Suicide Watch

Chapter 22

Temi POV

"Temi, we've got to go," Isa says from the other side of my room door that she's been banging on for the past five minutes.

"Yeah, I know," I reply, rolling my eyes even though she can't see me, "just give me a minute."

"You said I should give you a minute ten minutes ago. It's been ten minutes."

I opt on ignoring her. Instead, I concentrate on pulling on a pair of black ripped jeans.

"Temi, are you ready now?"

"Give me a fucking minute, okay?" I snap back at her, scrambling to put on my clothes scattered all over my hotel bed. I hear Isa sigh in frustration from the other end of the door, but she says nothing else for a while.

I quickly get dressed, then look at my reflection in the full-length mirror attached to the closet.

"Temi, Sophie's gonna be here any moment now to take us to lunch." Comes Isa's voice once again, "I can't understand why you waited till the very last minute to get dressed up."

There's a million things I would much rather do than have to sit through and endure a lunch session with a bunch of politicians, pretending to be the perfect daughter for my mom.

"Temi, what the hell are you still doing in there?"

Isa's voice interrupts my thoughts, reminding me of the fact that I actually have to attend the lunch no matter how desperately I would much rather stick needles in my eyes.

"Isa, has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?"

"Okay, that's it. I'm coming in."

A second later, Isa appears in the doorway.

"Temi, what's taking you so long? We-" Isa's voice drains away when she catches sight of me. Her eyes widen slightly as they scan me from head to toe.

I stand there with my jaw jutted out in what I hope looks like a defiant pose.

"Temi, I don't necessarily have 20/20 vision, but from where I'm standing, it doesn't look like you're wearing the yellow dress that Sophie repeatedly reminded you to put on today."

I fold my arms over my chest and clench my jaw, hoping that I appear even more defiant. Isa looks at me, amusement clear on her features.

Instead of the yellow dress my mom had wanted me to wear, I am dressed from head to toe in black: a black oversized shirt, black ripped jeans, black Doc Martens.

I stand there, waiting for Isa to make more comments about my outfit or even force me to change. But to my surprise, she leans against the doorframe, folding her arms over her chest as she looks at me.

"You're quite the rebel, Temilola, aren't you?"

Usually no one but my mom ever calls me by my full name. But hearing Isa say it sends a strange feeling through me. She doesn't say it condescendingly. For some reason, it just sounds so right when she says it.

At that moment, Isa's phone rings in her pocket and she answers it, never moving her eyes from me.

"Sophie just called. We have to go. Now." Isa says, putting her phone back in her pocket before heading for the door of our hotel room.

I silently follow behind her, still slightly surprised by the fact she didn't make a fuss about my outfit. Isa, herself, is dressed head-to-toe in a black suit. I figure that wearing a suit is a typical bodyguard uniform. Yet, I can't wrap my head around the fact that Isa pulls it off so seamlessly.