Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 30

For the last three months, Cleo had spent her time rubbing the silver crucifix around her neck until the pad of her index finger was raw. Since she didn't know how to pray, it was as close as she could get to begging something greater than herself for divine intervention. A lot of good it did, because each day still passed without the benefit of C's.

He was just gone. If Angela and Ant didn't still come around to take her to doctor and dentist appointments, or school clothes shopping, then she'd be pressed to believe that the summer had been nothing more than the product of her over active imagination. Especially when he hadn't returned one page or one phone call from her since the split. He'd gone radio silent, and declined to acknowledge her reaching out to him.

Even in the beginning when she'd taken cabs to the Circle, there was always someone waiting to stuff her in a car and drop her ass off right back in the Ninth. She did that countless times until the taxi dispatcher flat out refused to send anymore cabs to her under express order of the residents of Diego Circle. That residents mess however, didn't fool her at all. She knew C's had probably either threatened or paid off the dispatchers, for three different cab companies, just to prevent them from sending any more taxi cabs. After that she gave him flexing distance and suffered alone.

She didn't even have her pride. Truth be sold, pride divorced her the moment she showed the hell out and begged C's not to leave. He'd taken everything, leaving her with less than what she started.

"This how you're gonna spend another day, huh?" Liberty asked as she slipped her feet into a pair of six inch fire engine red hooker heels. "In front of the damn TV looking like who did it and what the hell for. You've put too much time and tears into his switch out ass. Think he thinkin' about you right now? Hell no! Ain't no tellin' how many chicas there has been since you."

"Please, Liberty," Cleo said. Her voice even sounded pitiful to her own ears.

Liberty rolled her eyes and stood. "Girl you sound a mess. A broken heart ain't ever killed a strong black woman. You better get your shit together or you gonna be around here makin' stupid decisions based on what the hell you think he's gonna do. And I'ma tell you like my mama told me. The only way one monkey can fuck up a show, is if you let it. So how about you not let it." Snatching her purse from the fruit crate that substituted as a coffee table, Liberty twisted to the front door. "I'ma run off for a minute. If you need anything, there's money in my night stand."

Cleo watched the door slam close after her mom. What the hell did Liberty mean by the broken heart dig? In order for something to be broken you'd have to have that something in the first place. C's had snatched her heart from her chest three months ago and told her to get it how she lived. So the last thing she had to worry about in that joint was a—bullshit blood pumping, love oozing—heart!

Knuckles slammed against the metal of the screen door. A sigh seeped from her lips as she rose and shuffled over to the door. Opening it, she spun around and headed back over to the couch without verifying who'd knocked. She didn't have to, it was the same person who been there for her since her world was first blown apart. Tech. He'd been the one who'd pulled her from the front gate of the projects, when C's had left her to choke on the smoke from his exhaust pipes. It was him who allowed her to cry for umpteen hours straight and stayed with her until Liberty came home and ran him off.

"What smells so good in here?" He asked, following her over to the sofa and flopping down next to her.

"Made tuna helper," she said swinging her gaze away from the TV to give him a sideways glance. "You hungry?"

He scanned a critical gaze over her body. "I'll eat if you will too, Lil' mama. Gotta get yer weight up, 'fore der's nuttin' left but skin and bones ta ya."