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Her sigh erased my daily allotted hope. “Yes, she did. She won’t say when she’s returning, but that it will be soon.” Hillary dropped her gaze and vanished before I could probe her for more details because there was always more. You didn’t just have a short conversation with Aleyah. She asked questions. You answered, and then it turned into a soul cleansing of sorts.
I missed her so much.
Four nights ago, I called her in the middle of the night and cried on the phone for fifteen minutes straight before I had the strength to tell her that I felt like I was about to die. These nightmares of me dying felt real and current to what my life was like now. She switched our call to Facetime and when she saw me; she looked heartbroken and asked me a series of questions that had terrified me since.
If you die today, where are you going?
Have you completed your earthly assignment God has given you?
What rewards have you gained by giving yourself to the world?
We hung up, and I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, afraid to close my eyes because what if God was about to take my last breath away?
Her questions had me praying differently and changing my conversations with God. I asked him to make me sensitive, aware, and insightful of things and people around me that were bringing me harm. First reaction I got was becoming overly emotional. Second, I was one of the first people God showed me that was bringing harm to myself.
I, Sunnie Austin, was the ‘It Girl’ of Hollywood. Fan favorite of Bougie Baddies of LA reality television show. My face card has been platinum status since I started modeling at the age of ten. My mama is a true southern woman. Between genetics and her cooking, it all aided in the overwhelming development of breasts growing to a natural DD, hips curved to every man’s dream, waist small enough to grip, and the ass was plump. Always plump, and unfortunately, I fell victim to previous managers’ words and tried to be better than the next bitch and had two fat transfers to make my ass extra juicy.
Can’t tell you the last time I saw my real nails, eyelashes, or hair. And don’t even get me started on my wardrobe. For years I thrived off the fact that less got me more. Tight clothes or no clothes at all. Half naked or naked. Twerking and showing everything the good Lord gave me. Brand deals, runway shows, movies, video vixen, and every man’s dream girl except my own. Stealing hearts from viewers watching me keep it real to busting bitches over the head with bottles because one thing you would never do is disrespect me and think I wasn’t going to knuck because you got buck.
I was living the life, the life all the girlies gushed and raved about. The life that planted ugly seeds of jealousy because on social media, I was that girl. However, it all came with a price.
Men thought my only value was my body and not the smarts that got me two bachelor’s degrees and a master’s. Intelligence that helped create several businesses that were thriving and making me money while I slept. Amongst my small group of friends and family, I was known as the go-to person to go over their contracts, negotiations, and making sure everything was legit. I made money, made a lot of money to the point I could buy a hundred-thousand-dollar bag and not blink or cry about my rent not being paid. My daddy made sure I understood the power of money and to always have a plan. But I felt powerful being the object of men’s wet dreams.
However, now I was drowning.
Barely able to breathe and wanting an out, but didn’t know how to get it.
I was tired of being fake and idolized for vanity and material possessions. Tired of being labeled as the mean girl with the lethal tongue and vicious methods of revenge. Tired of fighting and hearing my mama disappointed because I once again showed my natural black ass all over the internet. Tired of being everything for everybody but myself. Days and nights filled with drinking and drugs just to stop the overthinking of my life and to do the jobs. So tired of sharing my life to make money that I didn’t need. None of what was attached to my name brought me happiness or a peace of mind.
I felt like a slave to the money and industry of sex and fame.
“Sunnie, we’re ready for you on set.” One of the set assistants announced, walking by.
My photoshoot for today was with a lingerie company, Ivy Rose. I’ve been the face model since they started business six years ago. These people have seen everything from my rootie to my tootie with no shame, yet today I wanted to cry and throw up. I felt disgusted at the idea of having to be naked with a strange man’s hands on me, though I’ve done far worse for far less money. I used to get soaking wet, stripping my clothes, and showing my body for the world to see.
But now… I couldn’t do it anymore.
And my constant nightmares didn’t make it any better.
If I dropped dead right now these people wouldn’t care. They’d call 911 and have another model standing in to finish, so why was I willing and continuing to sell myself for nothing?
“Alright, Sunnie. This shoot is going to be overly provocative.” Stan, the photographer, showed me all the visual illustrations he had posted up near the set.
Swallowing the heaviness that sat on my chest, and ignoring the voices in my head that told me not to do it, I let him guide me on the white platform stage with four red acrylic chairs. He continued to explain the poses he wanted me to position myself in as I watched my male model come from his dressing room. He had to be a newbie. I knew almost every model that has worked with the company before, and he was a fresh face. A cutie with muscles, giving off a Drake reject. The more I assessed the more something about him made my skin crawl.
He caught me staring and didn’t back down. Any other man with his caramel complexion and hooded eyes would’ve made my knees weak. Licking his pink lips and running a hand down his waves, he winked, sending chills over my skin.
“Are you cold? We can get a heater over here?” Hillary used her hands to try and rub my chill bumps away, but it was pointless. I wasn’t cold. That man’s energy was off. “Okay, nipples are covered, and pussy secured. How do you feel?” I couldn’t answer, afraid I’d either burst into tears or throw up. I nodded with a half smile. “I got some news that might cheer you up.” Hillary and her contagious vibrant spirit quickly changed my whole mood as she bounced on her toes. “Ezekiel is in town, and he wants us to come to his party tonight.” That cheered me up. Ezekiel had that type of power.
A powerful man that I kept close but at arm’s length at the same time.
“Tell him we’ll be there.” I wanted to tell her to ask if he could come here and switch with the model. Ezekiel was much finer and would send the sales and promotion through the roof. Most importantly, I’d feel so much safer and relaxed if they did.
“Yay. Okay, I’m going to ask if he’ll let me style him tonight. We’re going to have so much fun. Tonight I’m drinking until I stop thinking about Derrick and his trifling ass.” My smile dropped when she ran off and the model started walking my way shirtless, wearing the matching silk red boxers to my crotchless set.
“Here, one last look.” The makeup artist thrusted a mirror in my face and the woman staring back at me haunted me.
Who are you?
