2. Reighvyn Bloom
“Surprised to find you here,” I stated, stepping into the bedroom.
Daniella jumped and turned to look over her shoulder. “I uhm, . . . I thought you were out of town,” she replied.
When she licked her top lip nervously, I knew that she was up to no good.
“I was. Just got back. What are you doing here?”
She shrugged and replied nonchalantly, “You know. Just picking up some things that I left behind.”
“I thought you took all your shit when you packed it up and realized I wasn’t the nigga for you.”
She rolled her eyes. “I really don’t want to do this with you today, Reigh. I’m tired, and I just got back in town too.”
“You should’ve called. Whatever you needed, I could’ve had it packed and waiting for you.”
She hefted a bag over her shoulders with a hand towel tucked over the bag. “No problem. I didn’t want to inconvenience you, and I still have a key. You didn’t change the locks.”
I stepped back and moved out of her way as she approached the doorway. “Let me carry that for you,” I suggested, reaching for the bag. The way that she jumped out of my way, you would have thought I had leprosy.
“No. I’m good. I’ve got it.”
I bobbed my head, and as she walked past, I reached out and tugged the towel. I was still holding it as she walked toward the door, and I was right on her ass. The bag she had couldn’t be zipped completely, which was why she had a hand towel covering the opening.
I slipped the rolled artwork from her bag. It was a rare, signed lifetime Jean-Michel Basquiat print.
“Yeah, a’ight. Bet ya slick ass did think you had it.”
“What are you—Reigh!”
“Don’t fucking Reigh me. That’s why ya ass didn’t call. You up in here stealing shit from me now. Let me see what else you got in that bag,” I demanded, reaching for the bag.
She jerked the bag out of reach. “No! It’s mine. I bought it!”
“You didn’t buy this print. Ya ass a damn lie if you try to say that you did.” There was no way in hell Daniella would have been able to afford anything that cost half a mill.
“I’m not talking about that stupid ass painting. It’s so ugly, and it doesn’t even make sense why someone would spend that much on it.”
“Then why ya ass up in here tryna cop it? Huh?”
“Because stupid niggas like you will actually pay for this bullshit. It’s the least I should get after having to deal with your bullshit for five years.”
“You didn’t have to do shit. You could’ve walked at any time the relationship didn’t suit you, just like you did. I ain’t ever held ya ass hostage up in this bitch. What’s in the bag, Daniella?”
She gripped it tightly, and I reached around her and snatched the bag off her arm. She whimpered when I removed the Rolex from inside the bag. “I bought that!” she hollered.
I tossed it at her. “You can have it. I don’t want that shit anyway.”
“You wore it proudly.” She balked.
“When I was representing my girlfriend, damn straight I did. But don’t front like you paid for that shit. I know ya thieving ass brother copped it in a game of craps. I guess you roll the same way he does."
"Fuck you, Reigh!”
“Yeah, I’m not interested in that anymore. Seems like you weren’t either, because you had no problem dipping on my black ass when shit got hard. Tell you what. Bounce your ass on out of here now.”
She turned around and stormed out of my condo. I dropped down onto the couch and rested my face in the palms of my hands. I was tired of the bullshit.
Accusations of doping violations hung heavily over my head, and I had been suspended for a year, but I wasn’t taking that shit lying down. I had failed a drug test, and I had even failed the B sample. The shit was in my system, but I hadn’t knowingly taken anything.
My lawyers, manager, head coach, and my science team were investigating what happened so that we could get me reinstated. It would have been nice to have my girlfriend of five years by my side too.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when she told me that she couldn’t take anymore, and she had packed her shit while I was away and left.
When I came back home after the testing and the media circus, it was to a Dear John letter.
When I called her, she said that it was just too much, and she wanted out.
Daniella had never been a ride-or-die type, but I thought our love would see us through. The only thing her love saw her through was her way through my pockets. It hadn’t mattered much to me, though, because I had money, and I knew what it was to be without, too, so I wasn’t hung up on money.
After I paid management fees, coaching and gym fees, training camp expenses, taxes and insurance, I brought home just over one and a quarter million dollars per bout. I fought two to three times a year, and I invested my money wisely. I wasn’t hurting for the little shit that she spent.
My phone rang a few seconds later, and I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone. When I saw my brother’s name, I quickly changed my mind.
“Wassup?” I greeted Wryn.
“Wassup, nigga? You back in town?”
“Yeah. Just got in. Ella’s ass up in here tryna steal some shit.”
“You shut that shit down?”
“Hell yeah.”
Wryn snickered. “Roll on over to my spot. We’re having a birthday celebration for Paloma tonight.”
“Damn, nigga. I was gonna see if you wanted to go see some ass shake, but that’s cool. Why she ain’t hanging out with her girls?”
“I don’t know. Thirty-five has her ass getting sentimental. She wants to be with her family.”
“A’ight. Let me shower, and I’ma head straight over.”
“A’ight. In a minute.”
I released a long exhale before I pushed up off the couch. My black ass was tired as shit, but I’d do anything for my day ones. Wryn and Paloma were my world; they had been since I was kicked out the womb.
We didn’t have the easiest lives, but between the three of us, we had love.
Wryn and Paloma’s daddy didn’t stick around for too long.
That high-yella nigga was constantly in and out of their lives and my mama’s thighs, even after I was born.
Hell, at least they knew who the nigga was. Nobody knew who my daddy was.
I just knew that I’d inherited his dark skin, dark eyes, and according to my mama, his dark temper. My siblings had light skin like our mama and their daddy, and they had inherited his curly hair and hazel eyes.
When you had a mama who struggled with schizophrenia like our mama did, and she refused to take her meds, you had to take what you could get.
We were in and out of foster care growing up, more in than out.
All the days weren’t bad. There were times when she was lucid enough to shower us with love.
Wryn loved when she baked cookies with us.
Paloma’s dramatic ass got hyped off the skits she used to write for us to perform on rainy days.
Me though? I loved cuddling with Mama and eating popcorn while we watched movies.
I secretly inhaled her clean cotton and lavender scent.
It was the other times that were shit. The times when she might lock herself in her room for a couple of days at a time, days when she forgot to feed us or make sure we got off to school, or worse still, the days when she would disappear for days on end.
One time, she went missing for almost two weeks.
That was when we were eight, ten, and twelve.
I cried every afternoon when we came home from school, and she wasn’t there.
Wryn would walk to the elementary school to pick Paloma and me up from the after-school program every day.
During that time, I would talk the entire walk home nonstop.
As soon as Wryn inserted the key in the lock, and we heard the living room TV that we always left on in the mornings before we left, we knew she wasn’t there.
Sadness would descend on all of us, and I would run to Wryn’s and my room and cry.
Paloma shared a room with mama, so she felt her absence the most.
The older I got, the more disappointments came, and the harder it was to hold on to the dream of a healthy mama and a united family. In time, I learned to shut my emotions off and distance myself from the disappointments that were sure to come.
I turned the shower water on as hot as I could stand it. I stood underneath the water and allowed it to pelt my skin.
I closed my eyes and received the pain against my skin. It was bearable and much more preferred over the pain that was in my heart. The pain that always lingered just beneath the surface, waiting to break through.