Owned by the Don

Broken Pieces

All the way to my apartment, I stayed silent. I didn’t say a word. I just sat in the backseat of the taxi, staring blankly out the window as the trees blurred past. The afternoon sun streamed through the glass, warming my face and skin, but inside I felt nothing but ice. Marcus’s harsh words kept looping in my head like a broken record.

“I’m in love with someone else.”

“Sally and I have been in love for the longest while.”

“I’m really sorry, Jas, but we’re done.”

They reminded me that we were no longer together, that I was completely alone, and that he was already sleeping in the arms of another woman. How could he do this to me? To us?

“Here we are, lassie,” the taxi driver’s warm voice pulled me back to reality. I looked up and realized we had arrived at my building. With trembling fingers, I dug through my bag, found my wallet, and pulled out the lone twenty-dollar bill.

“Keep the change,” I mumbled, gathering my things and stepping out onto the pavement. People bustled around with groceries, spouses, and kids under the mid-afternoon Brooklyn sunshine, but I barely noticed any of them.

I trudged up the steps to my floor, shoulders slumped, and pushed open the door. Now that I was jobless, I had no idea how I was going to pay my rent. With cable, Wi-Fi, gas, electricity, trash collection, laundry, and air conditioning, everything added up to two thousand five hundred dollars. I only had fifteen hundred in my bank account after buying new school supplies and stocking up on groceries.

I had planned to ask Marcus for a thousand dollars to cover the rest, but since he was too busy screwing his new woman, I didn’t bother. Shaking the ugly thought from my mind, I turned the key in the lock and stepped inside. I dropped my bag carelessly on the floor and went straight to the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

I hadn’t been sitting there for ten minutes when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” I called weakly, shrugging off my jacket and draping it over the back of the couch.

Riley walked in with a bag of potato chips tucked under one arm and a bottle of wine in the other. The moment she saw me, her steps faltered. She quickly set everything on the coffee table and came over, her usual bright energy dimming with concern.

“Alright, Jas, I got your message. What’s up? Your bitchy landlady giving you a hard time again? If so, I can punch her in the nose for you,” she offered, trying to sound light as she opened the bag of chips.

I tucked my legs under me, pulled my hair loose from the ponytail, and began massaging my scalp with shaky fingers. “If it were that easy, Riley, I’d have done it myself a long time ago.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

Not wanting to keep the heart-wrenching pain bottled up any longer, I threw myself into Riley’s arms and started crying. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks as my shoulders shook.

Alarmed, she set the bag aside and wrapped her arms tightly around me, one hand gently stroking my hair. “Jas, what’s wrong? Did something happen at school? At work? Tell me what happened.”

"R… Riley… Marcus… Marcus broke up with me,” I wailed, clutching her neck as bitter sobs tore from my throat. “I went to his apartment to ask him for a thousand dollars so I could pay my rent, but I found him in bed with another woman.”

“Va tutto bene, va bene Jas, non piangere. Quel fottuto bastardo non ha idea di cosa abbia appena perso. Merita di marcire all’inferno per quello che ti ha fatto,” she whispered soothingly in Italian, her voice soft and fierce at the same time.

("It’s okay, it’s okay, Jas, don’t cry. The f*****g bastard has no idea what he just lost. He deserves to rot in hell for what he did to you")

I had forgotten Riley spoke Italian. She had lived in London with her parents and siblings before moving to Brooklyn to work as a property accountant. We had met at the mall, struck up a conversation like old friends, talked for hours, and exchanged numbers.

Ever since then, Riley had always had my back. Anyone who tried to bully me, she shut down faster than I could count to five. If any guy ever tried to push me around, she’d threaten to strangle or castrate them without hesitation.

Girl was a total savage.

We sat on the couch while I cried my eyes out and she did her best to comfort me. The wine and potato chips lay forgotten on the table. A half hour passed before I finally pulled myself together. I wiped my eyes with a tissue and took several deep breaths, trying to steady my breathing.

Riley adjusted our clothes and mine, then opened the bottle of wine. “I’ll get some glasses from the kitchen. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what’s going on with your landlady? Maybe I can help.”

“She said if I don’t get the money by this evening, she’ll evict me,” I groaned, my voice still thick with tears. “I only have fifteen hundred dollars. Rent is two thousand five hundred. How the hell am I supposed to come up with the rest in time?”

“Just ask her for until Monday. You’re working this weekend, you’ll get paid and then you can give her the money,” Riley reasoned, handing me a glass.

“That would make perfect sense, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m also unemployed.” I grabbed a few chips, my fingers trembling slightly. “Also, I’m two weeks overdue. Mrs. Vargas isn’t exactly sympathetic when her tenants don’t pay rent on time.”

“Damn, girl, you’re in a bit of a pickle, aren’t you?” Riley clicked her tongue and walked over with the glasses of wine. I accepted mine and took a healthy swig of the dark red, tangy liquid.

“I was fired, I’m in danger of being evicted, my boyfriend cheated on me, and I’m teetering on the brink of insanity!” I burst out, my voice cracking.

“You know what you need, sis? A night of debauchery. To take your mind off how shitty your life is.”

“Riley, I hope you know that debauchery means excessive indulgence in sensual pleasure. Which I am certainly not doing,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I know what debauchery means, Jasmine, which is exactly what you need in order to get over your dickhead ex-boyfriend. Ask anyone,” Riley finished her wine and headed toward my bedroom, picking up the bottle and chips as she went. I rushed after her.

“Riley, I’m fine with staying home and binge-watching movies this weekend. And trust me, sensual pleasure is not what I need to divert my attention from ‘how shitty my life is’. I just broke up with Marcus. Take a hint.”

“Jasmine, you need a break. It’s not healthy to stay at home all the time and not go out and have yourself a good time. It’s important that you have fun, you know,” she lectured, opening my drawer and rummaging through my lingerie.

“I can’t possibly accept that from you, Riley. It’s your hard-earned money. I can’t take it. I’ll figure something out.”

“Just think of it as a favor.”

“A favor for what exactly?”

“I’ll pay your rent and in exchange for that, you’re coming to the club with me. We’ll drink, dance, and have some fun.”

I should’ve known better than to rise to her bait.

“I don’t know, Riley. Drinking and late-night parties aren’t exactly my idea of fun,” I said, crossing my legs on the bed, my fingers tapping restlessly against my knees. “If you want, we can stay home and have a movie night.”

“Yes, that suggestion sounded so much safer.”

“Non fare la drag princess, è venerdì sera,” she scoffed.

(Don’t be such a drag princess, it’s Friday night.)

“I don’t speak Italian, Riley,” I told her with a sigh.

“It’s Friday night. We’re going clubbing. End of story.”

“Exactly, it’s Friday night! I was planning on watching some movies with popcorn tonight,” I said in one last attempt to make her drop the idea.

“Jasmine, I’m sorry, but you have no say in the matter. We’re going to have so much fun this evening. You need it, sis,” Riley told me with a tender smile as she pulled out a pair of lace red lingerie and a push-up bra for me. “Since you don’t have attire suitable for clubbing, I’m going to order some dresses online.”