Page 56 of My Broken Bodyguard 3: Catch & Bianca

I thought back on my life. Our families were dirt poor. When we were younger, we lived off canned food, ramen noodles, and one pot dishes. Most days Asia, Simone, Tyra or I brought meals to Tori. Her mother rarely cooked. She was always in the streets.

Once Man-Man started making more money in the eleventh-grade, things got better. Tori asked if the girls and I could run scams for him. The opportunity kept us from going without food.

I wrung my hands as I strolled to the industrial closet at the end of the hallway where the girls and I had stocked it full of washcloths, towels, toothbrushes, toothpaste, feminine hygiene items, and deodorant. You name it, we had it in stock. Far cry from our childhood when we barely had much.

Shit.Catch’s words really struck a chord with me. I gathered the items for my brother and walked into my bedroom. After grabbing a pair of Catch’s basketball shorts, a t-shirt, and a pair of socks I sauntered over to the room my brother occupied.

I knocked on the bathroom door. “It’s me.”

“Come in,” my brother yelled out.

I opened the door and placed the items on the counter. “Everything you need is here.”

“Thanks, Bianca.”

“You’re welcome,” I responded before I closed the door.

I scooped up the dirty clothes he left on the bed, then darted out of the room, closing the door behind me.

"Once I left my childhood home, I felt the shackles of responsibility loosen, and a newfound freedom washed over me like a cleansing tide. My parents had two less mouths to feed because me and my older brother were on our own. The apartment I called my own might have been compact, but compared to the cramped quarters of my parents' home, my bedroom felt like a grand oasis.

I didn't have many possessions, but what I had was mine, a sanctuary carved from the chaos of life.

However, this newfound sense of self-sufficiency was destined to be short-lived. The relentless demands of my parents’ financial hardship forced me to make the difficult decision to move back home.

When Catch asked about my means of transportation, I casually brushed off the daily ordeal of taking the train as though it were a mere inconvenience. In reality, there were moments when I loathed the public transit system with every fiber of my being. I vividly recalled those bone-chilling winter days when the icy winds slashed at my face, and my toes would go numb as I trudged to the station, the cheap boots on my feet providing little comfort or insulation against the harsh cold. Chicago's winters were as brutal as they were unforgiving, and in those bleak moments, my affection for the city waned.

Owning my own car had been a taste of freedom, a luxury I had grown to cherish. The thought of surrendering it to mymother, as necessary as it might have been, filled me with a begrudging resentment that I couldn't help but harbor.

A smile tugged at my lips as I tossed the clothes into the washing machine. In a few months, I could purchase a used car again. I couldn’t wait.

My eyes grew in size as I remembered what Catch said. “My money is your money.”

Technically, I didn’t have to wait months to purchase a car. I could ask Catch if I could buy a car once the war was over. I couldn’t imagine him saying no. The man drove a different car all the time.

No, I couldn’t. Something in my gut prevented me. I couldn’t ask him. I understood it was fine to ask for what I wanted. But I was an independent woman who hadn’t ever depended on a man other than my dad.

Bianca, your man is different. He’d never look down on you. Or worse, call you a hood rat or a gold digger.

I squeezed my eyes shut and muttered, “Ask Catch for a car.”

My heart raced in my chest and sweat beaded along my hairline.

“Bianca?” Asia called out.

I poured detergent into the compartment in the sleek black washing machine. “I’m in the laundry room.” Those words felt foreign on my tongue. I never had a laundry room. The washer and dryer were always in the basement.

“Hey, B, what’s up?”

I peeked at my best friend as I pressed the start button on the front load machine. The girls and I had never worked one of these machines before. All this wealth surrounding us was a little overwhelming. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around Catch living in a mansion in Jersey. These men who were bodyguards wanted to be with four black women from the South Side of Chicago. We weren’t well mannered. Sure, we knew how to handle ourselvesin a professional manner. Thanks to our high school counselor, Mrs. Goodrow. She made it her business to make sure my best friends and I could annunciate our words, create a resume, and so much more.

The girls and I only used broken language around each other. I wasn’t sure if these guys knew the real us.

“Just thinking about my new life,” I said as I turned, leaning against the matching dryer.

“It is a lot to get used to,” she sighed.

“Rémy and Romeo are regular rich. Like they saved their money and invested it wisely.

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