A debt has been incurred. And they've come to collect.
Vanessa Cruz is a young black woman, simply trying to survive in a world set up to conspire against her prosperity. Grinding Monday to Friday, and working Friday to Sunday left her no room to h...
I was sat in front of my vanity, putting the final touches on my soft glam look for that godforsaken party. And all I could see was my mothers features, just like the poem, which I had never recognised before.
The disappointment she wore so beautifully, like a complexion. The regret that stained her lips as if she drank it everyday. Eyes, lined with sadness, and cheeks blushed with the remnants of youthful joy. It clicked. I was her.
In fact, I was every woman. Capable of the same greatness and complacency of them all.
Although not related, I caught brief glimpses of Miss Monique too. Her loneliness coated my lashes. Her missed opportunities contoured my bone structure. Time spent waiting filled my brows.
When he spoke to me, the tone implied that this was the best I could do. That being with him was a privilege.
And I agreed.
I never voiced it out but in that moment his face found itself next to mine in the reflection of the mirror, I realised that he had set a ceiling for me. And I was starting to hit it.
I'd set my intention a long time ago, and remained steadfast in achieving it. I never took my eye off it, even when he pushed me to my limit.
I wanted to be his perfect girl.
His complete equal, forged in his image. But while my vision was sharpening, as I willed the tears that found my eyes away, something that was previously invisible came into crystal sharp focus.
The woman he wanted was not me.
I could continue to contort myself; trying to be the wife he so desperately desired, for fear of losing him. Or I could become the truest, most whole iteration of myself yet, and exceed anything he ever thought me capable of, but leave him behind, buried in the skins I would shed to get there.
The thought was terrifying, but it didn't feel like I had long to make my decision.
The options in front on me were narrowing. I was doing what I did when I first got the message about the debt from Nesto. Whittling the possibilities down, trying to settle on the one most likely to occur.
Leaving seemed to be the most probable one.
I didn't want to though. I loved him too much. Almost more than myself at this point. Although he was making it unbearable to stay, the thought of leaving was inconceivable.
It would remain to be seen if the choice would stay in my hands.
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Tonight was like Don't Hurt Yourself.
All I was missing was the long, blonde straightbacks and the fur. My energy was the same, dark, unexpected and ominous.
We all congregated in the foyer of his house, having flooded in from various vehicles.
He was still under the influence. Not enough to sway, but enough for thoughts to find their way to the ears they were intended for much easier.
