Chapter 2
A Warm Welcome home
It was 1:00 AM when I rolled over, staring at my first love as he slept peacefully in my dorm. Justin—my high school sweetheart who had followed me all the way from our hometown in California to North Carolina A we had been engaged for three months.
I turned to the side, looking toward the door, when I heard a ding. I didn’t pay attention to it at first. But then again, who could possibly be texting my man at one o'clock in the morning?
There it went again: another ding.
I turned over to face him. His phone was hidden right under his pillow. I slid my hand under, grabbed the device, and looked at the screen. The notification read: Layla. Layla was the girl he was supposed to be tutoring.
I instantly opened the phone. The notification showed three attachments.
I looked at the pictures. The first was of her hiding her nipples. The second was a photo of her naked backside sitting on a counter, taken from the mirror behind her. The third was a close-up of her naked body.
I didn't stop there. I went through the gallery. There were hundreds of nude photos that weren't mine. I checked the videos; the first was of him sleeping with her raw.
Oh my god. I almost gagged.
It clicked. I was deep in student debt, working hard to pay off loans, and my man was cheating on me. North Carolina served no purpose for me anymore. I packed my things and booked a flight back home.
I got my naked, plumped-up self out of bed, threw on black biker shorts, a sports bra, and tennis shoes, and brushed my long, wavy, honey-blonde hair into a neat bun. I stood by the door and threw his phone directly at his hard face.
He woke up instantly, holding his face and screaming, "What the fuck?"
I didn't say a word. I pulled the door open and bolted down the hall. I knew it would buy me some time because he was completely naked. I ran so fast; I know they had never seen a big girl move like that before.
I pounded on Layla's door, keeping my hand over the peephole.
When she cracked the door to see who it was, I shoved it wide open.
Her eyes went wide. I pushed her so hard she flew across the room.
I ran up, wrapped my hand in her hair, dragged her slim body toward the door, and started punching her in the head.
Suddenly, I felt a hand trying to pull me off.
I looked up; it was his sad-ass face. I let go of Layla and started swinging on him while she sat in the same spot, screaming.
I pushed him so hard his body crashed into the wall, leaving a massive hole.
As he lay on the floor, I climbed right on top of him and started punching him in the face.
Then, campus security pulled me off and detained him. Justin got up—his five-foot-nine, slim, brown-skin frame looking a mess with three knots on his head and a bloody lip.
"Hey, baby, let me explain, please," he pleaded.
I didn't say a word. I just looked at him in total disgust.
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the campus until the dean returns tomorrow morning," security said.
That suited me just fine. I booked a black car to the airport; my flight was in three hours. I stepped over the hair weaves scattered in the hallway and the rest of the mess I had made, walked back to my dorm, grabbed my two bags, and left in peace.
I arrived at Charlotte Douglas International Airport at 2:00 AM.
My plane boarded at 4:00, and I would be home by 8:00.
I was anxious; I hadn't talked to my mom in a year.
I felt bad about her struggles with crack cocaine, but maybe having time on my hands meant I could finally help her get the real help she needed.
While at the airport, I stopped by Sephora to pick up a few beauty products. I felt so low and unconfident. How could he cheat on me with someone who looks nothing like me? Does he not like big girls anymore? Should I lose weight? Should I be more loose? He clearly has a thing for loose women.
Six years. We were together for six years.
My first love, my first kiss—I let him take my virginity on prom night.
I was supposed to marry this man and have his kids.
I knew his mom, and she loved me. I spent holidays and vacations with his dad and stepmother in the islands.
His sister is like my sister; we talked about everything.
How could he hurt me like this? I'm his best friend. He could have told me he was unhappy, and we could have changed things.
Returning to California
I arrived at LAX, so happy to be home. All I wanted to do was lie in my king-sized bed after the long, exhausting night.
I knew my mother would be happy to see me.
Despite her addiction, I knew she loved her babies: me and my two cousins, Mercedes and Junie.
Their mom had passed away, so my mom had raised us all like sisters.
I hadn't talked to them in a while either.
Justin hadn't wanted me to talk to them because he felt they were promiscuous, especially since Mercedes was a stripper.
But Mercedes wasn't your average stripper; she made top dollar, paid her own bills without selling her body, and at 24, she already owned her own house.
I missed them so much. I just hoped Mercedes wouldn't be too mad and would forgive me, not just as my cousin, but as my oldest sister. I knew there was no way in hell Junie was forgiving me anytime soon, with her petty, stubborn self.
I booked a regular Lyft home. It took ten minutes to get there. But once I arrived, I looked up and saw my heart drop: everything we owned was piled outside on the curb.
Panic set in. Where the fuck is my mama? Is she okay? Why didn't she tell me she couldn't pay the bills? I would have helped as much as I could.
I pulled out my phone to call Mercedes and tell her what was happening. Suddenly, I felt like I couldn't breathe; I was about to faint. I grabbed a bottle of water from my suitcase and sat down on the curb.
How the fuck can my day get any worse? I thought to myself.
Then, there she was. My mama.
I looked up at her. She had lost so much weight. She looked nothing like I remembered before I left.
"Mama, are you okay?" I asked, genuinely concerned.
"I'll be good. Give mama five dollars," she mumbled.
"No, Mama, why didn't you tell me you needed help? I could have helped. Where am I supposed to go?" I asked, tears stinging my eyes.
"Girl, you're grown as fuck. How do I suppose to know?" she snapped.
"Mama, I'm tired. I had a rough night. I just wanted to get in a bed and lie down—and there's not even a bed to lie down in!" I looked at the mattress sitting outside, once white, now stained brown.
"Figure that shit out," she screamed as tears streamed down her face.
I could tell a part of her wanted to help me, but honestly, she couldn't even help herself.
"Damn, that's really fucked up," I said.
"What's fucked up is you stopped coming to see your mother! You stopped calling! You just forgot about the woman who pushed you out!" she yelled back.
"No, Mama," I said, walking toward her to give her a hug.
She pushed me back so hard I fell flat on my ass. Anger flared up; I got right back up, ran at her again, and tried to force her into a hug. She punched me in the face, and I started swinging right back.
And just like that, right there on the street outside, my mother and I were fighting.