charcoal gray couch with an array of throw pillows sat in front of the bed and a wooden coffee table finished off the room.
Trina usually kept everything neat and clean, but today things were dramatically different. It looked as if a tornado had blown through. All the pillows were slit open, feathers covered the floor and the lamps were broken. Old photos of he and Trina were cut into a million pieces, the sheets were ripped and the mattress had been turned over. The clothes and shoes Koran still kept there had been thrown all over the place.
Rushing into the bathroom, he saw the words, Fuck You! Sincerely, Trina, written on the mirror in red lipstick. All of Koran’s male toiletries, including his Anthony Logistics shaving cream, lotion and shower gel had been squirted into the sink. Koran didn’t want to believe his eyes. The only thing still in one piece was Trina, who was fully dressed and sitting with her legs crossed on the couch. A freshly lit cigarette rested between her index and middle fingers as she exhaled smoke rings from her mouth.
Trina was determined to remind him that she was that bitch. If they were going to go heads up she was going to do it in style. Trina was the shit in a black and white rayon poncho, black camisole and black booty shorts. In her ears, she rocked her favorite pair of Chanel logo earrings and on her feet she sported a pair of black Giuseppe heels. Trina’s shoulder-length hair was flat ironed bone-straight with a part in the middle.
Homegirl didn’t know where to start first. A part of her wanted to be rational, but in a situation like the one she and Koran were in being rational wasn’t an option. She wanted to slap the shit out of him. She wanted to cuss and scream. She wanted to spit in his face. Trina could feel her nails scraping his skin. Yes, she’d fucked up, but that didn’t mean he was going to disrespect her and get away with it.
More then anything, Trina’s ego was bruised. She honestly didn’t think Koran had it in him to move on. He had her fucked up if he thought she was gonna let him go that easily. She’d been in the picture way too long for it to be over. And, no, Trina didn’t necessarily want Koran and Koran only. Frankly, she could do without him if she absolutely had to. What she couldn’t do without was the house, the money and the cars. She loved the street fame that came along with being his girl. There was no way in hell she was giving up the chinchilla furs and VVS stones.
“So this how we doing it now? You ignore my phone calls?” she questioned calmly, never taking her eyes off the television screen.
Placing his keys into his pocket, Koran shook his head. He was beside himself with rage. Koran didn’t know how much more he could take. Trina was pushing him closer and closer to his breaking point. With his head down low, he walked over to the couch and stood before her.
“Trina, what the fuck is yo’ problem?”
“Who is she? Just tell me her name.”
“I’m not tellin’ you shit.”
“Then why won’t you answer none of my calls?”
“I don’t have to answer your calls when you call me. What is it that you don’t understand? We not together no more and frankly I can’t keep on doing this shit wit you. This shit is tiring, man.”
Trina sat speechless. She felt empty inside. All the words she’d rehearsed overnight escaped her memory now that she and Koran were face-to-face. It didn’t matter anyway. Nothing she said or did was gonna convince him that with her was where he needed to be. Trina wanted to scream so loudly the heavens could hear. The idea of being alone was too much for her to bear.
Koran had to see the tears filling the brim of her eyes. Didn’t he feel her pain and despair? How was she supposed to sleep at night when he wasn’t lying by her side? Every time the phone rang she prayed it was him. Koran was supposed to love her forever, so why wasn’t
Trina usually kept everything neat and clean, but today things were dramatically different. It looked as if a tornado had blown through. All the pillows were slit open, feathers covered the floor and the lamps were broken. Old photos of he and Trina were cut into a million pieces, the sheets were ripped and the mattress had been turned over. The clothes and shoes Koran still kept there had been thrown all over the place.
Rushing into the bathroom, he saw the words, Fuck You! Sincerely, Trina, written on the mirror in red lipstick. All of Koran’s male toiletries, including his Anthony Logistics shaving cream, lotion and shower gel had been squirted into the sink. Koran didn’t want to believe his eyes. The only thing still in one piece was Trina, who was fully dressed and sitting with her legs crossed on the couch. A freshly lit cigarette rested between her index and middle fingers as she exhaled smoke rings from her mouth.
Trina was determined to remind him that she was that bitch. If they were going to go heads up she was going to do it in style. Trina was the shit in a black and white rayon poncho, black camisole and black booty shorts. In her ears, she rocked her favorite pair of Chanel logo earrings and on her feet she sported a pair of black Giuseppe heels. Trina’s shoulder-length hair was flat ironed bone-straight with a part in the middle.
Homegirl didn’t know where to start first. A part of her wanted to be rational, but in a situation like the one she and Koran were in being rational wasn’t an option. She wanted to slap the shit out of him. She wanted to cuss and scream. She wanted to spit in his face. Trina could feel her nails scraping his skin. Yes, she’d fucked up, but that didn’t mean he was going to disrespect her and get away with it.
More then anything, Trina’s ego was bruised. She honestly didn’t think Koran had it in him to move on. He had her fucked up if he thought she was gonna let him go that easily. She’d been in the picture way too long for it to be over. And, no, Trina didn’t necessarily want Koran and Koran only. Frankly, she could do without him if she absolutely had to. What she couldn’t do without was the house, the money and the cars. She loved the street fame that came along with being his girl. There was no way in hell she was giving up the chinchilla furs and VVS stones.
“So this how we doing it now? You ignore my phone calls?” she questioned calmly, never taking her eyes off the television screen.
Placing his keys into his pocket, Koran shook his head. He was beside himself with rage. Koran didn’t know how much more he could take. Trina was pushing him closer and closer to his breaking point. With his head down low, he walked over to the couch and stood before her.
“Trina, what the fuck is yo’ problem?”
“Who is she? Just tell me her name.”
“I’m not tellin’ you shit.”
“Then why won’t you answer none of my calls?”
“I don’t have to answer your calls when you call me. What is it that you don’t understand? We not together no more and frankly I can’t keep on doing this shit wit you. This shit is tiring, man.”
Trina sat speechless. She felt empty inside. All the words she’d rehearsed overnight escaped her memory now that she and Koran were face-to-face. It didn’t matter anyway. Nothing she said or did was gonna convince him that with her was where he needed to be. Trina wanted to scream so loudly the heavens could hear. The idea of being alone was too much for her to bear.
Koran had to see the tears filling the brim of her eyes. Didn’t he feel her pain and despair? How was she supposed to sleep at night when he wasn’t lying by her side? Every time the phone rang she prayed it was him. Koran was supposed to love her forever, so why wasn’t
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