“I don’t know why the fuck you’re here, but you have two seconds to leave before I beat your ass up and down this block.” I pushed out a deep sigh. Here it went.
Nina used to be a real sweet girl. The quiet, preppy type. She was a nurse and used to get straight A’s in high school. Shorty was a virgin until she was like nineteen. But, four years with Pierre had turned her all the way out. She’d been in more fights in the past four years than she ever had in life. Her parents hated Pierre, and most days, she hated him, too; but, she couldn’t or wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Beat who?” Ashanti stepped up on the curb with hiked brows. “I want to see you do it. Please do it, bitch.” I stood up and stepped in front of Nina, facing Ashanti.
“My aunt just lost her child. Now is not the time.” My tone was low and respectful, but Ashanti had to know I wasn’t playing.
A defeated look infiltrated her eyes. When the door opened, she looked over my shoulder, hope had replaced the disappointment. “Pierre, do you want me to leave?”
“Hell yeah.” His tone was flat and adamant. “Since when do you come through here without calling?”
“Why is she even coming over here at all?” Nina screeched.
Out of respect for Pierre, I was going to let him handle his baby mama, but I directed Ashanti right back to her car. I didn’t feel sorry for her because she knew what it was. Pierre and Nina weren’t fully going to leave one another alone until they were good and ready, and I doubted that would be any time soon. Women had to stop thinking that just because a man stuck dick in them, it meant something. Ashanti got in her car and peeled off with her tires screeching. Pierre and Nina made their wayback inside but even after the door closed, I could still hear them arguing.
I drowned all the noise out and took another swig. At that point, it felt like I was on a merry go round. But, I wasn’t ready to stop drinking. All I could think was,damn, not my nigga, Eric.
My lips curved into a smile as I strolled into my shop.Mine. At thirty-years-old, I was the only female in Diamond Cove, North Carolina that wrapped vehicles. Wrapping a car wasn’t the same as painting it. The wrap that I placed on the car was basically a large piece of vinyl that could have a metallic, glossy, or matte finish. People got their cars wrapped to change the appearance of the car whether it was the color, design, or texture of the vehicle. The job I was about to get started on was customizing a Tesla. The owner wanted a soft baby pink versus the white that the car currently was.
I had already measured the first part of the car that I was going to wrap, and cut the vinyl down to the correct size. My employee, Tyrese, had already cleaned the car the day before, and I removed the bumper and the door handles. To wrap a vehicle, I charged between $2,000-$4,000. Of course, I wasn’t the only person in the city that wrapped cars, but I was the only female, and I was good at what I did. Some men chose me solely because they wanted to flirt and get close to me. Others chose me because my reputation preceded me. I had been wrapping carsfor four years, and I was one of the best to do it. At the age of seven, I started watching my father work on cars. He would give me step by step instructions of everything he was doing and by the age of twelve, I could do oil changes.
There were the men that didn’t care how good I was. They simply weren’t going to let a female wrap their car, and that was fine, too. Between the women that showed me love and the men that were open-minded enough to let me do their wraps, I made great money. Stepping out on faith and getting my own garage was something I wished I’d done sooner. My first week in business, I made $12,000. Every week wasn’t like that, and there were even weeks that I didn’t do any wraps. But I had people coming from various cities and states to get their cars wrapped by me. I also tinted windows, and Tyrese did state inspections and car detailing, so the shop made money every day, regardless of whether I wrapped a car or not.
I grabbed my black coveralls and put them on over the simple pink leggings and pink sports bra that I wore. I used to be insecure about my 5’8 height, but as I got older, the self-consciousness dissipated. As a teenager, I got tired of people asking me if I played basketball. Not every tall person in the world had the desire to play basketball. With my height, womanly curves that had me pushing damn near one eighty on the scale, and my blemish-free, waffle-colored skin, some people took one look at me and thought I was full of shit when I said I wrapped cars. I couldn’t be any good, because not only was I a female, I was an attractive female with soft, feminine features. I could get on my tomboy shit, but I was also a girly girl. With my narrow, coffee-brown eyes, thick, dark, arched brows, heart shaped face, and Cupid’s bow lips – I knew I was attractive. There were actually men that told me they had to sneak and get me to wrap their cars because their women weren’t going for it. My hair was dyed honey-blonde, so that was the color I gotmost of my weave. Sometimes, I switched it up and did black or ginger, but blonde was my go to.
The fact that some men had to sneak and get me to wrap their cars was funny as hell to me. Yes, there were some ruthless, trifling women out there, but I didn’t get into wrapping cars to meet men. Just as there were insecure women, there were also insecure men; my ex, Drew, was one of them. He didn’t like the fact that most of my customers were men, and any time we argued, the verbal insults that he tossed my way always included calling me some kind of hoe or dick sucking slut – despite the fact that I had never cheated on him.
Yeah, I was one of the dummies that let a man do the unthinkable when he was upset, because in my eyes, toxicity and dysfunction weren’t that bad. Most of the insults he hurled at me rolled off my back because I typically had thick skin. There were a few things that he used to say, however, that cut deep. And that was one of the main reasons I finally had to break away from him two months ago. The phrase I could do bad by myself was true, indeed. I didn’t need Drew’s insecurities and his gaslighting behavior around me. I was truly good without him. It took me too long to see it but once I did, it was up from there, and there was no going back.
“What up, Boss Lady?” Tyrese walked into the garage as I was using a heat gun to secure the wrap to the car.
“Hey, hey.” I didn’t even look up from what I was doing. “I’m glad you’re here because the phone has been ringing like crazy. I’ll be glad when KoKo starts coming in to help us.”
“Hell yeah. The phones been going crazy lately,” Tyrese bobbed his head.
Before I got my garage, I used to wrap cars at my house. But I wanted to be more professional, and I also didn’t want everybody knowing where I lived. When I was doing wraps at my house, I was careful about stacking my paper, and when Ifelt like I could comfortably afford a garage, that’s when I started looking for one.
I still wanted to bring more money in than I was putting out, so it was only a two person show for the moment. People could inquire about my services via email, or they could just pull up at the garage, but a lot of people liked to call. When Tyrese and I were both busy, a lot of calls went unanswered, and I didn’t like that. My best friend, KoKo, was a makeup artist, and she had agreed to come in a few days out of the week and help me when she wasn’t booked. It was the beginning of the month, and I’d already made enough money in three days to pay all of my bills for the upcoming month and have money left over to spare. Business was good, so I could definitely afford to pay someone to answer phone calls for me.
Thankfully, I only had two cars to wrap because my cycle had started the night before, and cramps were doing me dirty. I took Advil before leaving the house, but that wasn’t even completely taking the pain away. I just wanted my bed and a heating pad. I trusted Tyrese to close the garage at the end of the workday. When I got in my G Wagon, I saw that it was only two p.m.; that’s what I loved about being my own boss. My day ended whenever I said it did. I needed to make a stop before I went home, so I called Mazi to make sure he was at home. He didn’t like to text, so I always called.
A smile inched across my face when he confirmed that he was at home, and I could stop by. I ignored that sinking feeling in my gut. The one that came every time I realized that I was going to see Mazi more and more. I went from seeing him once or twice a month to at least once a week, and that wasn’t cool. It wasn’t cheap, either. Every day, I told myself that I was going to stop self-medicating, and I never did. For more than a year, I’d been going the wrong route when it came to dealing with my depression.
I didn’t smoke weed, and I barely drank alcohol. My vice was worse than either one of those things. Before going to Mazi’s house, I stopped at a gas station and got a 2 liter Sprite. It was the ingredient I needed to make my ‘drank’ once I got the cough syrup containing promethazine and codeine from Mazi. Each day I got off work, I sipped on lean until I passed out later in the night. The slower I sipped it, the longer I could stay awake but by the fifth or sixth sip, I always felt what I needed to feel. Loose. Numb. Carefree. I didn’t cry when I was on lean, and I didn’t give too much thought to the three babies that I lost in two years. I didn’t even think about all of the verbal abuse that I endured over the years from Drew. Nor the baby that he had on the way by some chick he impregnated while we were still together. When I confronted him, he looked me dead in my eyes and said, “Shit, I want kids, too. You can’t seem to do it right, so fuck I’m supposed to do? Be childless?”
Yeah, that one? That one hurt. And it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I promptly packed my things and left while he laughed, yelling out that I’d be back. I wasn’t sure why he thought that, but I hadn’t gone back yet, and I didn’t plan on it. I found a nice one bedroom apartment, and I actually enjoyed the peace that came with living alone. Peace was one thing I’d missed while in a relationship with Drew’s selfish, abusive ass. He always wanted or needed something. Whether it was a home cooked meal, for me to run errands for him, or give him a massage. He always wanted something out of me, and the only thing he did for me was pay the bills and give me headaches. The relationship drained me mentally and physically, and I was pissed with myself that it took me so long to leave.
After securing the Sprite, I drove to Mazi’s house. In an effort to do better, I hadn’t had lean in almost thirty hours. Yeap, I was keeping count. Thirty hours with no lean, and my mouth was watering for it. I was craving it so badly, that I didn’t even carethat I was about to spend a good two or three minutes in the presence of obnoxious ass Mazi. The prescription cough syrup that he sold wasn’t easy to get. I was sure there were other people in the city with it, but I didn’t know who they were. If I wanted it, I had to deal with Mazi, and he was as much of a sexist, ignorant, disrespectful asshole as Drew.
He didn’t even try to be respectful. I spent way too much money with him to not be valued as a customer, but it was about supply and demand. He knew he had something I needed and that until I found another plug, I’d put up with his big, greasy, Frito-smelling ass. I rang the bell and took a step back while I waited on all three hundred pounds of Mazi to come to the door. I wasn’t sure what his nationality was, but he smelled like corn chips, and his house always smelled like boiled garbage. Whatever it was that his sister spent her time cooking, smelled like something I wouldn’t even feed a dog. If I had to guess, I’d say Mazi was Puerto Rican. He had very light skin, and he always wore hats, so I had no clue what his hair looked like or what color it was.
“What up?” Mazi panted with a grin on his face. Walking a few steps from the couch to the door had him breathing like he’d just climbed a mountain.
“I’m good.” I held my breath as I walked into the living room. The smell of whatever was cooking in the kitchen greeted me before he’d even opened the door.
“You damn sure are.” Mazi’s slimy gaze raked over the length of my frame. Lust filled his irises, and my skin crawled. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was salivating over me. “Damn. I’m waiting for you to realize that you don’t have to keep spending so much money with me. You can put that pussy on my face a time or two, and I’ll get you right.”
“I have a man, Mazi,” I lied in a dry tone. I was tired of going through the same thing with his perverted behind. I wouldn’thave sex with Mazi with another woman’s vagina attached to my body. In fact, the day that he refused my money and told me I could only get lean by sleeping with him would be the day I quit cold turkey. So, maybe I wasn’t that bad of an addict because giving my body to him would never be an option. Ever.
