

“Yeah, so. You good?” Caution sparked within his eyes.

“Uh, yeahhh. I have to be in trouble just to check in with my brother?”

“It’s as if you’re always in trouble, you hit me up so intense damn near every day.”

“Shut the fuck up, alright? I only blew your ass up cause you disappeared. And now I get the sense you’re doing it again, so I’m checking in. Like good siblings do…so when I ask you this question. Dont. Lie.” The little bug placed in her ear, clearly had Imani on edge; she hated that the bitch triggered her weakness and that was the worry of her brother’s wellbeing.

“Imani, man. I look like a little ass boy to you?”

“Like. I. Said. I’ll punch you square in your shit, nigga. Now, don’t lie! Who’s the girl?” Her bright smile presented her deep crater dimples, as it further expanded by the annoyed look he displayed. It didn’t help ease her speculation after a constant glimpse, and text into his phone since he arrived at the salon.

“What girl, Mi?”

“The hoe you’re entertaining, that I may have to beat ass over, and your trifling baby moms for bringing her skank ass over here! Now…again, who? The bitch must be special because you can’t eve-” She threw a plastic comb at his head, as he focused back on his device. “pay attention!”

“Mani, man! The fuck you talkin’ ‘bout? Wait…Monique was here?”

“Yes!”

“The fuck she wanted? Tori with her moms, so…” His face etched with further confusion before dismissing the thought altogether. “Fuck her, anyway why’re you so violent? You gotta beat up every girl in my life, Mi?” He cheesed wide which only confirmed the speculation, and arose her annoyance.

“WHO NIGGA!? Make me kick asses this beautiful day of a thursday because you wanna keep secrets, and shit!”

“Who you fuckin’? Let’s talk about that. What nigga I gotta kill, and bring havoc to, in these streets? Let’s talk about what really matters.” He sat up, and locked eyes with her: the intense stare off was short lived due to Imani’s heavy roll of the eye.

“I’ll find out soon, like I do always. And when I do, just know it won’t be pretty, For all this trouble, and secrecy I would hope she’s worth it. Stupid ass…”

“Are my eyes deceiving me, or is this not Ki?” The phone was positioned two inches away from her face giving a clear view of what looked to be Ki indeed. With a pink concoction in her hand sitting on Messiah’s lap, she shared a kissy face with Cassie Ventura. A few feet shy away was Diddy, sitting close by as Messiah and him engaged in conversation. Well, well, well. Brookylne’s petty heart swelled with pride. Like a mother eyeing her child taking their first steps to a new stage, she could’ve clapped; ignoring the scowls, and grumbles from London she zoomed in.

“Oooh, those are cute shoes.”

“Brooklyne!” London stood astonished.

“What?! Look Lo Lo honey,” Clutching her shoulders with a comfortable grip, she spoke to her like you would an adolescent hard of understanding. “Kiersten is grown, so grown she’s above the age of us both; a big and giant 22, okay? She’s. Not. A. Child. So as you know, being a grown responsible adult that she is, she can do whatever she wants.” London finally shrugged her hands off heading back to the door.

“I don’t wanna hear anything, when Aunt Fi Fi gets a hold of this shit, or when he breaks her heart!” With those sentiments shouted at an unnecessary level, she stormed back upstairs in the confines of their daddy’s office. The loud slam of the door proving the guess true.

“So dramatic.”

                                                    ———–

“…Shorty I’m there for you anytime you need me/ For real girl, it’s me in your world, believe me/ Nuthin’ make a man feel better than a woman/ Queen with a crown that be down for whatever…”

Copped low, and just above the rim of his eyes, was his Yankees cap concealing slight lazy eyes from the third blunt he hit since 12pm. By the end of Method Man’s first verse synchronized with Mary’s soft croons, and high notes, he was curving into her circular drive way. Bypassing their daddy’s classic red corvette with unnecessary speed. With the volume unapologetically high, she could bet the neighbors patience, hearing the racket of noise down the street, was at an all time low.

“You ready shorty?!” Zachai ducked his head out the window asking her the question she didn’t bother answering, but instead picked up her bag headed for the passenger seat. He climbed out helping her with the it, throwing it in the trunk.

“Aye, nigga! That’s vintage…shit.”

“Like sweet morning dew/ I took one look at you/ And it was plain to see/ you were my destiny…”

“Shut the fuck up, and get your ass in the car.” He waited until she was safely secured in, before shutting the door closed ignoring her scowl.

“You’re allllll, I needddd, to get byyyyy…” Fingers snapping with a head nod Brooklyne sang along, placing her seat belt on, as Zachai peaked at her.

“I know that, but I don’t wanna hear you. Shut that shit up.” He raised the volume, causing her to swat his hand.

“You’re such a fuckin’ hater. Ugly ass…”

“I will dump your little ass on the side of the road, keep talkin’ shit.” As one of the neighbors kept a watchful eye walking out of his condominium on the car exiting the gate, Zachai locked eyes with him giving him the finger before speeding off.

“Zachai!”

“Fuck him.”

“He’s business associates with my dad though, you just…ugh.” He waved her off.

“Where we goin’ again?”

“To Walker Kerr theatre, my dear. Get ready to see your girl in action.” Her fake and snooty British accent caused her to giggle as she slicked down the edges of her tight bun.

“You got a solo right?” She avoided eye contact that was an answer within itself he figured all too well.

“You got a solo…right?” It was synonymous to a child trying to sit through their teacher’s dreadful lecture. The complex subject causing a bore; and Brooklyne knew Zachai wasn’t having it. For two hours he would sit through a ballet fighting sleep, and afterwards each and every time, chew Brooklyne a new asshole over only seeing a glimpse of her throughout the whole segment.

“Zacky does it matterrrrr? Come, on! This is our last performance before the end of the semester showcase!”

“Yes, it matters. I don’t wanna see none of them other bitches, if it’s not you. It’s bad enough the shit is borin’.”

And it was…kind of.

Two hours, thirty minutes, and exactly 34 long seconds later, the show finally ended. In Brooklyne’s defense, she did have her solo, a modern and contemporary piece to Nina Simone’s “See-Line Woman”. But it was close to last after twelve acts Zachai skipped about five of, for smoke breaks. She unhooked the bronze and gold custom costume, a Kiersten original, dishing it for some sweats and a V-neck; all the while trying her damnest to ignore the bones that ached each movement made. 

Despite the incision zig zagged in the breast area, with golden feather like material scattered stylishly around the leotard she adorned for the jazzy, and modern styles solo, this will be her first and last time wearing it. She never wore a costume more than once, despite the many designers she’d had the pleasure of receiving it from. Her standard black and pink to dance class was just that: practice. But the real thing were moments, and just like fashion, seasons end, styles evolved, and when that moment ends, revitalization must be thought of, and occur. If I wear the same costume, it would be trying to relive another moment again that should instead be kept as a memory.

“I’m proud of you, pissed, but proud.” Her smile grew, as lips collided against her cheek, and roses nestled in her arms from him. Zachai could front all he wanted to, but a tiny part of him, she believed, was taking a liking to the complex dance style she’s been tirelessly training in since six.

“But you seen my solo right?”

“Of course mama, let’s go eat.”

To: Ki ❤️

     - I’m going to kick your ass, but it fit perfectly.

iMessage (1)

     - Yas! Send me pictures! I’m sorry i’m not there 😢, but…

To: Ki ❤️

     - 👀  

But….? While awaiting her response with anticipation, she entered the pizzeria hot on his trail. As usual they opted, well Zachai rather, for the low key spots. Local Mom And Pop shops that were remembrances to home cooked meals on a Sunday night. Putting it best as he would always declare “I’on really fuck with that fancy shit, B”.

iMessage (1)

    - We decided to stay an extra day. I bet I’m gonna catch hell when I get back.

To: Ki ❤️

    - You’re grown. See you when you touch down.

She left it at that, and placed her phone away after receiving twice too many scowls from Zachai who was ordering them cheesesteaks, with a pepperoni pie.

“Nigga, who is eating all that food? The fuck…”

“What you on, some type of diet? You not about to pass out and shit for some damn show. So you gon’ eat all this food.” Well he doesn’t quite look like Benjamin Monty Pierre. Seconds passed of her thoughts clouded with questions, one being in particular of who in the hell he thought he was. With her scowl deepening by the second, he nonchalantly looked back daring her to object.

“It’s called a cleanse, first of all. No meats for a month, and anything containing no vegetabl -”

“Fuck all that.”

“You’re not my trainer! She’s gonna kick my ass!”

“What’s worse is when I kick ya ass, so choose.” And the aroma hitting smack dab at her senses did. Golden brown crust enclosing the cheesy dough baked to perfection almost made Brooklyne’s mouth water. She settled with one slice relying on willpower to not consume atleast two more.

“So she told you they’ll be back Monday, right?”   

“Yeah. ‘Chai yo, that’s my baby he got in his hands. You know I’m cool with niggas doin’ them, but I’m not blind to the other shit y’all do. Feel me? And that’s Messiah.”

“I mean, the nigga is just like our sperm donor. What you expect?” And even though he chuckled, Brooklyne could detect the distaste in his tone. Quiet as it’s kept, It was more to Zachai being signed under Messiah’s label, that he ran the streets with too. They were brothers, Zachai being the aftermath of a random one night stand. For the longest, Zachai would declare he was an orphan, and that Messiah was just his mentor, play big brother in a sense, despite their matching genes. Brookylne raised a brow, setting down her cup gently.

“I have no clue what you’re even implying, but Kiersten is pretty fuckin’ fragile. Best believe I’ll talk to him my damn self, but if he ain’t about shit he better not fuck with her. That’s all I’m sayin’. Although lowkey…I’m here for them.”

“Little baby Ki. What a fuckin’ surprise.” They both broke out into a laugh at the sentiments shared. The same Kiersten who didn’t have her first kiss until she was twenty years old, and the closest to even knowing what was of the ghetto from only watching Belly twice, was potentially being claimed by a thuggish, rugged ass hood dude. It was comical to Brooklyne. Fiona Whitaker will die twice over, she could see it now.

“Y’all like to sleep on Kiersten, I swear. She’s not a little girl.”

“Yeah, okay. You know she green as fuck. But nah, she’s in good hands. Trust me.”

JORDAN

“I was takin’ a shit, damn.”

“Man Tahj, come the fuck on yo!”

“I’m comin’! Shit.” Click.

Her red Puma trainers paced the concrete amongst the blaring horns of impatient drivers, passing pedestrians, and pigeons flocking the busy streets assembled. Third time this week. With the exhausting obligation she could only imagine of being the guest of honor to many welcome back functions, and bed companion of hoes for nights, she was passed annoyed. Because all of his escapades resulted in her being his chauffeur, until his car shipped.

Instructor, no question, but mother first she knew Eliza Duponte would chew her a new asshole for being even a second late. Especially after making the promise of doing this favor weeks prior. The baby ballerina’s of Alvin Ailey Dance Institute were looking forward to a street jazz sequence to a funky Beyonce beat, that’ll make their cute little hearts flutter. So she was hoping, no demanding for Tahj to be on time. Walking further up the block, before the range rover could even fully turn the corner, clear as day she could see the NY Giants emblem. Accompanying the driver’s seat was the tall figure with his signature amber dyed hair; a defined curly texture, that further enhanced his pretty boy features. His hands laying on the horn, as he blatantly looked in her direction finally gave her the recollection that he was here for her. Son of a bitch…

“Come the fuck on! You just standin’ there! The fuck..” He further pressed on the horn. Count Jordy, just count… Descending numbers starting from 10, she sent a rapid text to Tahj while crossing the street.

“JORDAN!” If I catch an Uber right now, I’ll be able to at least get there 10 minutes early instead of thirty, that’ll leave me fifteen for stretching an- She glanced down at her now ringing phone the incoming call be Tahj.

“T, I will go…the fuck…to jail today.”

“Jordan man-”

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?! Sending this dumb muthafucka to get me, and for what!?”

“I had a meetin’ at the last minute man, and he wasn’t doin’ shit so asked him to get you. Jordy man just get in the car, you know how ma is.”

“I don’t wanna hear that shit! For real, you-” The horn was relentless, and sounded off closer with each blow. As he pulled up directly beside her, she slowly turned to him shooting him daggers. “Let me…let me call you back.” Click.

“Can you get your ass in the car?” Casually, a toothpick poking from out of his plumped lips, with a lag of his head against the headrest, he stared at her blankly. What choice did she really have? Agitated and pissed beyond belief, she made way over to passenger side almost pulling the door off before climbing in.

“Don’t say…don’t say shit. Just drive. Please.” The volume of the car radio was increased by him, as he chuckled and drove off. Silence consumed the spaces throughout the ten minute car drive, that she appreciated, because she knew even the slightest utter from him would annoy her. He parked in front of the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater and stood witness to Jordan almost busting her ass swiftly leaving out the car. When he began to follow her she paused in her steps giving him a glare over her shoulder.

“And what the fuck are you doin’, nigga?”

“Let me see your mean disrespectful ass in action, and determine if this drive was worth it.”

KIERSTEN

From the distance her ears perked at the husky but low hum of John Lennon, as she walked in. The dimmed lights peaking from the foyer’s hallowed walls giving her confirmation of someone’s presence. Her Bulgari, as she glanced down at the rose gold watch framing her wrist, reading her a late 1:47am.

“You know…Rebecca wore this um, pale peach dress. It had to be…Oss…Oscar De la..Re..mmm..Renta…” She was greeted with slurs, dipping the corner where the kitchen lied, and there was her mother with a wine bottle nestled in her grip pouring what had to be a glass surpassing what’s recommended to drink. Her pale skin clammy, and blotched; rid of the glow that MAC, and Anastasia Beverley Hills with their assistance concealed the puddle of mess that sat before her disheveled. “Or wass..was it g-green? Yes..yess it whas green. The shoes, rhatherrr…pretty ug-” She hiccuped. “Uhgly shoes.. Where h-have yhouuu, been…missy!?”

As if finally the recollection hit, she attempted at arising from the kitchen’s island, the wobbling giving her a struggle as she flared a finger, the other hand wrapped tightly around the wine glass. Kiersten gathered it was one of those nights, as the tears scattred above her defined lashes. Those nights where, as if it was rehearsed choreography, the skirt of a car leaving the driveway of her father’s vehicle could be heard, followed by an opening of cabinets. Clinked bottles of wine sounding off a choice being made, and lastly like the perfect soundtrack to brokenness accompanying the atmosphere, was the husky and gruff groans of Etta James, or like tonight John Lennon. Providing a settle vibe to mellowness; the empty spaces of the Mansions vast walls compacted by the sound to provide consolement. Kiersten stood and watch her in silence, refusing to utter a sound as her lips trembled.

“You m-missed…the women’s conven…sht-tion! Don’t yhouu walk away from me when I’mmm talking to yo- fuck…”

Clash!

A tiny speckle of glass slid to her feet, as she watched in milliseconds the Whitaker’s family portrait crash down and collide with the marble flooring of the dining area. Her mother’s frail figure now coddled in the corner of the wall adjacent watching in horror and shock; to think a woman of such frailness, could cause so much damage more ways than one.

In the picture, a 13 year old Kiersten, with her chubby cheeks embraced by her mother, cheesed a dimpled smile; her father closely behind, placing a comfortable grip on her shoulder, and mother’s forearm. She looked so happy, but that pivotal moment shaped a sickness that spread and scattered the rest of those adolescent years. She remembered that powder pink dress in particular, because it couldn’t fit right. Her mother stared at her regrettably at the struggle it was to zip up the dress over her fluffy folds that she had been trying to diet away since the age of 10. For the longest it’s been hard for her to not glance at the photo, and cringe at the smile plastered that never seem to reach her eyes.

“I’m outta here.” A whisper so subtle, and soft was croaked through continuous slips of tears as she finally dashed off to her room, where she packed all her belongings for the next hour.

                                                    ———–

“I mean Kiersten, wha-..what happened exactly? I get you’re saying Aunty Fi was intoxicated, but now you’re moving out? I’m sure it wasn’t that ba-”

“It was bad, B. It’s always been that bad. And it doesn’t help that I’m seeing less, and less of daddy around. I’m leaving out that house for good.” They were on the phone for the past hour as Brooklyne got ready for class, Kiersten ditching her own for an aimless drive. This wasn’t the welcome back she was hoping for, but it wasn’t surprising however. It sickened her how accustomed she was getting to the madness.

“Shit, well have you spoke to him? You said they were separated but Ki, that’s been almost four months ago.”

“When we talk it’s not about the…situation. He’s always telling me not to worry about what’s going on. But like how can I not? At this point B, they’re roommates. Shit he doesn’t even sleep in the same room.” Her mind drifted off, as her eyes connected to the sky painted a soft blue hovered over. The light breeze tickling against her face shielded under her Gazelle shades, served as a tactic to conceal the waterworks seeming to emerge randomly since last night’s events.

“Meetup later? Maybe a sleepover, and an all night binge watch of Sex and the City over Chunky-”

“Monkey ice cream, with waffles, and red velvet cake.” A weak smile crept upon her lips. “Yes, definitely. Tell Lo Lo to stop blowing my phone up too, cause she’s scaring me.”

“Will do, listen Ki try to relax and think about what’s important, alright? You’re going to be okay.” She wished she could easily believe the aspiration spoken, but truthly she was exhausted. Emotional fatigue taking over the strength she was fighting to restore.

“I love you, Bee Bee.”

“You have no choice Kee Kee, But I love you too. Talk to you later.”

It wasn’t seconds before her call ended that was she receiving another, having seen she had two messages to accompany the notifications. She answered stopping on the side of the road.

“Yesss?”

“That’s strike 2.” She grinned.

“What did I do now?”

“I told you to text me when you get in, I told you even before that it was too late for you to drive over to your house late at night, but your little ass snuck out of here.”

“Yeah, kind of wished I hadn’t.” Despite her weak smile that still remained, her mood dropped to a negative, with her voice hinting so.

“What happened? Talk to me.”

“Nothing I’m good, Messiah. Hey, uh did I leave an emerald green bag in your car?” There were seconds of silence she pursed her lips to as she drew the phone back.

“Did I ask you if you was good, or what happened?” On one hand, if she answered with honesty she’d sink into a deeper funk. But on the other, she was open to consolement. Even if it was through a simple gesture of talking, but with her emotions spiraled all over, she would have to pass.

“It’s somethin’ not worth mentioning honestly. I just hate how the first day back, I’m greeted with bullshit.”

“Where you at?”

“Yonkers.”

“The fuck you at Yonkers for? And by yourself at that, Kieks? Yo, come back my way to the place I showed you after leaving the hangar. I’m sending you the address. The fuck..” Click.

“He’s gonna get enough of hanging up on me.”

To much dismay, what was supposed to be a forty minute drive expanded to a hour and a half, and both Messiah, and Kiersten stared at each other from their vehicles annoyed. Bridging the gap, after parking and getting out her car she lightly tapped on the window of his ford F-150 staring down at him. He slowly rolled down the window, and motioned with his head in the direction of the passenger seat.

“You at about strike 20.”

“And you’ve just received your first one. Don’t be hanging up on me, and then had to nerve to send me confusing ass directions getting me lost.” With a fold of her arms, and the roll of her eyes, she squinted at him pursing her lips.

“Aww, you was scared?” His lips accepted a rolled blunt he retrieved from the ashtray as he reached over pinching her cheek.

“No. And don’t touch me! People are so rudeeee. This guy cut in front of me on the highway as I was approaching the bridge, and didn’t even give me a signal. Ugh.”  She ignored the fact that he didn’t speak but instead unbuckled his seatbelt, reached over and turned her face completely to his. His face frowning up too, in a playful manner to match her own. Kiersten fault hard not to giggle, and smile wide at the impromptu stare off.

“Go ‘head and smile with your baby ass. Stop all that whinin’ and man up.” She sulked even deeper, a lip poking out.

“Kieks.”

“Okay! I’m just tired of today already, and it’s only 3pm.” Her focus landed on his lips that wrapped around the blunt he sparked fire to. Fading into the air was a thick cloud of smoke, and greeting her nostrils was the potent scent of weed.

“What happened, this my third time asking you Kiersten. It gotta be a fourth?”

“My mother’s a drunk addict, and I’m homeless.” You’d think she hadn’t stated two tragic incidents any human being would rather not be in as she grinned warmly peeking over at him.

“Yo, baby girl what?” He turned to her, his face fully construed.

“Well not homeless, I’m kidding. I am moving out though. I’m just trying to separate myself from all of that. That’s what I came back to after we arrived. Her in a drunken stupor, at 2am.”

“Look at me baby.” She turned fully towards him. “That’s the situations God put you in to build up that skin.” Motioning for her hand, as she placed in his own he caressed it while locking eyes with her. “He don’t appoint you to sail through life without tragedy or strife, cause you won’t learn shit. Get me? You’ll be good, because beneath all that…” He mocked a hand motion over her body. “Is more than just a pretty innocent looking girl with a fine ass body and face. She got heart…and soul.”

She blinked away tears, providing only a nod of understanding unable to speak. As they sat in silence, the smoke of his blunt sprinkling about, out of curiosity she reached over and motioned for the blunt.

“Hell no.”

“Messiah!”

“No.”

“But whyyy?”

“Would this be your first time?” She nodded.

“Come here man.” Confused, her brows crinkled as she brought her face closer to his. “This is what you call a charge. I exhale, you accept by sucking all the smoke in through your lips, aight?” Nodding, she watched as he took a long pull, and gently cupped her face in his hands. Under his spectacle, a shot of nerves emerged and her eyes averted downward with him continuing to stare over her features. Kiersten being so close to him, as comfortable as it may have felt, made her self-consciousness increase by the seconds as he kept his eyes trained on her lips in particular.

It wasn’t long before he placed his lips over hers, and blew. Slowly she accepted the smoke her throat compacted with the substance, now softly coughing as it seeped from her lips.

“You good?”

“Yes.” She was lying, clearly. Cause the reddening of her face, and the coughs that refused to cease told him otherwise. He caressed her back, all the while chuckling.

“Yeah, aight. Ya ass about to choke and shit. Only with me, should you be smoking and shit. You not about to die on my watch. And niggas are crazy. I’ll teach your ass how to roll too. But Kieks, you hear me?”

“Y-yeah.” She cleared her burning throat.

“Well I mean, which one?” Imani tried to stifle a laugh, as she looked on at the girl with pity; He looked annoyed to the third degree, now blinking slowly waiting for an answer.

“Br-brook-”

“Girl just gimme the phone!” He took the awkwardly shaped Moschino cellphone case of hot pink lips, out of her grab shooing her off in the process.

“Miles Pierre!” Seeing the girl vanished into the confines of the hallway outside her office gave her the perfect opportunity to release the laugh she fought to stifle. He was so rude, it almost brought comedic relief.

“What? Look, at least she’s taking it, she seems weak though. Might have to Axe that ass.” As if displaying choreography, he flicked the long strands over his shoulder not missing a beat before speaking into the phone. “Yessss Brooklyne, what can I do for you?”

As they talked, Imani thoughts traveled away, landing on the anger she thought she could keep at bay, but the audacity of Messiah really ticked her. After six sent texts, 10 unanswered calls, and the fight to not fill his voicemail box, she called it quits; and unfortunately since 12am, Ezra has been receiving the backlash. Serves him right, got me speaking through him like I’m some random off the street.

“No I haven’t heard from her, but tell your father I’m not looking forward to it. Benjamin can miss me. Call me back when you get here.” He ended the call finally releasing a sigh, with a dramatic eye flutter only Milan can orchestrate with perfection.

“What was B saying?”

“She asked if I seen Ki, and mentioned Benjamin’s gala he expected all of his children to attend. Which unfortunately means me, but I’ll pass!”

“Milan...please.”

“Seriously Mi, You know I’m not one to pass up the opportunity to get dolled up in sickening attire, a badass heel, with a beat face. But father dearest doesn’t want Milan,” He then dramatically deepened his voice causing Imani to snort. “He wants Miles, and I’m just not here for it.”

“I can’t take you at...all. Jesus. Wait, you said B was asking about Kiersten, right?” Their eyes connected, as Milan answered with a head nod.

“Meaning she don’t know where she is either?”

“Yup.” And it just so happens…

---------------

“Ezra why am I here? I swear, in about 2.5 seconds you and my broth-”

“Chill out, we’ll be leaving in a minute. Come over here and take a look.” From her peripheral, she didn’t spot a difference of scenery from where she stood in an empty building where Sheetrock piled to the ceilings, and spread in the perimeter of the vast empty space. Her heels clapped against the floor ridding the silence, and provided loud echos signaling her close steps.

“I see an incomplete construction process, I see...I see nothing!” She grew even more frustrated turning to him. “Ezr- what...what the hell is this?”

“Right up there,” He positioned himself behind her and pointed to what looked to be turning into another level of the building. “I see the V.I.P section, I see the crystal blinding chandelier hanging from the ceiling. To the door adjacent I see private rooms, and three inches shy away I see a red pole where a bad ass stripper is hanging from, watching herself in the mirrored ceiling…” She wished she could share such enthusiasm with him, but her annoyance provided a serious attitude, especially with him.

“That’s cute, amazing even, but again...why am I here?”

“Messiah, and I were thinkin’-”

“You need not to tell me anything that nigga is saying if he can’t say the shit to my face! Cause just thinkin’ about the reason he is not is pissing me off, Ezra y’all better stop playin’ with me!” Ezra looked into her eyes filled with fury, and lightly chuckled unfazed.

“Now I see why the nigga say it’s like he got two momma’s, gahdamn Imani that’s a grown ass man, he told me to tell you he loves you though.”As the laughs splurted from his lips, and grew more boisterous, her annoyance elevated as well. She stared at him longley while clasping her hands on her fully developed hips Ezra admired at the given moment.

“Fuck you and him.” She headed for the exit, and he chuckled following her along.

“Aye, but what did I do? Listen, come out with me to Sapphire’s tonight, I gotta scope some shit out, and I can use the company. Which is my reason for you being here cause I’m gonna need an extra eye with this shit.” He scratched at his grown out beard, casually leaning against his truck. It suited him well adding maturation that his age lacked at a young 26 by appearance.

“Condone his bullshit, that’s what. But you need an extra eye to sit through titties, and ass?”

“Y’all always put me in the middle, like I’m the mediator. My best friend, and…” They locked eyes at that given moment because of the hesitancy with question existing. And...what? “...His crazy ass sister. Not necessarily though, atleast if that’s your thing, just aesthetics. Gotta be one up on your competition right?” He flashed a smile.

“Mmm, yeah okay. And nigga, I ain’t crazy!”

MESSIAH

He counted twice, in the span of ten minutes. She was almost too precious, it scared the fuck out of him.

“Messiah, I think Rodeo Drive of course would be best to go to first, that’s a given. But I…man, I don’t know. I’m trying to think of a look for you..” The soft squint in her eyes as they scanned him from head to toe, gave Messiah the perfect view of her creamy skin that seemed to glow as the California Sun crept between the shudders.Third...and another one. Gentle lip bites, that birthed from contemplation and heavy focus. And even with her face slightly contorted, it served as an enhancement if any was even needed. Defining the freckles on her nose, plump sexy lips that looked suckable. The peach colored lip gloss glistening them just right.

“I told you, like I’ve been saying from jump, where ever you feel is best we can go there baby girl. Why y’all females like to over complicate shit?” He could see the dismay of his comment, with how her face frowned up. He chuckled flopping on the couch facing the TV that was now playing E! News.

“Sometimes a little over complication is needed, you’re sure to never be bored.” Another lip bite colliding with the lush of her lips as she broke into a smile, was sure to make his dick hard. “So lay off the categorizing, I just believe in perfection, and that would consist of me over analyzing….starting with you. So come here.”

“Wassup?” He arose, and bridged the gap of the space from the couch to the opening of her suite bedroom door Kiersten stood at. Her microscopic gaze wasn’t intimidating the least bit, as she circled him, stopping short right behind.

“Thought’s on Chinos?”

“Hell no.” She chuckled.

“Well you’re definitely not wearing sweats.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not?”

“It’s forbidden. So as your timbs.” They were faced toe to toe now, well chest to head as her pretty eyes peered up, and a smirk tickled against her lips.

“Aight, ma. You pushin’ it, you forgettin’ I’m a hood nigga?”

“Trust me, I couldn’t if I tried.”

The differentiation, despite the parallels of lifestyles between the two of them was uncanny. Kiersten Whitaker wasn’t your average around the way girl, and the array of events signified that. Her pretty coal black eyes didn't have that...spark. The spark a random chick after spending $2,145 dollars on one item in the span of five minutes, would have. The spark after seeing the ending total ring up to over $10k in only one store, can cause. Shit like that got bitches in Brooklyn pussy wet. And not once did she look at a price tag, before extending the question he had yet to answer just watching her lips move.

“You heard me Messiah?” She pulled her wallet out of her purse, handing him his bag from Buscemi, now running her hands over the row of clutches. “You don't understand, I might just have to get all three! This is the exact same one Blake Lively wore at the Golden Globes,” They made a quick stop at Saks for a particular belt Kiersten insisted he needed.

Who the fuck was Blake Lively? He thought.

“I died trying to find it. I thought it was McQueen, not Charlotte Olympia…” Her voice trailed off as she turned to a sales lady requesting two of them and the direction of another item.

“I'll be really really quick, I promise.” This time, as she looked at him with an amount of adorableness one wouldn't think it would be because of something so trivial, she damn near skipped to the back area of the store.

“Take your time baby girl.” Messiah chuckled eyeing her from afar by the counter where he waited patiently. She made way over to him minutes later with a toothy grin, bouncing in excitement.

“That’ll be all? Okay..” As the sales lady rang up the total of the items simultaneously, like a race to the finish line both of their cards slid across the counter. “Your total is $2,32…” She looked confused, with a brow crinkled staring at both cards then back at them.

“Kieks…” His warning tone was leveled as they turned towards each other.

“Messiah…”

“Here you are miss,” He placed his hand over Kiersten’s slowly stepping behind her, and directly placed the card in the lady’s own, now turning her body to him. Her eyes showing annoyance that he couldn’t give a fuck about, to be candid.

“Messiah,” She folded her bottom lip in staring at the ground. “I told you I can handle myself.” To him It was cute she couldn’t even lock eyes with him when she saying so. Instead of answering, He grabbed the bags and headed for the exit. Heels clicked behind him while stepping out onto the streets of Rodeo Drive.

“I didn’t ask if you can handle yourself Kieks, I know that you can for a fact. Where to next? My stomach is literally on my back, but I know we need to get more shit.”

“Let's go eat first.” They walked to II Pastaio, chef Giacomino Drago Italian restaurant where they were immediately seated, and ducked away from the paparazzi that huddled themselves at the corner. The frequent spot where celebrity clientele was heavy didn’t make their appearance surprising, but Messiah dared one of them to even step close. Everyone’s meal was sure to be ruined this afternoon before LAPD could even arrive.

“So tell me, what’s Kiersten all about? Aside from the beauty, fashion, and riches. What’s come of the little shorty with the braces, and geeky glasses from Marymount Catholic School...” The brim of Kiersten’s cheeks grew red as she looked off smiling wide and shyly.

“Oh, nooo. Messiah stop! You can not bring that up. I burned all of my pictures from catholic school.”

“I’m sure you have a few left, that I definitely need to see. But answer me.”

“No, if I do my mother probably has them. But uh...the question is pretty vague. I don’t know…” She shrugged a bit, playing with the ends of her hair. “I guess I’m about my business and that would be fashion. I wanna be a stylist, and design and that’s what makes me happy. I’m about being content, being in a positive and comfortable place in life. That’s it in a nutshell for me.” So angelic. So poised, honest, and true. All the innocence that were reserved in her eyes moments prior surfaced with the brim of her smile greeting her lips as she spoke. For a man such as himself, a woman of her caliber was unusual, and that brought a level of resistance to pursue, but intrigued he was nonetheless.

“Do you believe you’re in a positive, and comfortable place at the moment?”

“No. As long as I’m not where I need, and want to be, I’ll never be comfortable.” In whatever terms she was speaking of, figuratively, or literally the passion and assurance in her words couldn't be missed. “How about you Messiah, what are you about? I have sort of an idea, but I'd love to get a clearer perspective.”

“It would have to be livin’ on my terms, and spending every day God grants me with like it's my last. Besides, I don't live for just me any more.” The mere thought of Tori made his heart swell with pride. Her mom made things hectic, and the regret still settled deep within him, with a hint of it ever so often emerging of why he even took it there with her in the first place, but his baby girl was a blessing nonetheless.

“How old is she now? Your little twin, I can assume that's who you're speaking of...yes?” Her smile was gentle, and genuine.

“Yeah, she's six, going on 25.” They both chuckled.

“She's beautiful though, and regardless you're gonna give her the world.”

“Absolutely. Kiersten…” She looked up slightly startled. He didn’t voice the nickname that was now growing on her as term of endearment, so contentions for her raised a bit. "When I asked you if you had plans with your man, or if I’d be pissin’ him off if I took you away...I never got an answer.”

“B-but I’m here, I...I don’t get what…” Messiah believed in cutting it to the chase. Never making room for bullshit to linger, leaving a stench in the air that can stem issues, and controversy. So certainly beating around the bush didn’t fit within that criteria; he simply didn’t give a fuck, so he always vowed to simply go for whatever he felt.

“Am I steppin’ on the next nigga’s toes Kieks?” She gulped. Never had she dealt with a man so dominant, so aggressive, so...forward. He watched her with a brow raised, as she shook her head back and forth.

“I’m not...seeing anyone. I’m not in a situation either.” Her hesitation bothered him.

“It wouldn’t have mattered regardless. But It’s pretty obvious I’m feelin’ you, or I wouldn’t have insisted you fly across the country with me. I want you. And I’m gon’ make that clear from jump, fuck formalities.” Shrugging, he reached for his drink settled in between them.

“I guess...I can appreciate your honesty for what it's worth Messiah, but I…” He watched as she injected her nails into her wavy black tresses placing them behind her ears; he could assume a force of habit, and not so much out of distress. Her face now meeting his. “We come from two different worlds, in different circumstances, and it’s just...a conflict of interest. I enjoy your friendship, we shouldn’t ruin that. Furthermore, w-what would Mimi think, you’re like my brother in a sense…” Comical. He broke out into a grin, licking over his lips before taking a strong sip from his drink sitting up.

“Kiersten you’re 22, right?” She nodded. “Okay, well I love Imani to death, but I’m a grown ass man, just like you're a grown ass woman. I don’t answer to nobody. And let’s just say this...the way I look at you, I couldn’t even fathom looking at Mi that way. It would be disgusting.”

“I get that Messiah, but-”

“Mark my words, you’ll be mine soon.”

LONDON

At a bright and early 10:35, pedestrians drenched the city street of New York, navigating their ways to destinations as bodies sprinkled about from 5th to 14th street. Morning runners assembled together in uniformity of Under Armour, and Nike to their camping ground of Central Park. Not excluding the Yorkies, and Toy poodles like her own scurrying their furry four legs up and about with their mommies, and daddies. But London Lauren Pierre, not having it any other way, was at Saks fifth avenue on a mission, if there was ever a true reason for retail therapy anyhow.

Business attire wasn’t technically in Prada. She thought. But...

“How about I try it In a size 3, maybe? I just hate how this doesn’t snug in the waist area too.” With eyes that held some reservation of politeness, being as though this was London’s fourth dress since 10:00am, the sale lady smiled gently and headed yet again to where she hoped the perfect dress lied. Ten minutes roaming in the items of blazers, in hues of blue-black, dark greys, and modest interviewee acceptable attire, London got bored. And it wasn’t long before her brown irises sparkled spotting a Posh Pink Zac Posen number that she knew would look perfect with her crème padlock Tom Ford pumps. They've been coddled in the corner of her closet just waiting to receive some attention from her for three weeks since getting them.

“I don’t really like this one, I’ll try the Posen number cause this is hugging my waistline too tight.” London’s ideology would always remain true to her ever since her mother would brush her soft brown coils into little pigtails at a tender age eight. Painting her lips in a soft baby pink lip gloss to imitate the L'oreal shade adorned on her mother’s. At one of their mommy and me impromptu and playful makeup sessions “Dress as good as you want to be addressed” was always insisted, and made understood with great importance. She would play in her mommy’s makeup, staring awestruck into her pecan shaped hazel eyes that London believed held the answers and blueprint on what it truly meant to be superwoman; cause her mommy was it.

Her cape would’ve been customly designed by Versace, and makeup flawlessly stayed in place as she conquered the world with her supermodel superpowers. She held the memories of her mother locked in her heart, with a time capsule on standby for times as such. London you have two interviews, you better snatch their edges smooth the fuck off when you strut those stilettos in that office. But she definitely wasn’t going to find the perfect interview attire in cocktail-esque couture. Looking up, from her peripheral she spotted distressed leather. The broad shoulder of the specimen, and tail of a braid tucked under a skully peaked from the fitting room as the figure spoke.

“Can I see?”

And who the hell is this that bold? She seen that he was positioned on the couch with his arms spread casually. One foot of his black Margielas plopped on top of the other, with a smile smugly given, and she could’ve cursed herself for her interest being piqued.

“What are you? A peeping Tom, sneaking in the women’s department?”

“Or a nigga admiring a dress on a woman with some smooth and fine ass lookin’ legs.”  Well then. Like a coward, she huddled deeper into the dressing room masking her fear of being a spectacle to stubbornness. This shit couldn't even zip all the way up right! Hell no he can’t see!

“Aight since you shy…” He got up headed to the sales lady approaching with the dress she requested. She gulped as he took it, well as she can see willingly accepted, as it was extended to him. Yes, just condone it why don't you.

“Shit is corny,” Her frowned deepened as he passed the dress back. “Let me see that right there...the taupe and white.”

“Sir, you do realize you’re requesting the Giamb-”

“Yes, The Giambattista Valli. Now can I get it or not?” As the dress was fetched for, London found the courage to finally emerge from the back.

“It does no justice for the upper region of your body shorty. Fuck you goin’ to a tea party?” Her neck drew back. “No disrespect to my man Zac Posen, but nah. Now this…” She could see they were close in height, with him only a few inches above her as he took the dress, pulled her to the mirror simultaneously, and hugged the dress on her front area so they could both get a good view.

“This works. Whoever said chocolate and milk don’t mix may have been right, but we might have to make an exception. May I ask what’s the occasion?” London had yet to speak, and that may have been the first of speechless moments. Here stood a man with clear knowledge of fashion, expertise so superb she actually was seeing herself taking in consideration. She stepped apart from him, and turned on her heels facing him.

“Interview.”

“Field of fashion I want to assume? ” She nodded, and fought to wrap her head around such peculiarity from the stranger who, since meeting, had her figured out at face value alone.

“...and Publishing, Punes Industries in partnership with Vogue’s marketing campaign.” Was there something on my face? Several moments passed of him staring at her in silence, before a step was taken back by him, and a smirk emerged.

“That wouldn’t be...Monica Punes’ company...right? Image consultant, and creative director?” Who the fuck was he, a psychic?

“Yes, that’s exactly who it is.” She attempted at masking the aggravation in her tone now passing the dress, and several other items to the sales associate was who waiting a foot nearby, who she can assume was getting a kick out of the exchange.