Chapter 14 Lyrix
Lyrix
I did one last walk-through of the hotel room like I always do. Not because I’m organized, but because I’m the girl who leaves behind earrings, chargers, perfumes, pieces of herself in hotel drawers like she wasn’t raised better.
Maison was already downstairs loading my bags into his car. He offered to do the last sweep for me, but I needed to do it myself. Not just for the stuff. But for the memory.
I walked over to the vanity, my lip gloss still sitting there from last night. I smiled.
Then the bed. Lord, the bed. Still messy with tangled sheets and tangled feelings.
I glanced at the couch that we sat on like we were a couple who forgot we weren’t supposed to be one. The whole room was quiet but still so sacred.
But it was the balcony that called to me, so I stepped outside.
The New Orleans air wrapped around me like a goodbye hug I wasn’t ready for. Below, the city moved like it always did. I gripped the railing with both hands and looked out over the streets that changed me.
The city didn’t give me love.
It reminded me I already had it.
In myself.
In every random dance move.
Every bite of spice-laced food.
Every eye-roll turned giggle.
Every “yes” I said to fun, freedom, and being seen.
New Orleans didn’t break me down to build me up.
It just whispered,
“You were whole when you got here, baby. You just forgot.”
And then, like I had a live mic in my chest, I cupped my hands and shouted off the balcony.
“CHEERS TO THE HEAUX PHASE!”
My voice bounced off buildings like the city caught it, held it, and folded it into the soul of itself. It wasn’t for anyone in particular. But maybe someone heard me. Maybe it was for me.
A thank you. A goodbye.
I stood there a few seconds longer, then turned around, grabbed my purse, and walked out. Maison was parked out front, leaning against the car.
“Ready?” he asked as he opened the passenger door.
I didn’t answer right away. I looked up at him, the man who helped me taste life again, and said,
“Not ready… but I have to take everything I learned from here back home with me. So yeah… I’m ready.”
He smiled, leaned over, and kissed my forehead.
We got in the car and drove off, the rearview mirror shrinking New Orleans behind us, but never out of reach.
Because some cities don’t just leave a mark. They leave a mirror. To show you who you’ve always been.
And I was always that girl.
I just needed a little creole cooking, a little good dick, and a little getaway to remember.
The ride to the airport was quiet. The kind that happens when something was too good to put into a sentence.
Maison parked at Departures and hopped out.
He opened the trunk and grabbed my suitcase while I stood there pretending I wasn’t two blinks away from crying.
I hated goodbyes, but that one was different.
We hugged tight and long. Like we were saying thank you without actually saying it.
He pulled back just a little, looked down at me, and kissed me so soft, like he wanted me to remember it a year later and still feel it in my chest.
“I got you something,” he said, handing me a small black box.
I opened it and paused. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with one word spelled out in dainty, cursive letters:
Heaux.
I blinked, smiled, and let out a teary laugh.
Of course, he did.
“Maison…” I whispered, barely getting his name out before I kissed him again. Then I opened the card.
I had the best time with you. Call me sometimes.
504-***-***
– M.
I laughed through the tears, because after everything… I was just getting his number. It was so him. Smooth. Intentional.
He pulled me in one last time and whispered against my cheek, “Be safe, ma.”
I nodded, clutching the necklace in one hand, the card in the other, and my heart somewhere in between. I turned to walk inside, trying not to look back or let my tears win.
Then I heard him.
“Lyrix!”
I stopped and turned.
He stood there, leaning against the car, sunlight hitting him like he was the main character in somebody’s movie.
“When you’re ready to be a heaux again,” he called out with a grin, “you know where to find me.”
I laughed and walked into the terminal with my suitcase rolling behind me, my heart a little lighter, my smile a little wider, and my soul full. It started as a quick trip to escape loneliness and became the trip that made me feel whole again.
So to every woman who’s healing in silence…
To every woman waiting on a love that’s overdue…
To every woman who’s forgotten what freedom feels like…
Book the trip.
Wear the outfit.
Dance on the table.
Kiss the stranger.
Try the new food.
Let someone see you.
Let you see you again.
Be soft. Be wild. Be free.
And most importantly?
Enter your Heaux Phase.
Because healing isn’t always soft. Sometimes it looks like shaking off the weight of your past in a crowded room full of strangers. Sometimes it’s fucking on balconies, kissing men whose names feel like music, and realizing that joy was never meant to be tamed.
Healing doesn’t always whisper. Sometimes it roars. And the roar sounds a lot like living again.
The End.