Hell Sweet, Kayla

11

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

I can feel the air flow through my lungs out of my lips, perspiration beads on my forehead, sweat running down, jogging alongside my best friend blasting sit still, look pretty from my air pods.

It is a sunny day to take to run in the park in our tights and sport bra. Birds chirping, people camping on their mats and others playing games.

Zim slows automatically adjusting my pace to match hers. She stretches, flexing her arm. “So, how are you taking the divorce case?”

Sighing, yeah, mum actually went through with it. And it was all over the news; matter of fact, I know the blogs feasted on the story like a Sunday brunch.

I pause, hands akimbo. “I don’t know.”

Shrugging, pulling my phone checking the time. “So far as they both find happiness; I’m cool with it, besides Dad has not gotten over it.” She nods in understanding hopping on her feet.

The wind blows my ponytail loose tucking the fallen tendrils behind my ear. “He probably felt mum can never do that to him.” Observing a couple making out like frenzy teens, I chuckle.

She nudges me wiggling her brows sinfully. “Richest woman in the world thanks to divorce, tell me something else.” We both laugh strolling out of the park.

My mum is a very successful real estate dealer, her cheapest home is a four-hundred and fifty million beach home she has in Malibu.

This is aside her clothing brand and cooking show; let’s not forget having shares in Dad’s billion-dollar tech company.

Some may ask, why now? Why does she have to leave? Is this not a selfish act to Dad, the company, and their estrange daughter?

I guess she accepted it is time to wake up from her dream and stop chasing after fantasy.

All the same, I am happy if she is happy; sadly, Dad lost the keeper amongst the bunch.

Breathless. “Since when do you listen to all those gossips.” I say, sober.

Quickly, she shushes me throwing her face cap over my head, muttering low. “Keep your head low or someone might recognize you and ask for a ransom.” I want to laugh at her poorly act to mimic Hollywood actors.

Instead, I free my wild golden hair posing a sassy look fixing dark shades over my eyes. “For being so hot, beautiful and smart. Sounds right about that.” Striking a pose watching my friend wheeze from laughing hard.

“Mmh!” Zimra moans for the umpteenth time eating her ice-cream. “This is so good.”

Eyeing her. “Are you meant to take that?” Sometimes she needs a reminder that models don’t do loads of sugar.

Does she listen? No.

Pointing her spoon at me. “Hey! I can cheat on my diet whenever the spirit leads. Holy lord.” She closes her eyes briefly in a prayer opening back up for another spoonful.

I shake my head wearing a smile asking for a chocolate milkshake.

While we wait. “My mum will be hosting one of her annual gala/auction night and I will love you to be my plus one.” She pauses, caressing her brows humming as if in deep thought.

She turns facing the entrance, her back to the counter. No filter whatsoever. “Rich people. Potential sugar daddies. Expensive wine and caviar. Count me in.” Showing off pearly whites in an obvious demented state.

Between the both of us, I heavily believe she is the bad influence and not me like everyone assumes.

Opting out not to comment rather roll my eyes at her verbal choice of words in a very public space, I notice my shoe lace loose squatting to knot it back in place.