Trihn waved at Maya and then rushed out the front doors of Posse. She inhaled the wintry desert air and flagged down a cab. It took her across town, and after she paid, she hurried up the elevator.
Dropping her purse and jacket in the living room, she stripped out of her corset top and skirt and buried herself in her comforter in the sexy lingerie that she had gotten earlier that afternoon. She could have gotten laid in the lingerie, but instead, she was curled up in the fetal position, trying not to cry. She had shed so many tears two summers ago because of Preston, and now after all of that, Lydia was going to marry him.
Without even meaning to, tears leaked from her eyes. She felt like a ton of bricks were resting on her chest. She didn’t want to feel like this.
“Fuck,” she whispered into the silence.
Her efforts were for naught. Deep sobs escaped her body, and she swiped uselessly at the tears on her cheeks. She felt like screaming and yelling and throwing a tantrum. She wanted to go back to that moment when she had first met Preston and erase his existence from the universe. How could one man cause so much heartbreak?
Her first love.
Her first boyfriend.
Her first everything.
And then he had thrown it all back in her face, as if everything she had given him meant nothing.
And that was what she meant to him.
Nothing.
And that was what she felt like.
Nothing.
And that was what she would be.
Nothing.
BLACK SMEARS MARRED HER PILLOWCASE.
Trihn didn’t even want to know what her face looked like if her pillow seemed to have come out on the wrong end of a war zone.
After staying up, crying for hours, she had finally fallen into a fitful slumber. Her chest ached, but thankfully, her eyes were dry. She reached for her phone on the nightstand. She cursed when she saw that she had let it die. She plugged it in and trudged to the bathroom to shower off last night’s crippling depression.
She pulled her wet hair up into a ballet bun and then changed into some lounge clothes. She checked her now charged phone and saw that she had a bunch of missed calls and texts. Her head ached from just looking at all the people who had tried to reach out to her. She was the most introverted extrovert out there, and today was a day to shut the phone off, crawl back into bed, and start over.
The only message she would check was the voice mail from a number she didn’t know. It might be important. People didn’t leave voice mails unless it was important, and then she could text them back.
She pressed the message and then lay back in bed and closed her eyes.
“Hey, Trihn. It’s Damon.”
Trihn popped up in surprise. What the hell?
“I got your number from Maya. She seemed worried about you before you left, and you never texted her to let her know you made it home. So, now, I’m worried about you, too. Well, now, I’m more worried. I thought you were going to wait for me. Anyway, I just hope you’re okay. Call me back to let me know if you’re okay or if you need anything.”
The voice mail ended, and Trihn rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. She’d forgotten to text Maya. She jotted out a quick text to let Maya know she was alive, but she couldn’t handle Damon right now.
She needed to talk to someone who understood what she was going through. She hadn’t told Bryna or Stacia or anyone else why she had decided to come to LV State.
Instead of responding to the rest of her mountain of text messages, she dialed her friend Renée’s number. Growing up, they had danced at the New York City Dance House, and then Renée had accepted a full ride to Juilliard, going on to pursue her dream of becoming a professional ballerina. It was impressive for anyone, but Renée hadn’t had the best upbringing, as an African American female in the Bronx.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Renée said when she answered the phone. “What can I do for you, hooker?”
“Is that any way to talk to your best friend?”
“The only way, as far as I’m concerned. How is it, being back in fabulous Las Vegas?” she trilled.
“Meh,” Trihn said softly. “My boyfriend broke up with me. I had a one-night stand with a guy who wants to date me, but I’m too emotionally fucked up to commit to anything, except crying myself to sleep. Oh, and did I mention that Preston and Lydia got engaged last night?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Renée cried.
“Yep.”
“I sympathize with you about the first two things, but Lydia and Preston! Tell me you told her to go fuck herself when she said they were getting married.”
“Not exactly.”
“Trihn! This guy ruined your life. You can’t just let him win.”
“He already won!” Trihn cried. “He won back at the stupid fucking Hamptons, Renée! Now, they’re getting married. And she asked me to be the maid of honor.”
Renée snorted. “That’s fucking rich. Lydia never ceases to amaze me. It’s like she rewrote her own version of history, just forgetting everything that had happened that drove you to Las Vegas in the first place.”