Four days. I haven't heard from Darelle in four days. I've wanted to text him so many times but I'm not sure if we're at that stage yet. At the very least, I have to let him come to me. He's clearly struggling with something bigger than the blackmail itself.
Like he can read my thoughts, my phone rings. I clear my throat. "Hey Darelle." I say plainly, careful not to evoke my excitement. There's something about him that just brings me a feeling of satisfaction.
"Hi Zuri. I'm sorry I haven't been in contact. I was busy but I'd like us to meet." Of course he's been busy. He's a model, his schedule must be super tight.
"At Bailey's?" I ask referring to the coffee shop we met the other day.
"Somewhere private."
"Your place?"
"No." He refutes sternly. "I mean my girlfriend doesn't know about this." He corrects immediately. And his box of mystery keeps filling up. Why would he keep his girlfriend in the dark? Or is she involved in his blackmail?
"Why?" I can't help that I'm nosy. My question is followed by a baffled silence. "Okay then, my house it is." Everything in me tells me to demand answers but I don't. I chose this, I'm too far gone to back out now.
"Send me the address?"
"Okay in a minute."
When he hangs up, I'm left wondering what I've just agreed to. For all I know, he might lead his blackmailer right to my door.
You have to help him. There goes the invisible voice creeping into my head again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I love the sound of sleep when I sleep in. It's riveting knowing you don't have to wake up to do adulting. Just as I snuggle my pillows tighter, a slow version of Here comes the Sun by The Beatles begins blaring from the speakers.
"Aargh! Why are you like this Rae?"
"Good morning Keilee, you have a meeting with Darelle in an hour." She states.
"Turn off Rae." I shout as loud as I can which is not much considering my voice is muffled by the pillows I'm strangling to death. It's moments like these that I wonder if I really need a virtual assistant.
After questioning my existence for twenty minutes, I swing off the bed and to the bathroom. A quick glance in the mirror and my whole mood shifts. More acne. I'm never taking skin care advice from an influencer ever again.
My morning routine is quick; shower, eat, clean. Ten minutes to our scheduled meeting time, the buzzer beeps. "What's up Cheyanne?"
"There's a very hot gentleman here to see you." She beams.
"Send him up."
"So what's the deal with him?" Her tone is suggestive.
"Good bye Cheyanne."
I push down the excitement that threatens to break through when I see Darelle standing on the other side of the door. Dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, the man radiates a mysterious aura that a sensible person should avoid but when have I ever been sensible? If anything, it only draws me to him. I want to peel every secret and emotion he hides behind those hazel eyes. To know the real him, not the one he portrays on social media, billboards and magazines.
Even so, this is not right. Having a crush on someone's boyfriend is a far cry from right. It has to stop.
"Are you gonna let me in or do you plan on ogling me all day?" He teases, a cute smile on his lips. Swoon.
I step away from the barrier. "Sorry, come in." I show him to the couch. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
"No. I'm fine."
For good measure, I sit on the couch across from him. If I want to get over this crush, I'll have to start by putting distance between us. "So what did you want to talk about in private?"
"I have social anxiety." That was about as convincing as the arguments in those reality shows.
"You know you can just tell me if it's cause of the blackmailer."
"It is." He says softly.
"My father owns this building and he ensures maximum security so you don't have to worry." I assure him.
His restrained smile shows he doesn't believe me. "I don't think I can afford to get a new phone right now
"Then you'll have to be around when I track the messages." I tell him.
"I can try to be available as frequent as possible." He promises.
I rise from the couch. "I'll get my laptop." When I come back he's still at the same place I left him.
"You're Kenyan?" He asks surprised.
"What gave it away? Did I forget to hide my safari murals? Wait? Is Hakuna matata tattooed on my forehead right now?" I tease with a chuckle.
"No, the bracelet." He says towards the bracelet I just slid onto my wrist. Kenyans say you're not Kenyan until you have the flag bracelet. It was only fair that I have one too.
"Yes, my dad is originally from there." And my mom loved vacating there. I don't say that out loud because it'll unfurl the slowly healed wound. That country holds so many memories for me and my mom that the thought of talking about it without her here feels wrong.
I wish she was here and we could talk freely about our adventures. But that impossible because when someone dies that's all they are- dead. The moments you shared fade into memories and when you start forgetting their voice and smile, you assume you're moving on but it's just your brain giving up even though your heart is not ready to. Every day you wake up without them feels like an eternity alone.
"Are you sure this will work?" There's a spark of desperation in his words.
"Trust me it will. The only L I take is the one with a V after." I say proudly.
"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will." Darelle voices the words written on the back of my laptop. "Jane Eyre."
"You've read?"
"Of course I have." He acquiesces.
"You know it's just amazing how even though it was a taboo for women to write books during that age, the Bronte sisters went ahead to publish under pseudonyms. They paved the way for so many women. I can't imagine a life without books. I mean gossiping is also a sport but still."
Darelle smiles. "I agree. Books are the windows to the soul."
"I thought that was eyes."
"I could tell a lot about you from the books you read." He's not a hundred percent wrong.
Interested, I ask. "Tell me a quote from a book that you would associate with your life right now."
His eyebrows draw together, creating horizontal wrinkles on his forehead. "Well everyone can master a grief but he that has it." He quotes William Shakespeare fluidly.
"Not being heard is no reason for silence." I counter quoting Les Miserables.
The heavy words hung between us, creating a heavy tension. It wasn't intended but Darelle and I might have just described each other's lives in two different quotes.
Behind the sparkle in Darelle's eyes, I see the emptiness, subtle but still visible if you look closely. He is a riddle I plan to solve and the only way I can do that is by helping him.
A/N
Hello loves😘
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Anyway thanks for reading.
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