Diary of the Crazy Shaniqua Bello

BROWNIES Part 4

BROWNIES

"This is the part about my day," he chuckled uncontrollably. The weed.

"What? You smoke or eat brownies every day?" I asked, still trying to shake off the lingering impact of the rubbish that had just spewed out of my mouth.

"I don't smoke. Never did, never will."

"So, what are you now talking about?"

"I'm talking about the way you talk when you're not being too conscious of your words—it's the been the best part of my day for a while now,"

Was he too high that he was losing his senses? Or was he just telling me all these things to get into my pant? Or wait? Have I been fantasizing? Is this one of my fantasies?

I pinched myself deeply.

"What are you doing to yourself? Why are you pulling at your cheeks like that?" Okay, I'm not dreaming.

"I'm just trying to confirm that I'm not dreaming—sorry, is there some kind of truth serum laced in your brownies?"

"It's kind of how it works—for some people it makes them overshare and some just overthink."

"So, which one is going on with you?"

"You mean with us?"

"Whatever,"

"I think we're expressing what we really feel about ourselves and I also know we're going to regret it by tomorrow,"

"Then why are you still letting it happen?"

"Why not? You have feelings for me and it's mutual too. Why hide it?" He shrugged.

"You're my boss...you're a celebrity...you are rich, who am I? I'm not one of those ladies that go down on their knees to—,"

"—, perfectly understood," he cut me off. "You don't have to go there—although it's partially your fault as stupid as it might sound."

"I don't understand sir—Elvis. How was it my fault that you hired a prostitute?"

"Take a wild guess," he groaned and looked away.

Wait a minute—is it what—it can be—

"You got a prostitute to get your mind off me?"

"Worse—I imagined she was you, so how could it have been possible to get my mind off you,"

"Now I don't know whether to feel bad or good or if I should just pretend not to have heard what you just said."

"This is how you think?"

"What?"

"The way you talk, Shaniqua, it must be exactly how you think and I think it's cute."

"Again with that 'cute' word."

"Cos it's true."

"Anyway, I don't want to...you in an office bathroom so, you probably have some thoughts wrong," I said and he threw his head back laughing.

"I understand."

"Great."

There was an awkward silence between us.

"This is absolutely crazy and unethical," he shook his head as if he thought doing it was magically going to set him back on track.

"Tell me about it," I sighed as I struggled to get on my feet.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to rise to my feet—I'm going to sleep or I'll go crazy,"

"Come, I'll help you," he offered to help, and for some reason I accepted.

To be continued...

Vote
Vote
Vote
Thank you!
If you don't know how to vote, click on that star below and see what happens.
And yeah, follow me on Instagram
@cinmithewriter