cold-sweats. Nothing but air in my head being pushed out of my empty body.
Azmir barely looked at me. I knew this because with panic in my eyes from feeling that death was upon me, I cried through them for help. I was quickly losing the ability to breath. To live. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t be losing Azmir. He was my ray of sunshine. An endless source of strength. Loving arms to hold me up and push me into my journey of learning who I am, how to love myself. He was my next breath.
“Don’t worry. You can keep Azna. He seems very attached to you. I could never make such a drastic change for him. I think you’d agree,” Azmir paused for an answer. An answer that would never come because I didn’t possess the ability to breathe in order to speak.
Azna didn’t deserve drastic change, but I did? Why did he deserve asylum that I didn’t?
“Brett is having your things transported from the marina to Redondo Beach as we speak. Goodbye, Rayna.”
I watched his glorious lengthy frame walk out of my office with just as much ease and brisk as he walked into my life. The door shut. White clouds engulfed me. I was out. Consciousness concluded, commencing my death.
What woke me from my sleep was Chef Boyd, making his regularly scheduled appearance to prepare breakfast for me. If Azmir and/or I are not out there to place our order by six a.m. sharp, he’d paged us in the bedroom from the kitchen.
“Oh, Ms. Briiiiiiimm!” Boyd’s familiar voice broke my daze. “What would you like for breakfast this morning, sleeping beauty?”
I looked around the room, trying to make sense of my surroundings. A rush of relief washed over me at being home in Azmir’s bed. Oh my god! It was just a dream—a nightmare. It wasn’t real! I’d never felt consolation as I experienced it there, nestled in the sheets of A. D. Jacobs.
It was a good thing that I didn’t have a scheduled session with Tyler, who was away with Azmir this week. Azmir being his most valued client allowed for Tyler’s priority when scheduling. If Azmir needed Tyler, he’d wipe out all of his appointments and follow his boss for whatever specified amount of time. Lucky for me, my grueling extended dance practice sessions substituted my workouts this week and I decided to workout at the rec alone. I drug my enervated body out of bed to prepare for my day.
On my ride to work, I thought over the various messages I read a few hours earlier, no longer able to keep putting off my reality no matter how much I wanted to distance myself from that horrid nightmare. My summation of it was that Dawn had been after Azmir via text since Vegas. I wondered how far back her face-to-face advances took her. He kept his communications with her brief, which confused me. Why kiss her if you’re not trying to at least communicate with her? The remainder of their correspondences were business related.
There were a couple of texts from Shayna, but they were all about some event that was in the works for possibly next month. I didn’t quite get the crux of their conversation, but it wasn’t personal like most of those from Dawn.
I saw dozens of texts from Tara and could quickly conclude that she was vying for his heart again. So many of her texts had soft touches like, “ Good morning, Azmir ” or “ I just came across The Best Man on BET and it made me think of Sandra and Paul’s wedding that we attended and the drama behind it all. Lol. I hope you had a great day .”
None of those he responded to, but there was a heated texting battle, a few weeks back, about him not attending Azina’s christening. Apparently, Azmir didn’t have an interest in going and that pissed Tara off—majorly. She cursed him out seven shades of Sunday, all for him to fire back with silence. I eventually grew bored with Tara’s thread and actually pitied her.
Lady Spin had sent a few texts as well. She’d asked to see him on several occasions, most of which he declined. Then I
Azmir barely looked at me. I knew this because with panic in my eyes from feeling that death was upon me, I cried through them for help. I was quickly losing the ability to breath. To live. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t be losing Azmir. He was my ray of sunshine. An endless source of strength. Loving arms to hold me up and push me into my journey of learning who I am, how to love myself. He was my next breath.
“Don’t worry. You can keep Azna. He seems very attached to you. I could never make such a drastic change for him. I think you’d agree,” Azmir paused for an answer. An answer that would never come because I didn’t possess the ability to breathe in order to speak.
Azna didn’t deserve drastic change, but I did? Why did he deserve asylum that I didn’t?
“Brett is having your things transported from the marina to Redondo Beach as we speak. Goodbye, Rayna.”
I watched his glorious lengthy frame walk out of my office with just as much ease and brisk as he walked into my life. The door shut. White clouds engulfed me. I was out. Consciousness concluded, commencing my death.
What woke me from my sleep was Chef Boyd, making his regularly scheduled appearance to prepare breakfast for me. If Azmir and/or I are not out there to place our order by six a.m. sharp, he’d paged us in the bedroom from the kitchen.
“Oh, Ms. Briiiiiiimm!” Boyd’s familiar voice broke my daze. “What would you like for breakfast this morning, sleeping beauty?”
I looked around the room, trying to make sense of my surroundings. A rush of relief washed over me at being home in Azmir’s bed. Oh my god! It was just a dream—a nightmare. It wasn’t real! I’d never felt consolation as I experienced it there, nestled in the sheets of A. D. Jacobs.
It was a good thing that I didn’t have a scheduled session with Tyler, who was away with Azmir this week. Azmir being his most valued client allowed for Tyler’s priority when scheduling. If Azmir needed Tyler, he’d wipe out all of his appointments and follow his boss for whatever specified amount of time. Lucky for me, my grueling extended dance practice sessions substituted my workouts this week and I decided to workout at the rec alone. I drug my enervated body out of bed to prepare for my day.
On my ride to work, I thought over the various messages I read a few hours earlier, no longer able to keep putting off my reality no matter how much I wanted to distance myself from that horrid nightmare. My summation of it was that Dawn had been after Azmir via text since Vegas. I wondered how far back her face-to-face advances took her. He kept his communications with her brief, which confused me. Why kiss her if you’re not trying to at least communicate with her? The remainder of their correspondences were business related.
There were a couple of texts from Shayna, but they were all about some event that was in the works for possibly next month. I didn’t quite get the crux of their conversation, but it wasn’t personal like most of those from Dawn.
I saw dozens of texts from Tara and could quickly conclude that she was vying for his heart again. So many of her texts had soft touches like, “ Good morning, Azmir ” or “ I just came across The Best Man on BET and it made me think of Sandra and Paul’s wedding that we attended and the drama behind it all. Lol. I hope you had a great day .”
None of those he responded to, but there was a heated texting battle, a few weeks back, about him not attending Azina’s christening. Apparently, Azmir didn’t have an interest in going and that pissed Tara off—majorly. She cursed him out seven shades of Sunday, all for him to fire back with silence. I eventually grew bored with Tara’s thread and actually pitied her.
Lady Spin had sent a few texts as well. She’d asked to see him on several occasions, most of which he declined. Then I
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