Chapter Nine
Anger is an acid
that can do more harm
to the vessel in which it
is stored than anything
on which it is poured.
Baptist Beacon
present
Time has been slipping past me for a while now. A few weeks ago, I was taking midterms. Now, I’ve just taken my last final and am a week away from graduating. A week away from participating in my commencement ceremony.
A week away from being kicked out of Vaserley Hall.
I need to find a new place to live and quickly. My best bet? John’s brownstone. I’ve been staying there almost every night anyways. He texts me almost every day, and I’m being honest when I say I’m making progress.
I catch him staring at me when he thinks I’m not looking. There’s always a distinct look of longing in his gaze, and it’s not just my hope or vanity talking. It’s there, and it’s strong. Our future together is beginning to feel more and more inevitable, and that only rekindles my hope for me and Mina.
Another month or so, and I’ll have a ring on my finger.
I can feel it.
I thank the Uber driver and exit the car, bounding slowly up the stairwell to John’s home. I open the door with my spare key, and once I’m in the entry hallway, I lean against the interior of the front door and take a few minutes to breathe, my heart pounding so loudly I can hear it in my ear.
Even though I’m confident about where we are in our relationship, asking to move in this early is a big step.
It’s risky, but I don’t have much of a choice.
Nella and Lauren, my only two friends from college (and ever), are leaving New York City. Nella is moving back to Arizona, and Lauren is moving back to Canada. Obviously, I can’t go with them.
Wherever Mina is, I am.
And that happens to be in one of the most expensive cities in the world.
Go figure.
I straighten my shoulders, fix my hair, and walk up the dark hardwood steps to John’s brownstone, adding a sultry sway to my hips as soon as I reach the top of the stairwell. I’m dressed for this mission in heels and skinny jeans, which I know will drive John crazy.
You’ve got this. This is going to happen. You’re going to walk in there, and you’re going to suggest you move in. He’ll say yes, and the next step after that is marriage. Easy. You’ve got this, Minka. For Mina.
But even with the mental pep talk, I can’t help but second guess myself. I’ve never asked anyone if I could move in before. It’s not often that I’m out of my element, but I certainly am here. I’m not even sure if enough time has passed in our relationship. It’s only been about two months, which is a long time to me. But John is so much older than I am, and two months might be nothing to him. Merely a blip in his radar. So much is riding on this, and I’m starting to feel insecure, uncertain if this will work.
And as I silently open the door to John’s bedroom and see a redheaded woman bouncing quietly on John’s cock, I know for certain this won’t work.
My eyes widen as I take in the sight before me.
Middle aged.
Green eyes.
Freckled face.
Dark red hair.
Full lips.
And a generous chest.
This girl is me.
An older version of me, but me nevertheless.
Except she isn’t, because John doesn’t have sex with me without a condom on. He doesn’t close his eyes and clench his fists when he’s inside of me. He doesn’t reverently whisper the word “baby” over and over again in my ear.
This version of John before me is foreign. He’s worshipping this woman. He’s savoring the feel and taste of her, entering her slowly and clutching her body against his like any inch of space between their bodies is an inch too many. And I swear, that look on his face—one that is so unfamiliar to me—might just be love.
I recognize this for what it is immediately.
I’m the replacement.
I’m the woman John calls when he can’t have this woman. Whatever history these two have, I’m nothing in comparison. She’s the woman he wants when he’s with me. She’s the reason why he likes me, and she’s the reason why he doesn’t.
And I know, without a doubt, that I’ll never get a ring on my left finger.
Not when that ring belongs on her.
My first thought is Mina.
Oh, God, Mina.
I’m homeless after this week. I have nowhere to live. A million questions fly through my head. What will this mean for Mina? What will this mean for us? How will I get my baby sister back if I can’t find neither a job nor a place to live?
I feel like I’ve failed my sister, and all the stupid hope I’ve gathered from my last visit with her extinguishes under the suffocating weight of my incompetence.
But my second thought is good for John.
Because as much as I hate him for this, I can’t hate him for feeling something for someone else.
I can hate him for destroying my chances of earning custody of Mina. I can hate him for leading me on. I can hate him for screwing another woman behind my back.
Or was I behind her back?
I don’t know.
But either way, I can’t hate him for loving her.
The wistful looks he would send my way while we were together, I mistook for infatuation. Now, I know better. They weren’t for me. He wanted her, and he settled for me. That’s where those looks came from.
I was stupid and arrogant and naïve, thinking that I could waltz into his life and it would be so simple. He’s lived far longer than I have, and that affords him more credit than I’ve ever given him.
And the only thing left to do now is move on.
I’ve been in the room for less than sixty seconds, and they’ve been too wrapped up in one another to notice me. So, I slowly back out of the door, focusing my efforts on remaining quiet. On keeping my steps light and my heartbreak silent.
Because if I think of anything else, if I focus on the direness of my situation, the frustration that I’ve struggled to hold at bay for the last four years will overwhelm me.
However, as I slip past the kitchen and notice that woman’s phone on the counter, wrapped in a bright neon green case, the same ridiculous shade of neon green Mina insists is her favorite color, I can’t stop the frustration that engulfs me.
But as soon as it comes, it’s gone.
Because it’s hard to feel anger right now when all my body can process is sadness.