Chapter 10: Dear Karma, Don't Be So Fast.

Blinky's POV

“Are you serious, Cierra?!” I threw my hands in the air, pacing back and forth like I was trying to walk off a bomb that just dropped. “You… you really gonna do that?! Become some fake bride? Girl, you gotta be tripping!”

She shot me a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “Blinky, can you just… tone down your voice for God’s sake?”

I froze mid-step and slowly turned, flaring my nostrils. “Tone down? Tone down? Nah, girl. You tell me you're gonna play pretend bride and I’m supposed to be all… zen? Nooo, uh-uh!” I threw my hands in the air again, exaggerating like she wasn’t taking me serious.

She rolled her eyes so hard, I almost heard them. “Look… can we just sit down? I need to talk to you about it.”

I stopped pacing, stared her down, and folded my arms. “Okay… fine. But I want the truth, Cierra. No sugarcoating, no evasions. Be real with me.”

She groaned and waved me toward the couch. “Shut up and sit already, please.”

I plopped down, leaning back, one eyebrow raised. “Alright… spill it.”

Her hands fiddled nervously in her lap. “Mom… she’s… captured. Passport withheld.”

I blinked, unimpressed. “Skip that. It's not surprising, your mom goes in and out of jail like it's a bathroom.”

She scowled. “Blinky! Manners!”

I held up my hands like I was surrendering. “Okay, okay. Firstly... It's Blinky, not Inky. Secondly… girl, I don’t wanna hear the sad news right now.”

“But Blinky, I need your help,” she pleaded, voice low, almost panicked.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Alright… alright. My time here is up anyway,” I said, trying to stand. She grabbed my hands.

I slapped them off, glaring as she yelled. “Okay… so why are you even here in the first place? Spill!”

I hesitated, then shrugged. “…After you left, some gay party exploded. Cops thought our club had something to do with it.”

She tilted her head at me. “Blinky… that doesn’t explain why you’re here right now.”

I groaned and threw my hands up. “Okay, okay, fine. I couldn’t get my cab… had to come find you. Happy now?”

“Blinky. Shut up. Say the truth for once!” she snapped, glaring hard.

I hissed and leaned in, lowering my voice. “…Okay, fine. I had a night with… Mr. Cockstar.”

Her face twisted in shock. “Oh. So you're screwing my two neighbors now?”

“Nooo, girl. Anything for the hustle, anything for the grind, you feel me?”

She rolled her eyes and muttered, “What the… fuck.. He isn't even financially stable...”

“Girl! Have you seen his… cock?!” I threw my hands in the air again, exaggerating.

She blinked, speechless for a second. “…Who?”

“Mr. Cockstar!” I repeated, laughing like she was slow.

She narrowed her eyes. “Wait… that ain’t his name though…”

I smirked, shaking my head. “Girl, you haven’t seen it. You wouldn’t trade anything else for it. The way he… arched my waist…”

“…Okay okay okay. I don’t wanna hear that,” she said, covering her face with her hands.

I leaned back with a mischievous grin. “So… it’s true, huh? You scared?”

She sank into the couch cushions. “Blinky… it’s like five, six hours before the wedding. I’m confused. I’m scared.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, voice softening a bit. “Alright… spill. Why scared?”

“Firstly… it’s George’s dad.”

I froze mid-breath. Then whispered, “Hold on… that sexy ass Mafia?”

“…He’s not a Mafia, Blinky,” she hissed, glaring.

I waved my hands. “Girl, I know, I know. But c’mon… he got that dangerous, brooding, mysterious… vibe. You know the ones in the books we read?”

She groaned, throwing a pillow at me. “Blinky, stop. Just… stop.”

I caught it with one hand, smirked. “Uh... So why did you accept to do this if you are scared?”

“…I wasn’t scared… not until George came into the picture,” she admitted, looking down.

“…I thought he said he was leaving the country?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not anymore,” she muttered.

I groaned dramatically. “Fuck it.”

She fiddled with her fingers. “The only thing that covers me is the veil… for the wedding.”

I threw my hands up. “Girl… that ain’t enough! That ain’t nearly enough!”

“…And George…” she added quietly. “…He might know me… too well. Like… my walking steps.”

“…Or your coochie shape?” I asked, deadpan.

She blinked. “…The fuck, Blinky?”

I shrugged, smiling cheekily. “Sorry… y’all act like lover birds, what can I say?”

She smiled faintly. “He keeps begging to have me back.”

I shook my head, laughing. “Girl… you are too damn pretty to be this cheap.”

She threw a pillow at me again. “Fuck you!”

I caught it and tossed it aside, sighing. “Okay… okay. About your mom?”

She sighed, exasperated. “We got like… five hours to pull this off.”

I clapped my hands. “Stand up, ma’am! Let’s get this chaos under control. We're gonna go crazy today!”

“…Hold on… how?” she asked, still seated.

“Get up, girl. We are gonna strategize and execute this wedding illusion!” I said, gesturing dramatically.

She jumped on me in a hug. “Omg, I love you so much!”

I patted her back. “Yeah yeah, just… don’t mess up my Shein designers, though.”

“Fuck you,” she muttered, laughing.

I moved to the makeup kits. “First things first… where are your mom’s orders?”

She pointed at the wardrobe. “Here.”

I rummaged through, tossing items on the bed. Nicki Minaj’s Megatron blared from the speaker. “Woo! Y’all ready to see a glow-up or what?”

She rolled her eyes. “I already bathed.”

“Where?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“After the club thing…”

“Huh… okay. Moisturize your face, girl.”

She left, and I danced around, unpacking kits. “Glitter? Nah. Too teen vibe. We need a grown-ass woman's wedding, honey.”

She came out and peeped. “What’s up?”

“Nothing… just strategizing. You need to look mature, like some Y2K baddie.”

“…So you are giving me Y2K baddie vibe?”

“Yes, girl. Sit down. Trust me, we are about to make magic happen.”

I guided her through each step, hands gentle but confident. “Close your eyes. Don’t peek. Trust me, I got you.”

I blended foundation, contour, highlight, and blush, humming along to the music. Every brushstroke, every tap… precision.

She sighed. “Uh… what time is it?”

“Almost 7am. Perfect.”

Her phone rang. “It’s mom.”

I nodded. “Uh… should I hide?”

“Nah… fuck it.”

She answered, FaceTime showing me. Samantha’s voice chimed in. “Baby!”

“…I’m here, mom,” she said softly.

I waved, blushing. “Hey, mama!”

We laughed together. Samantha teased, “It’s been a while, Blinky Blinky Glitty!”

I rolled my eyes. “…Mama, you know I need the papers to fit my lifestyle…”

Samantha chuckled. “God bless you kids… putting a smile on this old woman’s face.”

“…Mama, you are not old....your titties are still out and standing!” I yelled.

She laughed. “Okay, bye!”

I turned to Cierra. “Okay… you ready?”

She stood, twirling. “Wow… I look like my mom… badly.”

“That’s the goal,” I said, smirking.

“OMG, thank youuu!”

“Let’s eat something. You need energy for fear and hunger.”

She laughed. “Are you coming?”

“Are you sick? I can’t risk George finding me there and asking about you.”

“…Oh yeah… right.” She sighed.

“…Time check?”

She hissed. “Oh… fuck… almost 9am.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“10… or 11, rich people time.”

“We gotta go to your mom’s real place, right?” I asked flipping the last pizza.

“Yes… yes… now.” She stuttered.

“…is Everything okay?” I asked in suspicion.

“…Uh… George.”

“…What about...?” I paused.

A car horn blared outside.

We froze, peeking out.

“…Uh???” I whispered.

“…Fuck… George is here,” she muttered.

“…What? How? Oh fuck!”