"Nigga, miss me with that bae shit!" I snapped, my voice sharp.
"What the fuck you want, Rylo?"
"I just wanna talk to you. Why you blocking my number and shit,"
"I blocked your number because I don't fuck with you no more, What part of that don't you understand?"
"Yah, just hear me out…"
"Hear you out?" I was pacing now, my free hand gesturing even though he couldn't see me. "Hear you out about what? About how you fucked my best friend? About how you looked me in my face and lied? Or how y'all was probably laughing at me behind my back this whole time?"
"It wasn't like that! I swear to God, Yah, it wasn't like that. It was one time, I was drunk, she came at me first, she stopped by my crib to rap with me about Dre, did you know he got shot that night?" he continued, and yea that was something I didn’t know,
"No I didn’t know dre got shot that night and you wanna know why? Because my best friend didn’t tell me, she was too busy running to my man about it, then sucking his dick for sympathy. and honestly I don't give a fuck if she came at youbuck-ass naked!" I was yelling now, not even caring if Mya and Yatta could hear me through the door. "You still chose to do it! You still chose to fuck her knowing she was my friend, knowing that shit would hurt me!"
"I know, I know I fucked up. I know that. But baby, you gotta understand,"
"Understand? You a trifling-ass nigga, and you ain't shit.” My voice was breaking now, emotion creeping in despite how hard I was trying to stay angry. "I really fucked with you, Rylo. I really thought we had some going with us. And you just... you just threw that shit away for what? A quick nut with Morgan?"
"It didn't mean shit! She don't mean shit to me!"
"But I thought I did!" I shouted, The words came out louder than I intended, more vulnerable than I wanted to sound.
There was silence on the other end of the line. I could hear him breathing, could almost picture him sitting somewhere with his head in his hands, trying to figure out what to say.
"Yah," he finally said, his voice softer now, "I love you. I know I fucked up, but I love you. We can work through this shit. Just give me another chance."
I laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Love me? Nigga, you don't love me. You don't even know what love is. Because if you did, you never would've done this shit in the first place."
"Yah—"
"Nah, you know what? I'm done. I'm done with this conversation, with you, and all this bullshit." I was crying now, hot tears streaming down my face even though I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
"Don't call me no more. Don't text me. Don't try to see me. We're done, Rylo. Lose my fucking number and don't ever contact me again."
"Bae, please—"
"I ain't yo’ fucking bae! Stop saying that shit," I screamed into the phone. "You a bitch-ass nigga and I hope you and Morgan are real happy together, because both of y'all fake as fuck and y'all deserve each other!"
I hung up before he could say anything else, immediately blocking the number. My hands were shaking, my face was wet with tears, and my chest felt tight like I couldn't breathe right.
I sat down on the edge of my bed, phone clutched in my hand, and just let myself cry. Really cry, in a way I hadn't let myself since I first found out about the whole situation. I had been holding it in, staying strong, acting like I was unbothered. But the truth was, it hurt so fucking bad.
I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, muffling the sound so my siblings wouldn't come running. I didn't want them to see me like this.
After a few minutes, the crying started to slow down. My eyes hurt, my head hurt, my whole body felt exhausted. I wiped my face with my hands, trying to pull myself together.
My phone lit up on the bed next to me, but it wasn’t a call this time, just a notification. I picked it up and saw it was a text from Mr. Clyde.
Mr. Clyde: Looking forward to the ball. I'll send you details tomorrow about dress shopping. Sleep well, Beautiful.
I stared at the message for a second, then let out a long breath before I texted back.
Me: Sounds good. Talk tomorrow.
Then I set my phone down and laid back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The tears were still falling, slower now, just tracking down the sides of my face into my hair.
I was going to the ball, I was gon’ look fine as hell, and I was gon get my money. That's all that mattered now. Just me and my bag.