by K. A. Linde
He gave her a sad smile. “I just thought you could use someone to talk to.”
“I don’t really want to talk. I’d like to do other things to get my mind off of everything.”
“Just wait for me, okay?” He almost sounded resigned to her request, even after just telling her that he didn’t want to make this a friends-with-benefits situation.
“Okay,” she told him.
He leaned forward and kissed her hard on the mouth. It had been a short but powerful kiss. As soon as she got into it, he was already backing away. Then, he headed toward the DJ booth.
When the door closed behind him, Trihn’s bravado disintegrated. She tried to be so strong for everyone else, but she was dying on the inside.
How could Preston and Lydia be getting married? A sob escaped her, and she smacked her hand over her mouth to stifle it. She could not break down about this—not in public and definitely not at Posse with all her friends here.
Trihn snatched up her purse and hurried back into the club. She beelined for the door. She knew that she had promised Damon that she would wait for him to get off work, but she couldn’t stay trapped in the club all night, feeling horrible.
Trihn didn’t see Bryna or Stacia, so she flagged down Maya. “Hey, if you see the girls, will you tell them that I took a cab home?”
“Sure. Why are you leaving already?” Maya asked.
“I just don’t feel like partying.”
“I saw you with Damon. Are things not going well with that?”
Trihn shook her head. “No, they’re not. I’m still beat up about my breakup, and I just want to sleep.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she worried that, by talking about this, she was going to start crying. She took a deep breath and dug her fingers into the bar to try to stop herself from reacting to everything that was piling on top of her head.
“Okay. I’ll tell them, but I wish you would stay.”
Trihn swallowed hard. “Can’t. Love you.”
“Text me when you get home!”
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.”
“History is told by the winners,” Trihn murmured.
A part of her desperately wanted to be back in New York right now, so she and Renée could have this talk in person. They could go to the studio afterward and take class until her muscles were too sore to continue. But she had chosen Vegas, and she loved her life and friends here. Just hearing Renée’s voice though made Trihn miss home.
“You absolutely cannot go to that wedding, and you definitely can’t be her maid of honor,” Renée told her.
“She’s my sister.”
“Seriously?”
Trihn heard another voice on the other end of the line, and then Renée muffled the phone.
“You talk some sense into her,” Trihn heard Renée say to someone else.
“Hello?” Ian said into the phone a few seconds later.
&nbs
p; Trihn’s and Ian’s parents would vacation together throughout the year. Since she was a kid, she had spent nearly every summer, spring, and winter break with him and his family. He was at Columbia, studying computer science, and since she had been out of town, his crush on her had disappeared, and he had a blossoming relationship with Renée. Trihn thought it was adorable.
“Hey, Ian.”
“Renée said that Lydia and Preston got engaged?”
“Yeah, they did. Last night.”
“You’re not thinking of going, are you?”
“She’s my sister, Ian,” she whispered. It felt like that should mean something.
“And a horrible one.”
“Ian—”
“She chose a guy over you, her own sister. I was there. I remember how you were that day. Renée and I both do. Just think about it. She wouldn’t do this if the roles were reversed.”
Trihn buried her head in her pillow and reconsidered this wanting-to-be-in-New York thing. Her friends knew her a bit too well.
“Shouldn’t I be the bigger person?” she mumbled into the phone.
“If you want to be miserable,” he said.
There was another scuffle on the other line, and then Renée was talking again, “You do not want or need to be the bigger person. Lydia never apologized to you, and she’s still dating the douche bag. He’s probably cheated on her and given her some kind of disease by now. She’d deserve it.”
“I don’t know. I just found out. I need more time to process.”
“Yeah, well, if you come back to New York for this shit, I’m going to beat your scrawny ass. That’s a promise.”
Trihn laughed a real laugh for the first time in what felt like weeks. “I miss you.”
“We miss you, too, beautiful. But we have to get to class. City never sleeps, hooker.”
“Love you guys. Bye.”
When Trihn hung up, she felt an eensy bit better. It was enough to send Damon a text that said she was alive and had made it home in one piece. But it was not enough to get out of bed.
In fact, she spent the next three weeks either lounging around or hiding out in the studio at school.
All design students were given after-hours access to the studio. Most of the time would be spent putting extra hours into the techniques they had been learning in class or working on various fashion show projects. The senior students in the fashion show would work overtime all week, tweaking designs and patterns into beautiful creations. The show wasn’t for another two months, but everyone had seemed to be in a constant fever.
The studio was the only place Trihn could find inspiration anymore. And even though she was supposed to be helping the models for the show, she found herself sketching her own clothes and working in the studio to see her designs come to life. Since she was a kid, she had done some of sewn her own clothes at home, but it was always a hobby, just something she did for fun. It was easy to fall back into it when she needed to take her mind off of everything.
Trihn was sewing the final touches on a skirt that she was going to give to Maya to wear at work when she felt a presence over her shoulder.
“Can I help you?” Trihn asked, stopping the sewing machine. She glanced up at the person standing behind her. She had never seen the woman before. She was probably one of the senior students who Trihn didn’t know.
“Whose design are you helping with?” she asked. The woman was in a fashionable black skirt suit that looked as if it had been made for her with a bright purple silk blouse that tied around her neck. Her red hair was pinned back off her face, but it clearly had its own natural bounce.
Trihn raised an eyebrow. “Mine.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” Trihn couldn’t help sounding snappish. Normally, she could work in here all alone without anyone even noticing her, let alone bothering her. It pulled her out of her Zen.
“And this dress?” the woman asked.
She fingered the black dress Trihn had nearly finished this afternoon. The design had been stuck in her head for days, and she had it almost perfect. It was an all black number that crisscrossed across the collarbones with cutouts at the sides and hugged every inch of her body. She wanted to wear it out the next time she had enough energy to go to Posse, but it wasn’t quite ready yet. And neither was she.
“Mine, too.” Trihn went back to sewing the skirt.
“Hmm…”
Trihn sighed heavily. “What?”
“I love the lines, but if you pull in this hem right here and hand-sew darts here,” she said, pointing out the very problem that had been staring Trihn in the face all day, “I think it would be spectacular.”
Trihn snatched up the dress and assessed what the woman had said. “Wow. Yeah. I hadn’t thought about that. Thank you.”
“I assume I’ll be seeing this piece in the fashion show later this semester.”
“Yeah, right,” Trihn said with a laugh. “Not unless someone steals it.”
“What does that mean exactly?” the woman asked. “You are one of the senior fashion majors, are you not?”
“No, I’m a sophomore. I just came to do this for fun.” Trihn shrugged. “But one day.”
The woman shook her head and then glanced between the skirt and dress. “Do you have any more pieces in the work or sketches I could look at?”
“Um…yeah. Sure,” Trihn said. “Hold on.” She pulled out a notebook from her bag and handed it over to the woman. She looked through it for several minutes while Trihn worked on the skirt, humming to herself all along.
“Well, it seems that your day has arrived.”
Trihn looked at her with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I normally attend the courses for juniors and seniors. I’m Teena Hart.”
She held her hand out, and Trihn numbly took it.
Teena Hart.
The Teena Hart.
Trihn couldn’t believe this was happening.
“And you are?”
“Sorry. Trihnity Hamilton, but my friends just call me Trihn.”
“That name sounds familiar. How do I know you?”
“I transferred in late last year from NYU. My mother is Linh Hamilton…with Glitz magazine,” she added.
“Oh! Linh! Of course I know her. She’s wonderful. I was aware that you were coming here, but I didn’t realize…” She trailed off. “Your talent is amazing for a second-year student. I know talent when I see it, and I’m moving you into the fashion show this year. You’ll need all the practice you can get.”
“Wait…what?” Trihn asked, dumbfounded.
“Your designs will be featured in the fashion show.”
“But I’m a sophomore,” she stammered out.
“There is no age or class requirement. I can tell you have talent. So, you’d better get to work. You’re a couple of weeks behind the other students.” Teena smiled at her. “It was nice meeting you, Trihn.”
In shock, Trihn just stared at her retreating back. What had just happened?
Teena Hart had appreciated her designs. She’d liked them enough to feature Trihn in the fashion show that was typically reserved for senior students.
A smile broke onto her face, and she did a twirl.
This was exactly what she needed. She would have a million things to do to get ready, but she could do it. She would have to get all the requirements from her design teacher tomorrow, so she could get started.
She carefully folded her work away and darted out of the studio. She sent off texts to Bryna, Stacia, and Maya, letting them know she had good news and that they needed to go to Posse tonight to celebrate. She wished that the new dress was ready, but she couldn’t risk wearing it now that it was going to be in the fashion show.
Trihn returned home to an empty house and started digging around in her sketchbook box for the book that she would need for her next project. She knew it was around here somewhere. If she was going to do this fa
shion show, she would need something with a bang, and she had the perfect idea, a design she’d done a few weeks before Christmas. She distinctly remembered drawing the dress.
Her heart sank.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
She remembered the last time she’d had it. She had been drawing in it at Neal’s house and didn’t remember ever bringing it home.
Trihn had been adamant about leaving everything at Neal’s place for him to toss out or whatever he wanted to do with her things. But not that sketchbook. She needed that one.
Taking a deep breath, she fished out her phone. She had responses from her friends, saying that they were going to meet her at the house to go out and were happy to hear that she was happy. But that enthusiasm was falling away as she sent a message to Neal that she’d never wanted to send.
Hey. I think I left something at your place. Can I come over and get it?
Is this some pathetic attempt to get back together with me?
I just need my sketchbook.
Come on over. I’m sure you’ve missed me.
Trihn cursed under her breath and then quickly changed. She would just meet the girls at Posse after she went to get her notebook from Neal. She didn’t want an audience for this. She doubted it was going to be pretty.
FIVE HUNDRED CARS LITTERED THE STREET in front of Neal’s place.
“What the actual fuck?” Trihn’s eyes scanned the row of cars. She had never seen this many people parked outside of his place.
She had to drive practically a mile away from the house to find a parking spot. She trudged the distance back to his place and cursed herself for the sexy Louboutins that graced her feet. She could dance in them for hours, but one normal walk pissed her off to no end.
Or maybe it was just the anticipation of seeing Neal.
She hadn’t heard one peep from him since he’d slammed that door in her face. Now, her stomach was in knots as she was about to come face-to-face with him all over again.
Trihn took a deep breath and walked up the driveway. He was the one who had dumped her. She didn’t have anything else to say to him. She just needed her sketchbook, and then she would get out of there. She had done enough dwelling in the past lately.