Page 38 of Not My Type (Not My Type #1)

Zara

“Yuh see your type of hair texture make certain hairstyle barely want to stay,” Clova says as she installs my wig.

A dem hair deh you like... long hair. Yes, but I told Clova that I didn’t want it too long since I wanted a little change. I had to come to Clova’s home since she wasn’t at the shop, and I had to get my hair done. Anything for da hair.

“A the way how her hair soft and thing it go fuzzy out fast,” Shanae adds.

I nod at them, checking my messages. Two messages from a strange number and one message from Nickoi.

Mi know Nickoi would a affi send a one message! My subconscious shrieks.

I decide to check Nickoi’s message first. I know that’s right! Saweetie’s voice

My Man *I’m coming for you now* He didn’t even ask if my hair is done, him just bossy suh. You know a so him gwaan already. I roll my eyes and send him an ‘okay’ before I check the other message.

1 (876) 291-**** *Goodnight Ms. Williams. I can’t find my book with my essay and Mrs. Adams says if we don’t have it we’ll be suspended*

This is from a student. I’m not sure who it is but I’ll definitely help them. I know she’s worried. Knowing how Mrs. Adams is. She’s very stern and clearly a woman of her words.

*Okay love. I’ll take to you tomorrow.*

I lock the phone and Shanae starts talking again. “Which one of your parents have the pretty hair?” Shanae asks. Pretty hair...

And why she so curious?

Zara stop..

“My mom has beautiful 4c hair but daddy has the soft texture,” I explain. Mi hate fi talk about Henry.

“Mommy have cooly hair but me never get it, mi hair nuff though,” she tells me.

“Okay, so what you wanna be?” I shift the conversation and she shrugs.

“Mi nuh know wah mi wah be enuh,” is her response. Really?

I mean, not everyone knows what they want to be, but at least a likkle idea nah go hurt. Right?

“No idea?” I ask again in disbelief. She smiles.

“Mi did wah be wah nurse one a the time them but science too hard and mi nah mek nothing mad me,” she rolls her eyes.

“Okay,” I say. “You should still try something though you know? Do something you love,” I advise her.

“A teacher yuh always wah be?” She asks and I nod. “I always saw myself as a teacher,” I tell her honestly. At one point I wanted to be a paediatrician but my love for teaching is just unexplainable. It’s just my thing.

“Ohh a true yuh bright man,” she says, and I laugh. My phone vibrates. I got a few messages from random people replying to my stories and I got some new followers.

Jemmy Nye started following you.

Finally.

I press her page, and I gasp when I notice that she’s the girl from Clova’s shop.

I—

In her latest picture she’s dressed in a white bikini on a balcony.

The location is in Tulum. I start feeling self-conscious.

I continue scrolling and a sharp pain shoots through my body when I see her sitting in Nickoi’s lap on a roof and they both are dressed in Dior. That outfit ... that Dior earring ...

I saw her in this at Clova’s shop Saturday and Nickoi is wearing that outfit on a picture on his Instagram. It’s the same day. I check the comments, and my body gets heated instantaneously. He’s in a relationship? And I thoug–

So, I’m his side piece? From the ‘goals’ comments to the males, apparently his friends referring to her as their ‘sis’ tells me all I need to know.

I feel my blood pressure rising the more I scroll through the comments. I want to stop but I can’t. Why am I hurting myself?

I continue to scroll through her page. She’s a.

. model. Most of her pictures show her on runways, fashion events, vacations, evening gowns, at the airport, a few Jamaican road trips with.

.. My heart stops. My gaze blurs. He’s there.

They look so good together. She has pictures with celebrities too.

Then I get my confirmation. She’s also Miss Mexico.

I find a recent selfie with her, and spot Nickoi in the background.

I shake my head. I’m just another girl that he hits while he has his personal girlfriend. One that’s... so pretty.

“Yuh alright?” Clova’s voice pulls me back to reality and I laugh, hiding how I truly feel. This can’t be healthy.

“Mi good mon,” I lie. I’m practically dying inside, and my tears are fighting to fall.

Whole time mi deh yah a think mi a wife, the bwoy a use me. This was always my biggest fear. The fact that we talked, the fact that I took pictures of her to send to him makes me feel like an idiot. The fact that she was talking about ‘Papi’ and... Mi just feel a way.

“Mi almost done yuh hair, just some products mi a spray in... cas mi nuh know how yuh claim nutt’n nuh do yuh and yuh look angry so,” Clova chuckles.

I breathe. I’m trying to compose myself. Nickoi’s car pulls over at Clova’s gate. I instructed him earlier when he brought me here so he would know his way back here.

He doesn’t get out. I glare outside.

Just wol it Zara. No bad energy. Yuh have baby shower soon...

“A Prezident that?” Shanae whisper yells, shocking me. She walks over to the door. The tension wrapping around me is suffocating as Clova sprays my hair. Who calls people by their ig names? Something is off. Jesus no mon Zara calm dung yuh self.

“A him a the boy Zara?” Clova asks me and I stand up. I’m too angry to sit.

“Yes,” is the only thing I can say, and she wipes her face with a rag. I stare at her confused.

“You know Nickoi?” I ask her but I’m distracted when I hear his voice.

“Wah yuh deh pon?” he asks Shanae and my body heats up. I have to control myself and my temper. I’m about to lose it.

“Nothing... yuh never see me text you?” She asks.

I look at Clova handing her $20,000, trying to distract myself and calm down. I breathe.

She takes it. “The hairstyle fit you enuh, as usual,” she says, and I force a smile.

Nickoi’s eyes meet mine and it’s like he reads them. His smile disappears. Look like him realize.

Shanae looks at me then back at Nickoi. “So, a yuh ooman?” her voice sounds weird.

She sounds jealous. Or am I just too paranoid and read into things too much?

“Yah,” he says, looking at me.

“Your hair looks nice Mami,” he compliments.

I smile at Clova. “I’ll call you Clova, take care.” I force a smile at Shanae before I walk to the car.

I get in and close the door, staring angrily through the window. Nickoi sighs when he gets in the car.

“What was that?!” I glare at him as soon as he looks at me. This is not even the real reason why I want to yell at him right now. It’s that Latina weh him have a hide.

I’m not in the whole fighting thing, but I’m willing to grab that Latina because he’s been playing me like a fool because of her. Then I’d fight him too.

“What babe?” He asks, driving off.

“Don’t babe me... you a mess with 17-year-olds now!?” I ask. He stays quiet, making my anger flare even more. I might explode.

“So mi right?” I shake my head. “Mi cya believe this, mi did go lick you and har in a unuh face enuh but me respect Clova and mi nuh wah start no drama at her house!” I argue. He chuckles humourlessly.

Maybe because you said you’d hit him in his face.

I roll my eyes.

He’s awfully quiet.

“Nickoi, stop the car,” I deadpan.

My anger speaks for me. I’ve never felt rage like this before.

Maybe it’s because I had sex with him, only to realize I’m in a relationship by myself—because clearly, that’s what this is.

Maybe I’m upset because I expected these things, but went against my better judgement.

What did I expect though? These are the type of things niggas like him bring, right?

They make you insecure, they give you headaches and they bring a lot of drama and competition from other girls, right?

“You a sweat and a shake, calm down nuh b? All of this is uncalled for,” he sighs.

I stare outside, all I can see is red. “Nickoi Jacobs, stop the car and make me come out,” I repeat.

No mon that sound deadly Zara... bwoy Nickoi try hear good enuh.

“Mi nuh deh wid likkle pitney so you can stop worry about that,” he tells me.

I open my purse slowly and he looks at me alarmed. “Wah ya do?” He asks, looking.

I dig through my bag and find the earrings and I feel my tears coming. He pulls over. “Get yourself together cas a cya the likkle girl you a act this crazy over,” he says and I drop the earring on the arm rest.

“Mi look like a fool to you?” I ask him.

He raises his eyebrows. “No,” he retorts.

“So why you have me falling for you when I’m just a little fling for you?” I ask, pulling out my phone.

“Zara talk straight and get to the point cause me nuh inna this,” he says a little irritated.

“I don’t know how dumb this sounds to you but I love you. It might be a little too early but I do and I don’t know why or how and now you do this and just hurt me,” I explain.

“Do what Zara?”

“I’ve been through breakups, embarrassment everything but this hurts me differently. Do I look like a fool to you?” I ask, tears forming in my eyes.

“You nah be clear,” he retorts. “Jah know mi nuh know wah yaw talk bout,” he adds.

“You have a Latina who offered me 5k to take her pictures. She literally spoke to you next to me and I was just there like an idiot a push away my ex for you, thinking that you’re doing the same for me and you’re in a full-blown relationship... playing with me!?” I sob. He looks away.

I wipe my tears and pick up my phone looking at my face. My silk press still looks good, but my eyes are a mess—puffy and red and I have the baby shower soon. Mi tell yuh fi keep it cool enuh..

He sighs. “Mi nuh deh with her no more,” he says. He’s barely audible. “Wi lef.”

“So tell me... what’s her name Jemmy Nye or is it Talia?” my voice shaky as I sob.

“Lowe that nuh b,” he’s trying to avoid this.

“Don’t call mi b,” I narrow my eyes, fist clenching.

I attempt to open the door and he locks it. “Lowe the door,” his voice serious.

“Look, I don’t want to be a clown anymore.

I don’t want to be seen with you. If you feel accomplished that you got me, go ahead and take your flowers.

I’m sure you have better girls to focus on.

I’m not like your Latina so I’m gonna go my separate way.

And don’t come a mi yard because I’m done!

” I shout at him, his eyes are dark, staring at me blankly. Not a trace of emotion.

It’s like nothing I’m saying is getting to him. At all. He drags a hand down his face. “Ah,” he mutters. I don’t know why, but his reaction—or lack of one—hurts more than I expected. Swear.

“Wah wi a do?” he asks, his voice dry, detached.

“Mi a go a my yard so open the damn door!” I move closer to him.

“Easy yuh self, mi a bring you home so mi know you good,” he says.

“Mi nuh wah you concern about me,” I hiss. He drives off, like he’s trying to kill us both. I don’t react. I don’t even care right now. I cross my arms, lips pouting, brows puled together. The tension a kill mi. Mi just well wah come out.

I’ve probably sighed a thousand times in the last ten minutes.

The moment he parks at my gate, I swing the door open and step out, slamming it shut behind me .