Page 81 of Played
Good ol’ Graham.
“Yeah, that’s not how people are seeing it.” I made the mistake of going on social media, and all the keyboard warriors are out in full force. I’ve been accused of everything from arranging the filming and releasing of it myself to being a ho to clout chasing. It seems only a handful of people get that I’m a victim of whoever did this foul shit. Everyone else seems too busy delighting in watching me get fucked against a wall and then fucking me over on all the social platforms. Sighing, I press my forehead against the back of Demarcus’s seat. “Logically, I get that, Noni. But Ifeeldirty. Ifeelresponsible. Ifeelso goddamn violated. And now I have to walk into this building knowing everyone has seen that shit. Seen my fucking ... sex face.”
Including my father and brother. Jared.
Jesus, I’ve never been this humiliated.
“Babe, if anyone’s going to have your back, it’s your people at the fire station. Other than your house, you should be the safest there. No one is going to let people fuck with you.”
I haven’t told Noni about the situation with Matt. I don’t know why; she would 100 percent be on my side. But like this thing with the video, I’m embarrassed, feel guilty. Like somehow it’s my fault. Which, yeah, it’s ridiculous. I did nothing to court Matt’s attention, just like I didn’t ask someone to sneak into a club bathroom and film me getting fucked.
But there’s no rationalizing feelings. It is what it is.
“Noni, I’ve never felt so damn alone in my life. How do I feel like everyone’s eyes are on me and invisible at the same time?”
“Solomon hasn’t called or answered the phone yet?”
“No.”
Admitting that is like acid poured across an open wound. Two days ago, a knock on my front door had woken me up. At the same time the house phone I never used started ringing. Getting the door first and seeing Graham standing on the other side clued me in to who was calling. It was like déjà vu. Suddenly, I was taken back to when that pictureof Solomon and me kissing had made the rounds. Only this time, it’s worse. Much, much worse.
At least then, Solomon called me because he’d been out of town. He doesn’t have that excuse here. The Pirates’ next two games are here in Providence. But he hasn’t reached out, hasn’t answered his phone when I called, hasn’t replied to texts.
Just sent Graham. If the bodyguard hadn’t shown up at my door, I wouldn’t even have known Solomon knew about the video.
It hurts.
It hurts like hell not hearing from him. Not seeing him.
It reminds me that I’m expendable. Replaceable.
Forgettable.
“Dina, he probably has a lot on his plate, too, with—nope. You know what? Fuck that. I made excuses for him the first day, but yesterday? Today? Nope. So what, he got the video taken down? That’s what the fuck he’s supposed to do, since you don’t have that kind of pull. But I don’t care. I don’t care. There ain’t that much muthafucking busy in the world where he can’t drop a fucking text, send a message by fucking pony express. He used to be my boy, but now he can kick rocks with open-toed shoes.”
Despite the weight pressing down on my shoulders and chest, I snicker.
“Pony express, Noni?”
“I said what I said.”
God, I love her.
“This is what I want you to do. Get out that car, lift your damn head up, and walk into that fire station like the bad bitch you are. You have nothing to be ashamed about. The person who did this owns all of that, not you. So go to work, and fuck anyone who got something slick to say. Tell them—nah, fuck that. Call me and I’ll tell ’em.”
I laugh, and it’s the first time in days. Sighing, I nod, though she can’t see me.
“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Inhaling, I hold the breath, then slowly blow it out. “Let me go clock in and get to work.”
“That’s what I’m talking ’bout. And remember. Bad bitch.”
“Got it.”
Shaking my head, I end the call.
“Ready, Ms. Wright?” Graham twists halfway around in the front passenger-side seat to look at me.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
