Page 3 of The Phyre that Burns
I lived in a studio apartment because that was all I could afford as a nursing student on a budget. Phyre’s apartment was much nicer, but further away from campus. He came from a wealthy family and didn’t have to depend on financial aid and scholarships to pay for his education.
“How could you?” I asked, just above a whisper.
“How could I what?” His face showed his confusion.
“You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”
He took a few steps toward me, and I held up my hand, stopping him in his tracks.
“Nae, baby, what are you talking about? I haven’t lied to you about anything.”
“You’re engaged?” I asked.
His body language gave me my answer before he responded.
“What?”
“You’re engaged!” I said louder, and this time it wasn’t a question.
“Baby, let me?—”
“Get out!” I shouted as I hopped out of bed, naked as the day I was born. “Get the fuck out!”
“Ginae, please. Let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. Get out before I call the police.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Are you engaged?”
“Yes, but?—”
I lifted my phone and dialed 9-1-1 before showing him my screen.
"If you come near me, I won’t hesitate to call. Get your shit and leave. I don’t ever want to see or hear from you again. You’ve been stringing me along all this time. I can’t believe I fell for your ass.”
I was livid. My body shook, my hands trembled, tears raced from my eyes, mixing with the snot running from my nose. I wanted to scream and punch Phyre in his mouth, but I refused to give him the satisfaction.
“Ginae, please. Give me five minutes to explain.”
My eyes landed on the bathroom, and I wondered if I could get there without Phyre touching me.
“You’ve had plenty of time to explain. I’ll give you five minutes to get your belongings and leave my presence. If you say one more word to me, I’m calling the police.”
He sighed, but he didn’t say another word. I sat on my bed and covered my naked body with the sheet. It took him longer than five minutes to get his shit, but he didn’t say a word while he did it. I tried to stifle my cries, but it was impossible. When Phyre finally left, my heart broke into a million pieces, and I didn’t believe it could ever be repaired.
13 Years Later
“Hey,best friend. I’m so glad you’re home.” Devyn cooed as she opened the door to let me inside her home.
We hugged, and I felt a tiny set of hands on the lower part of my leg. I looked down to see Devyn’s one-year-old son, Tariq Jr., who we affectionately called Bubba, tugging on my pants. I bent down to pick him up, wrapping him in my arms.
“Hey, nephew. Titi missed you, Bubba. It smells delicious in here.”
Bubba left a sloppy kiss on my cheek before mumbling something I didn’t understand.
“Dinner is in the oven. Girl, I’ve been dying to talk to another adult. Let’s go sit down,” Devyn said, leading me to the sectional in the living room.
