Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“What are you talking about?”
Jamie glanced at my hands. Fingers balled. Nails dug in too tight. I’d drawn blood on occasion after having a new mani. What a restless habit.
“Stop hurting yourself. Stop hurting the man who—”
“The man who what?”
“Wants to see the best of you.”
“Sure. This is the best of me.” I slapped my lovely cakes and strutted out of the kitchen.
“Come back,” Jamie called after me, rooted in the same spot. “Mark my words, we’ll take the long way or the shorter way around it. I’m going to remind you of the right way to visualize yourself. As the amazing, resilient, strong, Black woman you are.”
A scoff burst from my lips. Resilient? What was he talking about? Showing resilience didn’t mean being insensitive or heartless toward your rescuer. A part of me wished to embrace our younger selves. Then what?
Start over. I wanted a new beginning before Jamie evicted me because of my attitude, and I ended up like the woman I had shared In-N-Out burgers with earlier.
But forgiveness? That ship had sailed with all the hands that groped, choked, slapped, and owned me. I was halfway to the staircase when Jamie added, “And stop digging your palms into your hands before I make you stop.”
“That a threat?” I shot over my shoulder.
“If you hurt yourself, yes!”
Luckily, Rebel rushed up to my side, so I didn’t have to fish for a comeback. Her head tilted. “Who is your allegiance to, girl? I can’t associate with any more females like Monique or the others. So, choose.” When Rebel glanced toward Jamie, I shooed her away. She followed me upstairs, toenails clicking on the marble.
“Jordyn!” Jamie shouted my name from the bottom step.
I turned around, leaning a hip against the railing, arms folded. “Look, I spent $539—on essentials. Clothes, underwear, lotions. Your shoes are in the bag. I just thought you’d have good shampoo …” My voice trailed off. His hair regimen didn’t matter. “The receipts are inside of the briefcase. On the back, you’ll see my signature with IOUs.”
“I don’t want an IOU! Jordyn, ever since I met you, ever since I made the promise that my clan would save you—”
“If you came a day after, five years ago, heck, a year ago, I might forgive you. But I can’t, Jamie. So, kick me out on the street. Whatever. I refuse to make you my white savior.”
“I’m not that either, Jordyn. I’m—”
“Who are you?” Who am I?
“I’m your friend, JorJor. Your friend.”
“First of all, don’t call me that. My name is Jordyn. Jordy for those who know me.” Only I made the list. “Stop this JorJor cutesy mess.” It stripped me of my identity. From sexy to sweet little sister. Was sexy my identity, though? I shook the thought from my head, bare feet pounding my way up the steps, and told myself that I wouldn’t be Jamie’s little project.
And that was how I went to sleep one whole day into freedom.
10
SANTA BARBARA
Jordyn
August
Days Free: 44
Though the salty late August breeze attempted to wrap around me and soothe my pride, my argument with Jamie from six weeks ago still bothered me. How long would the space between us bleed with unspoken words and stolen glances? As I ran parallel to the dark ocean, with the soft light of dawn more than an hour away, I couldn’t focus on the rhythmic crash of waves, or the promise of a new day. Another glance over my shoulder said Jamie was there.
Still keeping pace and maintaining a distance. Usually about twenty feet. Today, with the fog, he was nearly on top of me. After we jogged in the morning, he thanked me for the dinners I’d left in the microwave and thanked me for the breakfasts I’d left on the table whenever I exited the primary suite to make said dinners. It was this thing we do. A dance where there’s no touching or discussion. Nothing I was used to.
Dang, I still wondered if I was Jamie’s project? A fantasy or a damaged toy needing repair? For so long, desire was my identity. Become what others craved. What others took. Even though a part of my brain knew that I had issues—I was a hot mess—another part wanted to focus on getting to know him.
Eyes adjusted to the darkness, the sky still bruised purple and orange from the first light of day, I saw the divot in the cliff that overlooked the ocean. Only half a mile more, and I’d be home.
Home? Girl, please, you don’t even know how to make a house a home, even with a gorgeous Scot who wants to—
What if he’s like Katlego?
I pushed myself harder. With my toes barely touching down, my Nikes produced rapid, choppy indentations in the sand. My heartbeat like a war drum, and all the lies I ever told myself—