Page 59 of Certified Pressure 3
“Okay,” I replied, barely getting the word out.
He turned and walked down the porch, his tall frame moving slow, and when he reached the car, he glanced back once before getting in. I stood there until the car disappeared down the street.
When I finally turned the knob and stepped inside, the smell of food hit me from the kitchen. My aunt was humming to herself while she cooked, and Zurie was curled up on the couch with her iPad, watching some cartoon. She looked up when she saw me and smiled that big innocent smile that always melted me.
“Hey, sissy,” she said softly.
“Hey, sissy,” I whispered back, trying to sound normal.
I kissed her forehead before heading to my room. Once I sat down on the edge of the bed, everything I’d been holding in came rushing back. I put my hands over my face, and tried to breathe through it. The quiet room made it worse.
All I could think about was Pressure and the way his lips felt and the way he smelled. I hated that I still wanted him like this, and I hated that he still had the power to break me without even trying.
I laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The whole room felt too small for everything running through me.
I turned on my side and looked at the small ultrasound photo that slid out of my purse. My throat got tight as I stared at it. I traced my finger over the edges, whispering to myself, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
That was the truth. I loved Pressure.
Trill-Land, Jungle Estate
Since Pressure had been away, getting him on the phone felt impossible and that shit had me feeling some type of way. I had been staring at my phone for what felt like hours, refreshing the messages, checking my call log, scrolling through the thread just to see if I missed something, but it was always the same. My name wasn’t lighting up on his screen and he damn sure wasn’t lighting up mine.
The water in the tub was still hot, steam rising high enough to blur the mirror across from me. I slid deeper into it, letting it cover my chest and shoulders, but even that couldn’t wash away how irritated I was. Soft R&B played low from the speaker by thesink, and that usually relaxed me, but right now every note just made me think harder. I had my glass of wine sitting on the edge of the tub, half-empty, and the more I thought about Pressure, the more I wanted to finish it.
I picked up my phone again, my thumb hovering over his name. I had already sent him a few texts, some calm, some not.Where you at? You said you would call me back. You with her?I hated even typing it, but the thought had been eating at me since he left. I didn’t have proof, but I knew Pluto still had some kind of hold on him.
I scrolled up through old messages, looking at the ones where he used to call me baby every other line. That tone was gone now, replaced by short replies and one-word answers that didn’t match how he used to talk to me. My mind started running through every scenario possible and I could feel my gut tightening the more I thought about it.
I put the phone down and took a long sip of my wine, letting it burn down slow. I wanted to be calm, but my head was loud. The same thoughts kept repeating. If he wasn’t answering me, then what the fuck was he doing? Who was he with? And why couldn’t he just be honest?
I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, trying to talk myself down, but the images of him and Pluto together kept flashing behind my eyelids. I pictured her smiling, him touching her the way he used to touch me and that soft look he always got when he was trying to be gentle. My stomach turned. I sank lower in the tub until the water covered my neck and ears, but that didn’t stop it either. I could still hear my own thoughts echoing loud in my head.
When I finally sat up again, the song had switched to something slower, and I could feel the weight of every lyric pressing on my chest. My eyes burned, but I wasn’t about to cry.I was mad, and underneath that anger was hurt so deep it almost scared me.
I thought about his damn mama too. It was the way she sat there with that perfect little smile and told me right to my face that another woman would come before me. It was her telling me she only wanted what was best for her son. That shit replayed in my head word for word. I had nodded like I was okay, but deep down, I was boiling. It was the way she said it, like I wasn’t enough, and like she had already made up her mind about me.
Pressure didn’t say nothing about the shit she pulled at the dinner table days ago. He just sat there, looking stupid as fuck, like he didn’t want to cross her. I wanted him to check her, to defend me and tell her that I wasn’t some random chick he was playing with. But he didn’t, and that shit hurt just as much as her words did.
I leaned forward and picked up the wine glass again, finishing what was left in one swallow. The heat from the water and the alcohol mixed together, and I could feel it spreading through me. It wasn’t comfort though, instead, rage with nowhere to go.
I looked down at the bubbles breaking around my skin, then at the small ripples moving across the water, and I thought about the nights I stayed home waiting for Pressure to call, and the way I let myself love him even when he made it hard to. I hated that I still loved him through all this and I hated that I still wanted to believe he was in love with me.
Just as I reached for the bottle to pour another glass, I heard the room door open. The sound was faint, but it was enough to pull me out of my head. I froze for a second, listening. Then I heard heavy I knew that sound anywhere.
It was Pressure…
I stayed in the tub a little longer, pretending I didn’t notice. I wasn’t about to jump up like I’d been waiting by the door. Igrabbed the loofah and dragged it across my arms slow, washing off what little patience I had left. The smell of his cologne drifted through the crack under the bathroom door, that rich, warm scent that always made my chest ache.
After a few minutes, I finally pulled the plug on the drain and stood up. Water slid down my legs, glistening in the low light. I grabbed my towel from the rack and wrapped it around myself, then wiped a clear spot on the fogged-up mirror. My reflection stared back at me. My eyes were a little red, my lips pouty and my hair stuck to the side of my face, but I still looked like me. I still looked like Kashmere Charm.
I opened the door and stepped out into the bedroom. Pressure was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t even notice me. His duffel bag sat on the floor by his feet, still zipped up.
From where I was standing, I could see the side of his face, his beard glistening and the tattoos peeking out from under his shirt. He looked calm, like a man who didn’t have a single thing on his conscience. That only made me madder.
“How was your trip?” I asked, my voice coming out smooth but cold.
He looked up, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since he walked in. “It was straight,” he said simply.
