Chapter 3

Camille’s POV

On a scale of one to ten, the last two days have brought in more trouble than a global pandemic has, and frankly speaking, it keeps on deteriorating further.

Two days ago I was on the brink of losing my job because of a billionaire tycoon I interviewed before writing my article of the week felt I violated his privacy and didn’t think I knew the ethics of writing. To say I was pissed was an understatement, I was livid as fuck and I had the spontaneous urge to bash his pretty little head against a wall which might end up in two ways, either I spend a couple of years wearing an orange jumpsuit in jail or I get fired with my writing license revoked so I go into the street, crouched in a corner of the street with ragged blanket shielding me from freezing to death while I begged for alms to survive. The bottom line was that neither of the options suited me so I had to hang tight while gripping my job with iron fists even though it meant I had to lower my ego and beg the asshole.

My stomach was swirling with bile like a freaking tornado when Patricia, my supervisor called me into her office to inform me that the company was being sued. It was obvious he was trying to make money off us. We had to pay him two thousand dollars to let sleeping dogs lie. Our reputation was a lot more important and the company would do anything to prevent a dent in its image especially since the organization had been in existence for twenty-five years after serving Americans fresh takes on several trending topics in our magazines for years. I was left with a stern warning to be careful and have a grip over my shit and to some extent I did till Jack and his blonde bimbo decide to rip it apart from me.

I have lived with Jack ever since we got engaged last year and I was forced to crash at my best friend’s place when I was thrown out of the house abruptly.

“Please tell me that bitch remained dead!” Harriet punched the air with her mug of coffee while the corners of her lips were curved in a smirk.

“Unfortunately no, turns out she was asthmatic and hitting her head triggered the attack.” I sighed and ate a forkful of omelet egg.

“Damn! But I have always known nothing good would ever come out of dating that James of a guy, I warned you severally.” She said and slammed her fists on the dining table. Her pink crop top slipped from her right shoulder, revealing her gorgeous bronze tone.

“It is Jack and I actually thought we stood a chance at happily ever after.” I frowned and sniffled.

Harriet does this thing where she intentionally pretends to be ignorant of people’s names, especially the horrible ones she holds a vendetta with.

“Awn! Come here!” She held out her hands and I stood up from the dining chair to engage her in an embrace.

“You will be fine honey, Jack and his blonde can go to hell for all I care.” She ran her hand through the tip of my jet-black shoulder-length hair in a bid to finger-comb it.

“Yes and that is because I have you.” I untangled myself from the embrace and smiled at her.

“Girl! You need a haircut, you need to also go clubbing to wind, yunno.” She said abruptly, pausing what she was doing to my hair.

“No way! I won’t be visiting any strip clubs. I don’t want to see grown-ass men wiggling their penis at me unabashed.” I scrunched my face in disgust and waved my hand dismissively.

“Of course not, it is called a strip club for a reason and not a porn hub. There will be no flashing of penises.” Her midnight-black eyes sparkled with mischief.

“I don’t trust you.” I narrowed my eyes at her in and finger-stabbed her in the chest.

“Now you are breaking my heart.” She touched her chest dramatically and faked a tear. “Living with Jack definitely taught you a lesson or two about shattering hearts.”

“Ouch!” I busted into a fit of giggle and she joined me too.

“For how long do you intend to throw shades at him?” I tilted my head at her.

“For as long as it takes for you to recover, now eat your food.” She ushered me back to my chair.

Harriet is a typical slim thick girl with fats at the right curves of her body. She is an African American although she has never visited her place of origin, Nigeria, because her migration to the US has been handed over like a family heirloom from one generation to the other. The last family member of hers that visited Africa died a hundred years ago, so yes, she has totally cut ties with home.

She finished from Harvard and earned a bachelor’s degree in engineering. She works at a very reputable company in New York and we have been friends since high school. Then she used to be bullied for being black and one day I stood up for her and ever since then we became thick as thieves. She is my ride and die, my go-to girl.

“Do you have a clubbing outfit or do I need to borrow you one?” She cocked her perfectly arched brows, her slim oval face reminded me of Asian women in Telemundo movies, she had the perfect cute face.

“I don’t have a club-appropriate outfit, Harriet, because I don’t go clubbing,” I mumbled while draining my mug of its last fluid of coffee.

“Well, that is about to change, get ready to party!” She hollered in a sing-song tone and danced toward her room, rolling her hands in the air.

Ever heard of the saying the darker the berry the juicier it tastes? Harriet has a perfectly tanned skin that is honeyed to perfection and a sweet dimpled smile.

The sound of the clock chiming broke my chain of thoughts. It is currently 7:30 am and If I don’t get my ass up and leave this minute, I won’t only have to worry about a broken heart, I might as well dust my CV and start looking for a job elsewhere so with fake enthusiasm, I stood up while the chair made a scraping sound and hurried out of the house but not before bidding Harriet a bye and exchanging I love you.

***

I’m not a party freak. I swear I rarely even attend parties because I’m more of an introvert that enjoys binge-watching some latest Netflix blockbusters and munching on popcorns, chocolates, and anything that is technically edible for safe consumption. So when I tell you that I’m at a real party with translucent bulbs flashing blue, green, and red with loud music blasting from the speaker, believe me, I’m here to party like an animal, get drunk and high, and forget I was dumped yesterday by an ex who happens to be a bully.

The most fascinating theme of the party is that it is called the shield doll house. Apparently, all members are to wear a sexy mask to shield their appearances. The main deal is to get drunk and high and have a night stand with a stranger unabashed. Although it sounded crazy but it seemed fun. Everybody had a designed mask that matches their outfit which I think is the highlight of the party because you don’t know who is who.

Tonight can be an exception to being a perfectly responsible adult. I won’t spend my night sulking with a bowl of ice cream on my lap while I watch some sad movies so I can have the perfect excuse to cry all I want. Harriet has told me she invited me to this party to release my innermost beast and that is exactly what I plan to do. The only thing standing in my way though is my lack of confidence and that I shall also conquer with the right amount of alcohol.

The club is electric tonight, everyone feeding off the smiles and fast dancing. My hips swayed, the sequins catching the disco ball that twirled. I’m clubbing like this is my last night on earth, but I think that’s just the way my mind avoids thinking about the hangover to come. The music moves me like I’m a puppet on strings, my head mashing so hard while my brain is in a shutdown mode. There is so much sweat on my skin and not all of it is mine. The strobe masks so many of my movements, every clap of my hands like it’s on pause at different moments. Tomorrow they’ll be hell to pay but tonight the alcohol keeps on flowing in like it’s an IV drip.

The club is filled with the hottest and most wealthy young bachelors in the city and high schoolers who faked their ID. It has a large dance floor with a bar filled with the most exquisite and expensive liquor in New York. Strippers are lined around for men to buy like some cheap commodity. Some old men cheered in amusement like little kids finding a jar filled with candies anytime a stripper mounted the pole with all her buns out. It felt like a sin city and for some reason I started to have second thoughts wondering what the hell I was doing here.

“Banish those thoughts, honey. When was the last time you got laid?” She yelled in my ear because of the loud music.

“I don’t know, six months ago.” I shrugged my shoulders while bobbing my head to the music.

“Damn! I hope there are no maggots creeping out of your crusty ass Veejay?” She frowned.

“Harriet!” I glared at her.

“Fine! Sorry, but what the hell is the function of your boyfriend if you haven’t been laid for months?” She stared at me pitifully.

“Stop that!” I hissed.

“Stop what?” She tried acting clueless.

“Stop staring at me with pity. He was busy seeking pleasure elsewhere.” I tsked.

“Well not to worry, we could stop at a new ap****isiac store down my estate and get you some rose licking vagina toys.” She wiggled her brows playfully at me.

“Okay, you are drunk.” I let out a peal of laughter.

“Or would you prefer vibrating pants? I could handle the remote.” She screamed again.

“Okay! It is confirmed, that you are sick, Harriet.” I shook my head and the images of the toys flashed in my head but I instantly shook it off. She just reminded me about my topmost need after all I have been sex-starved.

“Is that what you label my hospitable trait of getting you sex toys?” She let out a sarcastic smile. “You are an ingrate.”

“You love me like that.” I tapped my feet to the song playing.

My best friend by Saweetie ft Doja cat started playing and Harriet cheered to it.

“This song is for us, c’mon!” She dropped her flute of champagne and led me to the dancefloor.

“I can’t dance right here, I’m shy. What are you doing?” I whisper-yelled, looking around while dragging the hem of my gown down seeing that it had ridden up.

“No one cares if you go around squawking like a duck, just move your body.” Her golden-brown skin glittered in the off-shoulder leather corset-like crop top she had on and a white pencil skirt paired with black leather boots.

“What If Jack sees me? You know he attends this club sometimes.” My eyes widened in panic and I started glancing around with a pounding heartbeat.

Harriet paid me no attention. She placed her hands on her knees and bent to twerk on me. I soon started bobbing my head to the music with my muscles getting relaxed and soon after a glass and another and another, I was drunk as fuck, jumping high in the middle of the dance floor and twerking to the beat. People hollered and cheered while I break-danced to the beat.

“Yass bitches! That’s my best friend, she is a real bad bitch and she doesn’t need no nigga.” She slurred and crashed into a guy.

“You are too pretty to be this wasted, you should sit with me.” A fair-skinned guy with braided cornrows said.

“Hey you, back off!” I tried to pull Harriet toward me.

“OMG! Mason, is that you?” She stuttered and ran into his hands.

“It’s Jason, your college sweetheart. You are drunk.” He commented. He had on a floral shirt with some buttons unfastened to expose his dark muscular chest. He was good-looking and looked like he had a heavy bank account. He oozed wealth and freshness.

“No, I’m not—” Harriet didn’t get to finish her sentence before throwing up on Jason.