The Life I Left Behind

“We weren’t blood, but we bled the same.”

Keke was already at the diner when I walked in, slouched in the booth like she owned the place. Blonde wig tilted to the side, one nail missing, sunglasses on even though it was almost midnight. That was her style—loud, wild, and unapologetically broken.

“You late,” she said, sipping on a milkshake like we weren’t two women running from our ghosts.

“You early,” I shot back, sliding into the booth.

She laughed, low and dry. “Girl, I’ve been here since before the dinner rush ended. Had to charm the cook into throwing in an extra piece of pie.”

“Charm, huh?”

Her grin faded just a little. “Yeah… let’s call it that.”

Keke was the closest thing I had to family. We met at one of Marcus’s parties years ago—back when I still believed I was choosing this life. She was two years older, already jaded, and already free. She left her pimp the night he broke her nose. Disappeared for two weeks and came back with a blade stitched into her purse strap and an attitude that said Try me, I dare you.

“Still working the circuit?” she asked between bites of lemon meringue.

I nodded. “For now.”

She studied me, eyes narrowing like she could see deeper than I wanted. “You got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The I’m bout to make a move look. The this life ain’t forever look.”

I hesitated. Then I told her about the text from Dee. The open room in her salon. The maybe-shot at something real.

Keke let out a low whistle. “Damn. Dee? Ain’t heard that name in a minute. Last I saw, she had that spot near Cottage Grove lookin’ like a whole Pinterest board.”

“She’s offering me a room. Said I could rent it cheap, do nails. Get out.”

Keke stirred her milkshake slowly. “You gonna take it?”

“I want to.”

“But?”

“But I don’t know how to stop. You ever think about that? Like… what if we’ve been in this so long, we don’t even know who we are without it?”

Keke looked at me, quiet for a second. “Every damn day.”

We sat there in silence, two girls who’d survived things we didn’t talk about in public. The waitress dropped off the check. Keke paid, even though I reached for it. That’s just how we were—sometimes you hold the other up, no questions.

Outside, the air was colder than I expected. Keke lit a cigarette and handed it to me. I didn’t smoke, but I took it anyway. The comfort wasn’t in the habit—it was in the ritual.

“You take that room,” she said. “You stack your money. You get the hell out. And when you do, you don’t look back. Not even for me.”

I looked at her. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

“You might have to,” she said, eyes hard now. “Some of us don’t get out, Nell. But if one of us can, that’s enough.”

That night, I didn’t work. I went home, opened my notebook, and flipped to a new page.

Step 2: Call Dee.

Step 3: Pack up this apartment.

Step 4: Don’t tell Marcus if he finds out I’m back in town.

The next morning, I stood outside Dee’s salon, heart pounding like I was about to jump off a roof.

And maybe I was.

But at least this time, I had wings.