Chapter Three
Hazel and Rain
Su-mi fumes about how she knew all along that my ex-boyfriend, Kemar, was a stupid asshole. ‘ From the way you talked about him, I never trusted him , ’ she says, which is a big surprise. I never knew that.
“You’re not going to cry over that piece of shit,” she rages on, and I sniff. She isn’t helping the situation. I love him, and if he’s to call back to say he’s sorry, I’d gladly run back to him.
Where is your pride?
What do you know about true love? I jab back at myself.
“It was my fault. I’m too dramatic over everything. It’s just sex. What’s the big deal?”
Kemar had asked for sexual intimacy a few months into our relationship, and he had been okay with it when I said I wasn’t ready yet. But three weeks before our breakup, he was being way too persistent and suddenly he called to tell me he was breaking up with me because he couldn’t wait anymore.
According to him, he’s an adult, and adults should mate.
After I cried to my best friend, she immediately suggested I leave Jamaica for a while to blow off steam. She even contributed to my travel expenses just to get me here.
Looking back, guilt settles in. My reluctance to sleep with him didn’t involve any sentimental reason, it’s just a personal traditional conviction that first-time intimacy is sacred. Despite my repeated attempts to convince myself otherwise, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t right with him. It’s as if my subconscious knew he wasn’t the one for me in the long run.
“No, it’s not your fault. Everyone has different values, opinions, and plans. You already told him that you plan to wait because you’re not ready yet. He should have been understanding or upfront with you that he couldn’t wait. That’s his fault, not yours.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m not a virgin anymore because I was ready when I gave it away. Looking back, I still don’t regret it because it was mad good.” She sighs dreamily, slumping her shoulders with a smile, and I grimace. She’s clearly having flashbacks.
“If they hit you with the ‘If you love me, you’ll do it’ bullshit, then hit them back with ‘If you love me, you’ll wait.’ Sex isn’t love. It’s just one of the necessities in a relationship. He’s not wrong for wanting it, and you’re not wrong for not wanting it. You just don’t have the same plans, so you aren’t it for each other.”
I nod, my lips pushing out in a pout. She’s making sense, but I’m not sure I want to make sense at the moment.
“Trust me, when it’s time for you to lose your virginity, you’ll know. Your heart and body will tell. The sudden attraction, the magnetic pull, even his blinking will make you drop your undies, climb him like a tree, and just—” She makes a claw-like motion, her teeth biting into nothingness, and I smack her arm with a laugh. “The point is when the right guy comes, you won’t be able to deny the attraction. So please, Kemar obviously isn’t the guy . Therefore, no mention of him till you return.”
I groan in response, and she rolls her eyes, having enough of my bullshit. “Okay, that’s it. we’re going out for drinks.” I start to argue, but she places her index finger on my lips. “Hush it, honey. We’re going out. That’s final. We need to drink the heartbreak away. Oh I wish you weren’t a virgin–sleeping the heartbreak away would have been better. There’s this thing called a mind blowing orgasm. If you have it once, you won’t even remember who Kemar is for a month.”
This time, my groan is from resignation. “Fine.”
Su-mi jumps off my bed in excitement.
“Dress before I return. It’s been a while since I drank, and I don’t even have work tomorrow. Ah, Kemar broke up at the right time. What’s better than drinking yourself to death with your best friend?” She screeches and runs to her room.
“We’re not drinking ourselves to death,” I call after her, but she’s gone.
I put on a knee-length purple dress with my favorite black ankle boots. It’s too late for makeup, so I apply a glossy lipstick instead. I check my bag, shuffling through tons of snapped hair bands to find a good one for a new hairstyle, and I finally find one, with a tired huff. Amidst the preparation of packing up for my trip, I haven’t been able to braid my hair, which is the easiest form of maintenance I can provide for it. So I’m back to having to hydrate it obsessively with shea butter and coconut oil, unless I want the angry tight coils to break my comb again. Managing a short 4c hair is the worst thing that can ever happen to a person.
You were trapped in an immigration office hours ago.
Okay, that’s the worst thing that can happen to a person.
Su-mi returns in a black mini skirt, and a black top. She loves skirts and only wears jeans once or twice a month.
I still recall the moment I first discovered a girl named Su-mi existed. It was three years ago, in the comment section of a social media post. We’d already crossed paths twice before, but on the third, she responded to my comment with ‘ You again? You’re everywhere! ’ The rest is history.
If there’s any good thing social media brought me, it’s Kang Su-mi–a dazzling, energetic woman, and one of the few positives in my life.
“Jeez, you’re looking so beautiful,” she coos and I shake my head with a small laugh. She should really see herself. It wouldn’t be a surprise if her picture is in the dictionary beside the word ‘stunning’, just to show a vivid example of what they mean.
I’m so lucky to have her. Without her, I’d still be in Jamaica, mourning the heartbreak of my lost love, Kemar.
That’s dramatic.
“Let’s go. I can’t wait to get drunk,” she gushes.
I grab my shoulder purse while Su-mi takes the house keys. She switches off the lights, locks the door, and pushes us into the night to help me get over my ex–who I may not be getting over anytime soon.
Rain
It’s half past nine as I sit in the car, frustration seeping through me at the inept meeting I had at the office. Every time I think of one reason why I should be nice, humans smack me in the face with a hundred more reasons why it’s such a bad idea.
Being tricked into signing a double contract was not on my agenda this year, but Reed David nearly made that happen. My Dad’s business partners still haven’t learned to not mess with me. A few hours from now (or a day at most), I’ll be getting a call from my Dad asking why I filed for shares withdrawal from his friend’s company.
The ridiculous excuse for their attempted fraud was that three hundred million dollars was cut off the contract because they used it to invest in more shares, knowing how much I appreciate network effort.
Well, I do. I love it when people invest in businesses because nothing else can bring them joy in the next hundred years.
People, they go. Love, it fades. Trust, it breaks. But business will stay for life.
However, this type of business, the one they’re trying to engage with me, is not it. Using Dacosta Technology’s influence to gain customers and offering less benefit is a joke.
My phone beeps, the inbox filled with Renzo’s texts of how Mom is starting to feed him a little too much. I scoff at the string of dramatic messages, typing out a simple ‘good luck’ to spite him. I refuse to entertain whatever shenanigans he has for me tonight.
I glance up from my phone after his ‘goodnight’ text, and my eyes catch a woman swaying around in a purple dress. As the car drives past her, I realize that she looks familiar.
It’s a quick look, and it’s very weird and creepy to recognize someone that fast, but I can’t shake the feeling that I know her.
Since when do you spare women another glance to recognize them later on?
I’m curious too.
“Stop,” I order my driver. “Reverse now.” He does as I say, and it turns out I’m right. It’s the woman from the immigration office. But what is she doing here? Is she lost or has she not found her friend yet? “Ask that woman if she needs anything.”
I watch from the tinted glass as he speaks to her and after some words are exchanged, he knocks on my glass. I roll it down to hear him.
“I think she’s drunk, sir.”
Shit, Rain. What if she’s truly a suspect like those officers said? Who comes into a country for the first time and gets drunk?
“Drunk,” I repeat blankly and snicker. “It’s her first night in the country, and the first thing she does is get drunk? Perhaps she’s not as innocent as I thought.”
“What should we do?”
“Just bring her into the car,” I say before I can stop myself.
He brings her in, and she immediately curls herself into me. My body turns rigid, and blood rushes to the back of my neck. Her body heat envelopes me and I watch as she makes herself comfortable.
As I lift my hand to push her off, her phone rings. After a few more shrill sounds, I bring it out of her purse and answer the call.
“Hazel! Oh my God, where are you?” A feminine voice laced with both stress and worry fills the car. This Hazel giggles and sits up, trying to collect her phone. “Only two bottles of beer and I can’t find you. I shouldn’t have let you drink that. I went in the restroom for five minutes and you’re missing. Please tell me where you are.”
“She’s with me,” I reply sternly. “You brought her to another country and can’t even take proper care of her.” Hazel rests her head on my lap again and sniffs me.
What’s wrong with this woman?
“‘ She’s with me ’,” the voice mimics mockingly. “And who the hell are you? What did you do to my friend? I’m warning you, sir, I have a black belt in Karate. I’ll—” I listen on with an amused snigger until she suddenly stops talking.
My face morphs into a scowl and I check the phone only to realize it went off.
Of course she had to go out with her phone on 1%.
I breathe a laugh in sheer anger. This woman is driving me insane. No one has ever gotten on my nerves so fast.
“Where to sir?” My driver asks and I freeze.
Where should I take her? I’m going to my house, but where will I drop her? I should drop her on the roadside and leave. Her friend will find her eventually, right?
Yeah, or she could get raped.
Or kidnapped.
Or lost.
What a great time for my conscience to mess with me.
“Take me home,” I sigh out. Only tonight.
“Okay sir.”
I’ll just drop her in one of the guest rooms and go to mine. Tomorrow, she’ll go back to her friend, and I’ll pretend I never met her. Great plan.
She sighs on my lap, and I shut my eyes.
God, I want to push her away so bad.
My driver carries her in while I watch in awe at how she hasn’t stirred even once. I call on Angela, my personal housekeeper, to prepare one of the guest rooms for her. That’s when I remember that she’s on a requested leave, and the other staff are in their quarters already.
My mouth goes sour, and regret washes over me. I grit my teeth and throw my head back with an angry groan.
Should I tell Joe to take her with him to the servants’ quarter?
Are you serious right now? My voice of reasoning snaps.
There isn’t much of an option.
Wow.
I weigh the alternatives and there, of course, isn’t any other one. I turn to Joe. “Will you take her with you to your room?”
He gapes at me like I’ve gone mad. “S-sir?”
“Drop her on the couch and leave.”
“Pardon me, sir, but you’re not making her sleep on the couch, are you?”
I grunt, heat of frustration rushing down my spine. Can I get a break, people?
“Well, Angela is not around and there’s no one else to clean the guest room. Where should I keep her?”
“But she’ll be cold all night, sir,” he argues further, and my frown deepens.
Since when did Joe start arguing with me? I glare at the woman on my couch with a rough expression. An hour with her, and she’s already turning my driver against me.
“Then take her with you or get out. You’re wasting your sleep hours here. We have places to be tomorrow,” I bark at him.
“Yes, sir.” He bows, takes another look at the woman, and leaves. If he cares so much, he should have taken her with him.
I scoff as she rolls herself into a ball on the couch.
There she goes, pretending she’s cold.
Possibly because she really is?
I leave for my room, shower, and lay on my bed.
Should I really leave her down there on the couch? It’s truly cold. I groan. This is why I didn’t want to bring her in the first place.
I turn on my bed uncomfortably and realize that I can’t sleep. Allowing her into my house is one horrible mistake; I shouldn’t do what my mind is asking of me.
Damn it!
I put a singlet over my sweatpants and walk downstairs to see her shivering on the couch. I hook my hands under her legs and pick her up effortlessly. She grabs onto me for body warmth, my muscles flexing painfully under her touch.
I carefully lay her on the bed before covering her with the blanket. I place three pillows in a vertical line to separate us and I lay beside her. There isn’t a couch in my room, and I’m not going to the sitting room on that cold couch for a crazy stranger.