Prologue #2
“Got it,” Orielle said, glancing toward the door that led to the studio. “I’ma go change clothes really quick.”
“You need me to get you anything?”
Orielle smiled. “No, but thank you.”
“Of course. I still owe you for the other week,” Maya said.
“Nope. You don’t owe me anything. I know how life can get.”
The week prior, Maya’s phone had gotten cut off, and Orielle paid the bill before sliding her a few extra dollars for lunch or gas.
She was a college student, struggling to keep her head above water, and Orielle didn’t think twice about saving her.
The temporary relief was something she wished she had growing up.
Paying her back was the least of her worries.
As many times as Maya looked out for her if she was running late or needed a quick snack and some laughter, Orielle felt like she owed her.
She moved down the hallway, loving how calm she already felt.
Class was set to begin in less than ten minutes.
Outside of the booth, Relax and Relief was sacred ground.
A place where she could release, guide, and pour into others.
Her mat was the only place where she didn’t have to be anyone or do anything besides be still.
Whatever worries or problems she had, vanished when she centered herself.
After changing into a two-piece lavender short set from Curve Me and securing her shoulder-length dark brown tresses in a bun, she pushed open the studio door.
Dim lights and soft lo-fi spilled from the overhead speakers.
Orielle’s eyes swept over the room, taking in a few students who were already stretching.
She took a step forward to greet everyone and froze.
The tightness in her chest returned and intensified, slamming into her like a fist to a punching bag with no warning. The pain filtered to her throat, making it damn near impossible for her to swallow the bile threatening to spew from her lips.
Laying eyes on the man who broke her heart months ago wasn’t what Orielle signed up for today.
.. or any day. Bobby was at the back of the room, kneeling beside a woman on a mat.
The same woman Maya had deemed sweet and pregnant.
Some guy and his girl . Those words echoed in her head as she watched him be so attentive.
His hand was at the small of her back, guiding her gently into a stretch.
The curve of the woman’s belly rose beneath a snug yellow tank top.
She was very pregnant. When she slightly winced, Bobby soothed her with soft words Orielle couldn’t hear, but she felt them.
The absence of them. The woman’s skin was glowing with the kind of peace Orielle hadn’t seen on herself in a long time.
Bobby hadn’t seen her yet. He was focused, smiling softly, murmuring something low and sweet that made the woman laugh. She looked at him like she knew his heart inside and out. Orielle’s stomach dipped as her brain caught up.
That’s why he left.
That’s why he pulled the classic “It’s not you, it’s me” and vanished from her life without a warning. Because it was her. Or rather, it wasn’t her . It wasn’t her body growing his child. It wasn’t her life fitting neatly into his next chapter.
Orielle hadn’t seen him in months. Not since the day he ended things with a half-hearted, “ I just need space, Ori. I’m not in a place to do this anymore .”
There was no explanation.
No closure.
Just distance and confusion.
And tears. Lots of tears, frustration, anger, and hurt. Orielle was sick to her stomach for weeks, and the pain she thought had subsided with time had resurfaced like an ugly blackhead underneath the skin, waiting to see how she handled it.
Now he was here. In her space. With a woman who looked like she was due any day.
It didn’t make sense until it did.
Orielle’s eyes misted.
This was why he ended things. This was the space he couldn’t be in with her because he was already filling it with someone else.
Bobby didn’t even look up. He was so focused on the woman, tucking her braids behind her ear as he whispered something that made her chuckle again.
The sound clawed at something in Orielle. She didn’t know the woman, and clearly the man either, but she wanted to make them endure her pain. Yet all she could do was stare. Disbelief and humiliation overtook the calmness she had once felt.
Then, as if he felt her watching them, Bobby lifted his head.
Their eyes met, and for a second, the room tilted.
His body went still with his mouth parted slightly, and a flash of panic flickered in his eyes.
Orielle held his gaze with a stillness honed from every yoga class she ever taught.
The little girl in her who mastered disconnecting from reality didn’t crack under pressure, no matter how badly she wanted to.
She showed no emotion. Just inhaled and exhaled steady breaths.
Orielle adjusted the hem of her tank top and forced her feet to move toward the front of the room.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. This was foreign territory for her.
She’d never felt more out of place in a space that she deemed sacred in her life.
Regardless of her hurt, she didn’t let the anger consume her.
While she wanted to smack fire from Bobby, curse him out, and ask what the fuck he was doing there, Orielle kept the sliver of peace she was clinging onto.
Gently, she placed her bag into the corner and unrolled her mat, not breaking her stare.
Just as uncomfortable as they had made her, she wanted him to feel the same.
“Welcome in,” she greeted, turning toward the class. “We’ll begin in just a few minutes. Feel free to find your breath and settle into a grounding stretch.”
Bobby looked away first.
Orielle’s gaze didn’t waver. She’d grown up in the uncomfortable situations of silence; staring at the door, ceiling, wall, or black TV screen, waiting for the chaos outside her bedroom door to end. If Bobby wanted to have a stare-off, she could play this ridiculous game all day.
His guilt-ridden expression didn’t move her. Bobby’s hand dropped from the woman’s back, and he opened his mouth, probably to say her name, but Orielle had already tuned him out.
The woman turned, smiling politely. Orielle returned it with one of those tight, impersonal smiles you give a customer.
She had nothing against her and didn’t have a clue who she was, but she couldn’t pretend like everything was all good either.
She had all the smoke for Bobby. Not the woman of her punk ass ex of a man who used to know her body like his own and whispered promises into her ear as if he’d keep them. Orielle almost chuckled.
It was as if she were being tested... again.
As if the months of delivered texts, unreturned calls, and questions as to why he moved so weirdly suddenly hadn’t been enough.
Sometimes you didn’t get closure, and Orielle had come to terms with that until now.
She maintained her composure and proceeded through the class as she usually did.
The hour passed slower than ever, and she moved with grace that masked the fire burning in her chest. Her voice remained soft and serene, guiding her students through grounding postures that she needed more than they did at the moment.
Every cue rolled off her tongue as if she wasn’t experiencing what felt like a second, mild heartbreak.
Under it all, beneath the calmness and soothing playlist, her thoughts were rapid and cloudy.
He really brought her here.
The audacity.
The disrespect.
I should’ve told them to leave.
The worst part of it all was that it didn’t even hurt as much as it used to.
That was the part that shook her the most. Orielle had been more in shock than anything, and now, as she wrapped the yoga session up, she contemplated her next move.
Leading them into corpse pose, she lowered her voice, letting the stillness settle around them.
“Let go of anything that no longer serves you,” she whispered. “Release what tried to break you. Let your breath be the proof that you’re still here.”
With her eyes closed and hands open, she stayed silent for a little longer than usual. This moment wasn’t for them. But for her. Then, gently, she began to bring them back.
“Wiggle your fingers and toes. Come back into your body. When you’re ready, roll to your side.”
The class slowly came to life with soft stretches and contented sighs.
Mats rustled and rolled as water bottles uncapped.
A few students offered Orielle quiet “thank yous” on their way out.
Some even asked for instructions on poses to do at home.
While she tended to their questions, Bobby helped his woman stand to her feet.
She whispered something in his ear before slipping out the door to the restroom.
Orielle started folding her mat, and like she knew he would, Bobby made his way toward her. She didn’t need this scene and didn’t want his apology. She didn’t owe him the grace he never extended to her. Still, his footsteps approached like a rhythm she hated but knew by heart.
“Ori.”
She didn’t bother to look up.
“Orielle.”
His voice used to make her chest flutter. Now it sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
He stopped a few feet away, rubbing the back of his neck like he was the one owed comfort. “I didn’t know you taught here.”
She finally looked at him.
Her gaze didn’t hold warmth or anger. Just icy stillness.
“And if you had?” she asked, holding her mat under her arm. She had another class to prepare for down the hall.
“I wouldn’t have agreed to come with her. I swear I didn’t—” He paused, frustration slipping into his tone when she didn’t rush to ease his guilt. “It wasn’t like I was tryna rub it in your face.”
“But you did.”
Bobby winced. “Look, I messed up. I know I should’ve handled things differently?—”