CHAPTER 11 #2
I stared down at the bowl, a bitter taste rising in my throat.
It was as if my pussy was some kind of twisted curse.
One taste of my body, one night of letting down the guard, and bad things just naturally started happening later.
It was the same pattern, over and over again.
I was a drug that people didn't know how to handle in moderation, and when the high wore off, the withdrawal turned them into monsters.
"Fuck this," I said out loud, tossing the half-empty bowl into the kitchen sink.
I didn't have time to be a philosopher on a balcony.
I needed a clean break from this block. I walked back into my room, grabbed my designer heels from the floor, and slipped them onto my feet, the sharp click of the stiletto heels against the wood giving me an instant boost of authority.
I grabbed my black Telfar handbag from the entryway table, checked my makeup in the hallway mirror one last time, and pulled out my phone.
I opened the rideshare app, my thumb hovering over the screen. Ordinarily, I’d take the subway to save a few dollars, but today? Today my peace of mind was worth the surge pricing.
"Fuck the subway," I muttered to myself, hitting the confirm button on the premium ride option. "I am not sitting on a loud-ass train with this heavy-ass head."
***
I hurried down the five flights of stairs, the sharp heels of my shoes creating a frantic, echoing rhythm against the concrete steps.
By the time I burst through the front doors of the building and stepped onto the Harlem pavement, the humid June morning air hit me like a wall.
I stood on the curb, my eyes scanning the row of parked cars and yellow cabs crawling down the avenue.
Within mere minutes, a sleek, clean silver sedan pulled up directly in front of my toes, its hazard lights blinking in unison.
I reached out, grabbed the door handle, and pulled it open, sliding my thick hips onto the cool leather seat. But the second I closed the door behind me and the cool, conditioned air of the interior wrapped around my face, I looked up at the rearview mirror—and my eyes went wide.
Lo and behold, sitting in the driver’s seat with a wide, brilliant grin plastered across her face, was Monica.
The exact same Monica who I had been vibing with just days ago during my last frantic ride across town.
The same Monica who had spent thirty minutes bragging about her beautiful, talented daughter and had literally forced her daughter’s Instagram handle into my phone.
"Monica! What's up, girl?" I said, the heavy, dark cloud that had been sitting on my shoulders since I woke up instantly lifting a fraction of an inch.
Monica spun around in her seat, her eyes sparkling with genuine delight as she reached her hand back over the headrest, her knuckles extended. "Feeling good, girl! Now that you're out here kicking it in my car again!"
I smiled, reaching out and dabbing her up with a firm, practiced familiarity that felt real, completely devoid of the weird, fragile tension I’d just left upstairs.
"For real, what are the odds?" I laughed, leaning back against the headrest as Monica shifted the sedan into drive and smoothly pulled away from the curb, merging into the chaotic flow of morning traffic.
"Hey, when the universe wants two bad bitches to cross paths, it makes it happen, Miley," Monica laughed, her throaty, warm chuckle filling the car, instantly cutting through the residual stress in my chest. She adjusted her rearview mirror, her eyes locking onto mine with a sharp, maternal curiosity.
"So, tell me everything, girl. How is it going over there at E-Tech?
You still surviving them corporate sharks up in Midtown? "
"Great, actually," I said, a genuine spark of excitement bleeding into my voice as my mind instantly shifted away from my apartment and toward the glass tower on Forty-Second Street.
"Helisa is a real gem, for real. She’s been looking out for a bitch since day one.
And that view up top from the executive suites?
Spectacular. It makes you feel like you own the whole damn world. "
"Mm-hmm, sounds about right," Monica said, nodding her head as she navigated a tight turn past a delivery truck.
"I knew you had that elite energy when you first sat in my car, Miley.
You don't look like the type to stay at the bottom for long.
But listen... since you mention having a good time and looking out for people, I gotta ask you something.
I really, really want you to meet my daughter. "
I blinked, looking up at the mirror. "Your daughter?"
"Yes, girl, my baby girl," Monica said, her voice dropping into a softer, more serious register as she glanced back at me for a split second.
"Listen, we don't live far from here at all.
Maybe a fifteen-minute drive from your block.
I am out here working these long shifts, and she is just sitting in the house, cooped up in her room, staring at the walls.
I want her out of the house, Miley. I want her hanging out with real, genuine, outgoing friends.
You look like a whole-ass vibe, an outgoing person who knows how to move in the world.
Do you think you could help a mother out and just kick it with her sometime? "
I looked out the window for a second, watching the brownstones blur past as we hit the highway entrance.
After the absolute nightmare I had just endured with Terra—after watching a multi-year friendship collapse into a toxic heap of middle fingers and venomous glares over a single night of physical intimacy—the word friend felt incredibly heavy.
But maybe that was exactly what I needed.
New blood. A clean slate with someone who didn't know my history, didn't know about Alicia, and didn't have any hidden expectations.
"Sure, Monica," I said, leaning forward slightly against the back of her seat. "You can actually pick me up at six o'clock today after my shift ends at E-Tech. But I do have to be back at my place before eight, though. Is that okay with you?"