HELL'S BEST

Chapter 1

Well, it started out as an ordinary life. Boy did that change quickly. I'm going to tell you all about it, but I want to start off by saying, y'all are not going to believe me for a minute. With that being said.... here's my story.

I am Spade Orlanda. I know. Spade, right? Like why in hell would my parents pick that name, for a girl, I will never understand. I was planning on spending the weekend with my best friend in the whole world Jammie. She was currently on her way to get me.

A little background on Jammie? Well, she is the absolute best friend anyone could ask for in the entire universe. If you are convinced you are completely right about something, anything, and Jammie feels differently, well she will have your back no matter what in public, but the very second you are alone she is gonna let you know exactly what is on her mind. That's one of the many things I love about this girl. She is my ride or die, my best friend, my family in a world where blood family rarely even cares to call and ask how you are doing. Jammie is my constant and without her I often think life wouldn't be worth the effort it takes to draw a breath in. In other words, without Jammie life wouldn't mean a damn thing.

A little about me, my family doesn't care. I'm not overly self-confident, but I know I have my good points. There's my personality. People find me funny... sometimes. I think I'm hilarious... majority of the time. Jammie thinks I'm pretty cool but I can't tell how much of that is real. Sometimes I don't think anybody actually cares as I care. I know this isn't making sense but maybe it will. I should finish getting my s**t together so I can get outta here. My house depresses me. I shake my head and refocus.

So here I am getting my weekend bag together. I have my make-up packed because sometimes that's more important than clothes. I mean Jammie has a washer and dryer I could use for clean clothes, but we defiantly don't match in skin tone. Or other make-ups, like eyeshadow.

Jammie is a little on the short side, standing five foot 4 inches, her skin is a nice tanned olive, she has very blue eyes, and her hair is a long gorgeous brown with some honey blond highlights in it. Very pretty overall. I, on the other hand, am about five foot seven inches, sorta tall for a girl, I know. My hair is a little below my shoulders and always frizzy, bleached blond. My eyes can't ever decide what color they want to be... green or blue. I tell you all that so that you will know for a fact I need my make-up. I'm not being completely vain. Oh and I should let y'all know I'm a lot on the chunky side, this will become relevant later.

Then I move on to packing clothes, hairbrush, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, toothpaste and toothbrush, deodorant... you know the essentials. That's when I hear Jammie driving up the driveway.

"Yo, I'm out. Jammie's here. I'll see y'all when I get back home," I yell towards my aunt and uncle... who live next door to me. Are you starting to see why I'm depressed? I'm a grown woman who lives next to relatives so they can 'keep a close eye on me. I'm 26 and divorced. Let's just say I didn't take the divorce well and that is why my family feels the need to watch me so closely. I also swore I'd never get married again. Jammie is a couple of years younger than I am.

I open the door and shove my bag to the back seat, then climb in her car and she's already chattering away before I even close the door. That's another thing I absolutely love about her. She makes me feel important even though I'm really insignificant. Most times it's as if Jammie is the only person who knows I'm actually alive, I mean unless someone in my family needs something, then and only then I'll get a phone call. If I disappeared I'm pretty sure Jammie is the only one that would miss me.

"What do you want to do this weekend? Any ideas or suggestions are welcome," states Jammie.

"Probably the usual, shower, dress up, smell good, do our hair and makeup, and take selfies and stuff of us together. Sounds like a plan to me." I know it seems lame for a grown woman to like to 'play dress-up but getting "pretty" and documenting it with my best friend just relaxes me. And sometimes we do actually get dressed up to go out but somehow I just don't think this weekend will be one of those weekends. I hold in my sigh of depression. I'm with Jammie I think, focus on the fun.

"Oh my gosh, we are so lame, but at least we have fun when we do that stuff", Jammie laughed. Her laugh was infectious.

"So we doing our own makeup this time or are you gonna let me experiment with more sparkly pinks on your eyes?" I make myself laugh. then I glance over at her face and I don't have to force out the laugh that tears from deep in my gut, up to my throat, and put my lips. Her expression looks pained. Jammie loves the color pink but paired with her make-up and sparkles she'd rather not go there and she absolutely hates if I put lipstick or gloss on her lips. She's the kind of woman that prefers Chapstick with maybe a hint of pink to tint her already pink lips.