Between Reel and Reality (Lesbian Romance)

Chapter Fifteen: So Sick

CIERRE

In the quiet of the morning, I find myself clad in one of Von's loose-fitting sweatsuits, standing with crossed arms as I watch over Amel. Though she's asleep, the odor of illness emanates from her. A twinge of uncertainty holds me in place—should I wake her and ensure everything's okay? Interrupting her sleep doesn't seem like a smart idea, nor does waiting around, staring at her creepily—but another emergency could happen.

The specter of a fatal seizure during her slumber looms in my mind, echoing the tragic demise of a beloved child star from years past.

A sudden rap on the door rouses me from my worries.

That must be Diamond.

I hesitate momentarily as I near the doorway. A familiar sensation overcomes me, one I haven't felt since Amel and I dated. A subtle but undeniable sense of ownership falls upon me.

Lock the door.

Ignoring the psycho bitch in my head, I twist the knob. A dark-skinned woman, standing in a brown two-piece athletic jacket and leggings, graces me. Her ensemble sticks to her like it's gorilla glued on, sculpting her curvy frame. She greets me with a stunning smile, her symmetrical features enhanced by her sleek ponytail.

I try to replicate her rising cheekbones, but I can only notice how different we are. I may be winning in the face department, but she's the CEO of body-ody-ody.

Of course, Amel's fucking her. They only mess with tens or better.

"Um, I'm Diamond. What's up?!" Realizing how loud she shouted, she presses her lips together before giggling awkwardly. "Okay, girl. We both know that I know you're Cierre Holyfield." She sounds like JT of the City Girls. Every word has an edge and a sense of humor to it. My cheeks tweak upwards as my inhibitions subside.

"Yeah...Amel told me you'd be here to help," I reply.

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna ask for an autograph," she says, swiveling her hips past me and into the room. I follow her voice as she tightly adds, "But I might want a picture for my son."

She places her duffle bag on the neatly arranged side of the bed. Unzipping it, she shakes her head. "That little boy asked, 'Mommy, how can I turn into a frog?' after he saw your pretty ass on the big screen?" She scoffs playfully and throws her hand at my laugh. "Chile, he's a mess."

"How old is he?" I ask, matching her unbothered disposition. Something about her intricately placed sweet yet subtle perfume and chocolate eyes puts me at ease. Amel said she used to be a nurse. She must've been the one all the patients requested.

"Stinka butt's about to turn six." She stares at Amel for a second, lips pouting with irritation. "Even he has more impulse control than this one. Look at them, lips all chap and dry." I huff a laugh, unsure if it's appropriate. "They'll be alright," she assures.

Taking care, she reorganizes objects, making preparations for the IV drip. "Also, baddie-to-baddie, I understand you and Mel are cool again. If y'all become more than cool, that's y'all's business. I'm not gonna throw a hissy fit."

"Oh...I..." A hint of relief soothes my heart, but Amel clarified their intentions last night. Friendship and casual sex are the only valuable things I can offer to them. "How long have you been their assistant?"

She makes a humored "Tuh-ha" when I change the subject.

"Over a year," she answers. "After their diagnosis, it got harder to keep everything organized. We met through a little predicament. Shortly after, she asked me to manage her assistants, her health, and keep her chaotic life in order."