Full Figured 17 by Brandie Davis

Author:Brandie Davis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Urban Books
Published: 2022-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

I can’t do this. I can’t walk away. I don’t care what you did in the past. I’m coming over to see you now. We can make this work.

Harper pursed her lips together and shook her head. “He was going to her place to reconcile. Whatever was wrong, he wanted to make right.”

“Poor kid died for love,” Stony declared.

Red Flags

by

Niko Michelle

Chapter 1

I grunted and swatted at my junky bedside chest, accidentally knocking over my inhaler, a Kleenex box, and a bottle of lotion. “Tempo” by Lizzo played for the third time before I snatched up my cell phone and interrupted the song that served as my ringtone and big girl anthem.

“It’s after two in the morning, and I have an exam, so somebody better be dead or on life support, or we finna have a serious problem,” I groggily threatened my disconnected Siamese twin, Yara. We weren’t twins for real, not even biologically related, but as much as we stayed glued together in our friendship, we should’ve shared an organ or been connected by a piece of skin. Something more than aura and similar-sounding names.

“It’s worse than that, Redarra,” Yara said, proving how much emptiness surrounded my threat. I would never intentionally hurt her or anyone. I’m all bark, no bite unless it has to do with food.

I smacked my teeth at her dramatics. “Girl, what can possibly be worse than death?”

“Taylor,” she responded. Melancholy was never her, no matter what was going on. Somehow, it spoke for her in that one word.

My wooden gray-and-turquoise-striped DIY headboard smacked the wall, and the mattress springs cried assault as all 280 pounds of me jiggled and wiggled to roll from my stomach to my back and into a sloppy dismount. The tissue box flattened like a smashed pea underneath the weight of my wide-width size ten foot. My body type wasn’t built for gymnast shit, but I made it to my feet and scored myself a solid four when I heard my boyfriend’s name associated with “worse than death.” With that performance, no one could tell me I wasn’t training for the Olympics, but one specific to overweight, out-of-shape five-feet-two-inch girls like me.

The sheer white curtains hit the floor first, and then the blinds followed when I forcefully pulled them open to look out into the parking lot and at the apartment building perpendicular to mine. That’s where Taylor lived. A hop, skip, and jump, and if I did more of those things, I wouldn’t be panting like a thirsty dog.

No flashing emergency lights. No sirens. No rescue. Not even a gleam of light from campus security’s weak Dollar Tree flashlights. It’s not like the security in our complex was dependable anyway, and I didn’t blame them. It was a paycheck, but I wouldn’t willingly risk my life for a bunch of unruly college kids when the only form of protection was a can of mace and a plastic-looking club that I’d exchange for a pair of nun chucks any day. I’d

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