Page 57 of Juliet's Echo

I mean, none of them spoke to me or invited me to play any of the games at these parties, but deep down, they knew my presence was needed for their event to be memorable.

Those were the days.

Enjoyable times before I was forced to block out the world and build a fictitious life to hide my truth.

This agoraphobia shit my mother conjured up worked.

Yeah, my social life sucked. My entire circle of friends was an online community of people I’d never seen, and my sex life was a lively expense. I paid for pussy like it was New York parking.

Not because I wanted to.

I had to.

These women I hired didn’t care to know my name or my backstory. They provided a service and, once payment cleared, they performed.

That was the beauty of agoraphobia.

People heard the word, looked up the meaning, and immediately stopped expecting me to be normal. They stopped asking questions about my whereabouts and didn’t press me about friends, marriage, or why I was obtaining my ninth master’s degree online with no lavish career to show for it.

My business was my business.

I sat stiffly on the living room couch, knees together, laptop balanced across my thighs.

My phone vibrated beside me, and the screen displayed an unknown number with a Florida area code.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Mr. Alonse Robertson?” the raspy-voiced woman asked.

“Yes, this is him.”

“This is Gloria Nickles calling from the Florida Department of Health. We’re following up regarding the environmental testing conducted on your property.”

I sat up straighter.

“And?”

“Your property has been cleared, sir. No hazardous chemical levels were found. You are free to return home at your earliest convenience.”

Relief moved through my body so hard I almost smiled.

“Thank you. I appreciate the update,” I said, ending the call.

Finally.

A few nights in Havenbrook had already felt like a few years.

There was no desire in me to spend another moment in this fake bougie Blackness, surrounded by people who supported popularity over talent.

A firmament filled with dumb, fast women whom you take from their poor project-living lifestyles and train to exude excellence. Give them material things their minimum-wage families couldn't afford with two incomes, and what does the bitch do?

She chose him.

I glared back at my laptop, the bile in my stomach threatening to make an exit, my lip turned up in pure disgust. The article still glowed across the screen.

BLACK IN BUSINESS: ECHO EVERETTE ON MUSIC, LEGACY, AND FAMILY

This nigga.