Chapter four- Eshe
I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t walk either—not properly. My legs felt like they were dragging cinder blocks, and it had nothing to do with the tight-ass heels Sinica picked or the four blunts I’d smoked earlier that day.
My chest ached. My throat burned. And I was damn near being dragged down a white silk-covered aisle while Anthony Hamilton crooned in the background.
I can’t stay away from you too long...
I hated how accurate the lyrics were.
I wanted to blame the weed. Or the liquor from the night before. But the truth was uglier. I was walking into a moment I shouldn’t be a part of.
My flight instincts had kicked in strong. Every step closer to the altar had me fighting not to scream or sprint out of the church like I had the devil on my back—and maybe I did.
Speaking of the devil—he was standing at the altar.
Looking at me.
My stomach clenched, and I felt the betrayal of my own body as my eyes tried to meet his. I cut my gaze to the floor instead. Red carpet. Ugly.
I didn’t belong here. Should’ve never agreed. I was a heathen in a house of God, and I could already feel the judgment pressing down on my bare shoulders. If lightning struck me dead mid-aisle, I wouldn’t even be surprised.
Jalen, the fine-ass groomsman I’d been paired with, leaned in slightly and whispered, “You alright?”
I nodded, even though my brain was screaming hell no, I’ll never be alright again.
I imagined myself tossing these fake-ass pink lilies to the ground, stripping out of this ugly-ass yellow dress, and running out the doors barefoot yelling, “Save me, Black Jesus!”
Stop it, I told myself. Focus.
In and out. One foot in front of the other.
A laugh echoed from one of the pews. My throat closed. Were they laughing at me? Did they know what I’d done? What I’d been?
Sweat trickled down the back of my neck.
Did I remember to put on deodorant?
I wanted to sniff my underarm, just to be sure.
Don’t do it, Eshe. Keep walking.
I let out a breath of relief when we finally reached the altar and Jalen gently placed me where I was supposed to stand. Across from the groom. Across from him.
My titties were sweaty. I had to pee. And all I could think about was how much I hated Sinica.
Jalen took his place beside the groom while I tried to keep my face composed.
It was hot as hell in the church.
I fanned myself with my hand.
“Why is it so hot in here?” I mumbled.
The pastor glanced my way, and I imagined asking him to turn on the AC. But instead, I studied him. 6'2", smooth caramel skin, chiseled face, dimples. Whew.
Maybe I should start going to church again.
A throat cleared behind me.
“Stand up straight,” someone whispered.
It was the mother of the groom. I did as I was told, back stiff, eyes still locked on the red carpet.
I inhaled slowly to calm my nerves—big mistake.
Viktor & Rolf’s Spicebomb flooded my senses. That scent. His scent.
My knees went weak. Flashbacks rolled in—white sheets, skin like onyx, lips saying everything but sorry.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek and forced the memory back into the vault.
The other bridesmaids joined me one by one. We stood in a line like beautiful liars, all smiling for Sinica’s big day.
Then the music changed.
Beyoncé’s 1+1.
Cliché, I thought. But Sinica loved her some Beyoncé.
I clenched my hands around the bouquet. I fought to keep my breathing steady.
Fought not to cry. Fought not to look up.
But how do you stand still when your heart is screaming?
When every beat feels like it’s trying to break out of your chest and run?
When the person you once begged God for is standing across from you, dressed like forever—but not for you?
The pull was too strong. It had always been.
Without meaning to, my head lifted. My eyes found his. Light brown. Flecked with gold.
Donte. The man who wrecked me. The man about to marry my best friend.