"Rae, you fucking with me?" Janelle shifts on the couch, disbelief all over her face, but she tries to laugh it off.
"Why would I?" I retort, pulling out my phone. "Look." I hand it to her, showing her the message.
I arrived here five minutes ago and, luckily, found Janelle watching a movie in the sitting room. Her penthouse is somewhere I'm already used to—marble floor, floor-to-ceiling windows, a spiral staircase, cream-colored sofas arranged around a central wooden coffee table where I'm currently perched. The high ceilings make the space feel even larger, but what I can never wrap my head around is why the interior designs are always changed every few weeks. I can barely remember the previous setup, but I'm sure it wasn't this. Well, I guess being the child of the owner of one of the world's biggest fintech companies is a flex.
Shock creeps onto Janelle's face. "No way." She stares at the text, then back at me, her expression shifting between disbelief and amusement. "No way," she repeats, her eyes locking onto mine as she bursts into laughter. I always knew she was a bit empty upstairs, but not to this extent.
"Your laugh is hideous." I snatch my phone from her grasp, and she falls onto the ground, struggling to catch her breath. I'm starting to think I made a big mistake telling her. She's unstable!
She throws herself back onto the couch. "Girl, you got your very own stalker."
Stalker? My very own stalker? Who would want to stalk me? I have nothing interesting going on in my life. I literally still watch SpongeBob SquarePants and someone thinks stalking me would be worth it. How funny.
"Maybe there's a reasonable explanation for it." Even though that could be a valid explanation for the text, I don't want to believe there's a jobless loser out there stalking me.
Janelle gave me the you kidding me look and I can see the laugh tickling her throat. "Maybe it's Byron." She shrugs.
I arch an eyebrow. "Really? Byron? How would he know about my running faucet?" Byron is one of the most nonchalant people I know; an earthquake might be happening in front of him and he would walk right into it. And why would he text me anonymously?
"Rae, That guy knows how many beauty spots you've got down there."
I nearly choke on air. I don't know whether I should yell at her or just act like I didn't hear that.
Janelle squints her eyes, studying me like I'm some kind of twitching piece of cooked beef. "You ain't mad?" She sounds disappointed. "Damn. I was tryna get some reaction outta you but I guess you matured now."
I almost forgot Janelle is related to Byron. If I can tolerate both of them, just hand me the fucking medal. "For some reason, I thought you've grown some brain cells, but guess not."
Janelle's jaw drops, and she throws a pillow at me. "Fuck you. Get outta my house." Another pillow comes flying in my direction. "You don't deserve a stalker—you deserve a serial killer." Her braids scatter around her face as she speaks. Being rich is one thing; having a lethal face card is another. Yet here she is, blessed with both but God missed her brain by a mile.
"You're glad I'm a good friend," she says, adjusting her braids. "Let me see that text again." Before I can respond, she snatches the phone from my hand, almost making it drop.
"I don't want you laughing like a hyena." I fold my arms, giving her the side-eye as she scrolls.
"You coulda just stayed home," she mutters, eyes glued to the screen.
"I'm Black," I state the obvious. I've always boasted about surviving any horror flick, and now God decides to feature me in one. I knew my mouth would get me into trouble one day, but I didn't think it would be this quick. "Janelle, don't text him—or her—whatever. Give me my phone" I try to grab my phone, but she stretches her arm just out of my reach.
"Just hold up a sec."
"It's a bad idea to talk to your stalker." The last word tastes weird coming out of my mouth, and a chill creeps up my spine. I reach out and yank her braids, making her yelp.
"Rayna Tayson, don't you ever pull my hair again!" She shoves my phone at me and fixes her braids. "I'll scrape you bald."
I scoot away. "You wouldn't dare." This bitch is mad enough to do that. My eyes are still on the message she sent. Fuck no. "You tryna get me killed?"
ME: You a dude or a pussy?
ME: If you want me just say it.
ME: I have a running faucet but this one ain't in my sink.
The bile in my stomach squeezes my intestines. I've never been this scared in my life, literally. A problem shared is definitely not a problem solved, instead it's a problem made worse. The idiot doesn't even understand the gravity of the problem she's just put me in, because if she did she wouldn't be grinning at me like a cheshire cat. "You don't get it, do you?"
"The dude probably just wants to fuck," she says, raising an eyebrow. "What? You don't want a good fuck?"
Jesus. I don't know if I should worry about the text or her mental health. I should have just told the cops instead. I draw in sharp breaths that pierce my throat. "Someone sent me a text."
"Yeah, duh."
I need to make her understand the severity of the matter. "What did the text say?"
"Where's this going?"
"A random person texts me 'you left the kitchen faucet running' around 10:30 P.M." My eyes lock on hers, searching for some sort of realization.
"So?"
This girl's dumber than I thought. "I live alone, Janelle. There's no way some random person would know what's going on in my apartment. Unless…" I watch her eyes, hoping she catches on.
Her eyes do a three-sixty in its sockets. "Oh shit. You're being watched."
Wow. That was… not expected. Maybe she's not so empty up there. "Took you long enough," I mutter, sinking back into the couch and squeezing my eyes shut.
I'm being watched. My stomach churns.
Janelle leans in close. "Well, you shoulda turn the faucet off."
I open my eyes hoping I didn't just hear that. She didn't say that, I'm just stressed out. "Woulda saved us all this stress."
My eyes narrow at her. "Girl, shut up."
She huffs, rolling her eyes. "You're safe here," she whispers softly. "There's just one problem…"
"Janelle."
Electromagnetic interference may scramble signals, but it can't dampen the resonance of that voice.
Jaylen Alston.
Janelle gives me an apologetic look. "I didn't know he was coming over."
When God wants to punish you, he sends a six-foot-tall Black guy with tightly curled hair and brown eyes into your life. I must have committed some unforgivable sin to deserve this kind of punishment. I'd rather spend three hundred sixty-seven days putting up with Janelle than endure a single second with her twin brother.
"Who do we have here?" Jaylen descends the stairs with an infuriating smirk plastered across his face, heading straight for us—specifically, me.
My eyes darken as anger clouds my vision, and I fix my glare on him. He stops just a few feet away. "Rayna, I didn't expect to see you here," he says, plopping down on the couch beside me.
If looks could kill, Janelle would be at Trinity Church Cemetery paying her last respects to her brother. I force a smile in response, but my face isn't following the script. "Been a while." My teeth ache from how hard I'm gritting them.
Janelle coughs, casting glances between us. "The movie's about to start," she points out, her tone an awkward attempt to diffuse the tension.
Three… Two…
"Three months. It's been three months."
Blood thumps in my veins, and my fists clench beside me. I just know he's going to bring up the incident. Three months ago, I went to a party with Janelle and got excessively drunk—as usual. Unfortunately, he was there too, with his friends. I don't remember much, but the video I saw after was… humiliating. I was begging him to fuck me, his friends capturing everything on camera while I touched myself at his command, moaning his name. Watching that video, I wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there forever. I'd rather have my sex tapes displayed on Times Square's billboards than relive that. If it had been anyone else, maybe I could've brushed it off—but it had to be him. Just how horny was I?
Though he didn't give in, that night will forever be the most humiliating moment of my life. My jaw tightens as I hold his gaze. "Fuck you," I hiss, refusing to look away, daring him to say something, anything.
Jaylen chuckles darkly. "Careful now. You dunno know if I still have it," he warns, eyes glinting.
I scoff, crossing my arms. "You can't fool me, Jaylen. Byron made you delete it, and your scared little ass didn't hesitate." I know that digs under his skin. The moment I found out he caved, I knew I'd use it to push his buttons whenever I could.
The smirk vanishes, and his jaw clenches as the veins in his neck pop. "I'm not scared of Byron," he snaps, his voice low and biting.
"Yes you are. Byron—"
"Alright, enough!" Janelle groans, rolling her eyes. "Can I please finish my movie in peace? And Jay, stop being an ass. If you two wanna fuck, then go fuck. It's no big deal." She flicks a piece of popcorn into her mouth, giving us both an exasperated look.
My nostrils flare, and my lips curl in pure disgust. "Why would I want that pea-sized thing anywhere near me?" I'd rather bathe in acid than let him touch me.
Jaylen raises an eyebrow, a smug grin spreading across his face. "The same 'pea' you were begging for," he retorts smoothly.
Janelle stifles a laugh, quickly covering her mouth when I glare at her. "It's the movie," she mutters, stuffing more popcorn into her mouth and pretending to focus on the TV.
I roll my eyes. "I was drunk," I snap.
"Sure you were," he replies, leaning in with a taunting gleam in his eyes. "Funny how you came harder rocking your own hand, moaning my name, than you'd ever do for Byron. Can't believe you still let that guy fuck you."
The smugness hits me like a punch, leaving me breathless as the blood rushes to my brain.
"Jay, you shouldn't have—" Janelle starts, but the words barely register as I stand up, my body moving on its own.
Without hesitation, I slap him. My hand grips his collar, and I lean in, forcing him to meet my gaze. My vision blurs with anger, my legs feel unsteady, but I keep my grip tight. "My relationship with Byron has nothing to do with you. Whether we have sex or not, whether he turns me on or doesn't, whether I moan his name or I don't—" I bring my face even closer, emphasizing each word. "It has. Nothing. To do with you."
I loosen my grip, smiling slightly at the shock on his face. "The next time you talk about Byron like that," I murmur, straightening the wrinkles on his collar, "I won't be responsible for the consequences." I give his cheek a light pat, then sink back into my seat, snatching the bowl of popcorn from a still-stunned Janelle.
The thumping of my heart fills my ears. Byron's my best friend, and he always will be. Acting on impulse like that may seem reckless, but I won't tolerate anyone dragging him down, especially someone like Jaylen. He can call me whatever he wants, but he'll leave Byron out of it.
The sound of footsteps fills the room, and I turn to the source—Jaylen—storming out of the house. My eyes meet Janelle's. "I'm not sorry for that," I say, shrugging unapologetically.