It wasn't a slap. Not yet. But it sure as hell felt like one.
Kiesha slammed her door shut the moment she walked into her apartment. The sound echoed. It was that kind of silence — the kind that follows a storm but smells like another one is on its way.
She kicked off her heels. Tore off her earrings. And sat at the edge of her bed with her fists clenched.
The betrayal didn't burn. It blistered.
She'd held Tessy's hair while she cried over men who didn't deserve her. Listened to her spill secrets no one else ever heard. Loved her like a sister.
And Tessy?
She'd spread her legs for Kiesha's man like loyalty was an optional accessory.
Kiesha stood, paced. Her breath shallow. Her vision blurred.
A hundred flashbacks collided in her brain — David's late nights, Tessy's missed calls, the way they used to side-eye each other in her presence like they shared a private joke.
It all made sense now.
The knot in her stomach? That hadn't been anxiety. That was intuition throwing a damn tantrum.
Meanwhile, Tessy was trying to keep herself together in a lace robe and guilt.
David was already gone. Left her bed, her sheets, and her chest colder than the city skyline.
She sat by the window in nothing but his T-shirt. Legs wide. Pussy still sore from the night before. Mind messier than the drawer she shoved his boxers into.
He said he wouldn't come back. That last night was it.
But the taste of him still lingered on her tongue. The blow job she gave him still echoed in her throat — slow, deep, the kind that made men forget their damn names.
She let her fingers trace her lips.
"This is what I get," she whispered.
Being a slut had always come easy. But consequences? They hit different when they wore your best friend's name.
Kiesha didn't cry. She smoked.
She rolled a blunt, lit it, and let the silence wrap around her like armor.
"I won't break," she said aloud, exhaling.
Then she did something she never thought she'd do — she texted Ronnie.
Yeah. That Ronnie.
The first man Tessy ever truly loved. The one who left her wrecked and reckless. The one Kiesha had secretly followed on Instagram for years.
Kiesha: "You still in Chicago?"
Ronnie: "Who's this?"
Kiesha: "Your ex's best friend."
Ronnie: "…Oh damn. What's up?"
Kiesha: "Let's meet."
Ronnie: "You okay?"
Kiesha: "Not even a little bit."
Ronnie: "Where?"
Kiesha: "Anywhere. I just need a drink and someone who knows how deep this mess really goes."
Later that night, they met at a rooftop bar. Ronnie looked older, finer, sharper. The type of pain that aged like wine.
He hugged her. "You alright?"
Kiesha didn't lie. "Tessy fucked my man."
Ronnie blinked. "Say what?"
She didn't flinch. Just sipped her cocktail. "She's not the girl you knew anymore."
Ronnie leaned back. "Maybe she never was."
He stared out into the lights of the Chicago skyline, as if hoping the stars could explain how the girl he once loved turned into a headline.
"She used to write me letters, you know?" Ronnie muttered. "Back when shit felt real. Said she wanted to run away with me. That I made her feel seen."
Kiesha swallowed hard. "Now she runs through men like outfits. Doesn't even care what size heartbreak they leave behind."
They drank. They didn't need music. Just memories and vodka.
Tessy called David again. Voicemail.
She texted him. No reply.
She lay in bed, legs apart, still dripping with shame and desire. Still smelling like him.
She wanted to beg. But pride kept her mute.
Instead, she whispered into the night, "I'd love to have your babies, but till then, fuck me. Just fuck me one more time."
No one answered.
Only silence. Only loneliness. Only karma walking up the stairs in stilettos.
She wandered to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and looked in the mirror.
Her eyes were puffy. Her lips cracked. Mascara still haunted her cheeks.
"You dug this pussy like a well," she whispered to her reflection. "And now it's empty."
She turned on the tap and let the water run.
Kiesha and Ronnie ended up back at her place.
Not for sex. Not yet. But the tension?
It was dripping.
He brushed her cheek. "You always had more fire than her."
She didn't stop him.
Didn't even blink when he kissed her. Deep. Tongue first. Hands gripping her hips like she was the only woman left in Chicago.
She moaned. "Put your mouth out. Taste this revenge with me."
He lifted her shirt. Her nipples perked. Her body said yes.
But her mind? Her mind screamed louder.
She pulled back. "Not yet. I want her to know first. I want her to see what betrayal tastes like on my lips."
Ronnie nodded. "Say the word. I'm yours."
The next day, Tessy opened her DM.
It was a photo.
Kiesha. In Ronnie's lap. Tongue in his mouth. Nails down his chest.
Caption:
"You're not the only one who can play dirty, bitch."
Tessy screamed. Then laughed.
She tossed her phone. Screamed again.
Then texted David.
Tessy: "You'll miss this pussy when she starts fucking your friend too."
No reply.
She threw on a hoodie, walked outside barefoot, lit a cigarette with shaky fingers, and looked up at the sky.
She whispered, "God, if you're still up there, I swear I'll change. Just let me win this one."
She didn't believe it. But damn, did it sound good out loud.
Her world was cracking.
And every crack tasted like betrayal.
By the end of that week, Kiesha changed her number.
Ronnie started leaving his toothbrush.
And Tessy?
Tessy was no longer the baddest bitch in the room.
Just the loneliest.
Just the slut who forgot that karma's favorite shade is lipstick red.
And in this city?
Lipstick stains never really wash out.