Page 69 of Catfish

I got to see things and understand the world of politics firsthand.

What was supposed to be a fuck-buddy relationship turned into something more with Grant. He was my ticket to get Mama out of debt with the house and utilities. To keep her car running and out of the shop. While Marty’s insurance paid for the basics, Grant forked out the rest. Seeing his good deeds and how much weight fell off my shoulders, more started to change. He began to love me, and I tried to love him back.

But his love came with a leash.

His paranoia started to reveal itself, my actions of using him to get back at Jed began to tear us apart with him thinking I was going to do it to him one day. It went from him questioning who I was having lunch with to if I was secretly texting other men when he was away.

The beauty I thought that worked in my favor as a teen began to work to my disadvantage. The free lunch I used to receive at the gas station from the elderly man who ran the register after school turned into women side-eyeing me at parties to keep away from their men. Yet still, multiple husbands and bachelors risked the wrath of their wives or Grant to dance or slide their fingers down to the top of my ass.

Vixen was a toy, a plan at first to break Jed’s heart, and the reason why I broke away from him.

Me: We’ll make this conversation quick, I got my mother. Stay away. You know I don’t tease, Grant.

Grant: Done, anything else?

Grant: Actually, come to dinner with me. I’d like to discuss a few things.

Me: No.

Grant: It’ll help your business.

Me: Business is doing just fine.

Grant: Dinner or my men stay.

Me: Don’t threaten me, Hardison.

Grant: Promising, Vixen.

Me: I said no.

Grant: Tell your Mama they’ll be back next week. Have a good night.

Me: Go fuck yourself.

Grant: I do, each time with the memory of my dick deep inside your pussy, sweetheart.

I realize the paleness of my knuckles as my fingers squeeze the life out of my cell.

I hate him, I do, with every ounce of my being and every word he’s ever spoken to me because he reminds me of what I’ve done.

And then some.

? Foolish Heart — Steve Perry ?

Blue, I swear that fucking color will haunt me for the rest of my life. It drapes over every column, crossing the room to another. It floats in the air in the shape of balloons in every shade and tint. Tables and chair covers are wrapped and clothed in it—blue.

I hate the color now.

My name is announced overhead, unveiling me to my own party—if you want to call it that. It’s pretty much me with an invisible woven basket for rich assholes to donate money to my cause while earning their trust and support.

I just don’t feel like being sociable tonight. Don’t want to throw my mask on and be the Wade Lockwood that people want to know and back. Em told me I had to ease up on the broodiness. That I need to be approachable and crack a smile from time to time.

She’s right, I can’t say I’d want to vote for me in this particular moment because my shitty attitude will get me looked over easily.

So the moment my ass and I steps through the blue curtain, I plaster on a smile, teeth and all. I'm greeted with nothing but cheers and applause, men in sleek black suits and women in a variety of expensive gowns.

Em stands for me at the edge of the stage, a bona fide smile welcoming me to the event I've been waiting well over three years for. Where all the hard work begins, and my childhood dream finally comes true.

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