Niya Read online

  Niya:

  Rainbow Dreams

  Fabiola Joseph

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ACT I - Rainbow Dreams

  Chapter 1 - Niya

  Chapter 2 - Jamilla

  Chapter 3 - Niya

  Chapter 4 - Jamilla

  Chapter 5 - Niya

  Chapter 6 - Jamilla

  Chapter 7 - Niya

  Chapter 8 - Jamilla

  Chapter 9 - Niya

  Chapter 10 - Jamilla

  Chapter 11 - Niya

  Chapter 12 - Jamilla

  Chapter 13 - Niya

  Chapter 14 - Jamilla

  Chapter 15 - Niya

  Chapter 16 - Jamilla

  Chapter 17 - Niya

  Chapter 18 - Jamilla

  Chapter 19 - Niya

  Chapter 20 - Jamilla

  Chapter 21 - Niya

  Act II - Dreamer’s Paradise

  Chapter 22 - Niya

  Chapter 23 - Jamilla

  Chapter 24 - Niya

  Chapter 25 - Jamilla

  Chapter 26 - Niya

  Chapter 27 - Jamilla

  Chapter 28 - Niya

  Chapter 29 - Jamilla

  Chapter 30 - Niya

  Chapter 31 - Jamilla

  Chapter 32 - Niya

  Chapter 33 - Jamilla

  Chapter 34 - Niya

  Chapter 35 - Jamilla

  Chapter 36 - Niya

  Chapter 37 - Jamilla

  Chapter 38 - Niya

  Chapter 39 - Jamilla

  Chapter 40 - Niya

  Chapter 41 - Jamilla

  Chapter 42 - Niya

  Chapter 43 - Jamilla

  Chapter 44 - Niya

  Chapter 45 - Jamilla

  Chapter 46 - Niya

  Chapter 47 - Jamilla

  Chapter 48 - Niya

  Chapter 49 - Jamilla

  Chapter 50 - Niya

  Chapter 51 - Jamilla

  Chapter 52 - Niya

  Chapter 53 - Jamilla

  Chapter 54 - Niya

  Chapter 55 - Jamilla

  Chapter 56 - Niya

  Chapter 57 - Jamilla

  Chapter 58 - Niya

  Chapter 59 - Jamilla

  Chapter 60 - Niya

  Chapter 61 - Jamilla

  Chapter 62 - Niya

  Chapter 63 - Jamilla

  Chapter 64 - Niya

  Chapter 65 - Jamilla

  Chapter 66 - Niya

  Chapter 67 - Jamilla

  Chapter 68 - Niya

  Chapter 69 - Jamilla

  Chapter 70 - Niya

  Chapter 71 - Jamilla

  Chapter 72 - Niya

  Chapter 73 - The Green estate, the house that was built from deceit . . .

  Chapter 74 - Jamilla

  Chapter 75 - Niya

  Chapter 76 - Jamilla & Niya – Paradise Lost Jamilla

  Chapter 77 - Paradise Found . . . For Now

  A Note from the Author

  Contact Fabiola Joseph

  Books by the Author

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Niya: Rainbow Dreams

  Copyright © 2017 Fabiola Joseph

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6228-6785-1

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Submit Orders to:

  Customer Service

  400 Hahn Road

  Westminster, MD 21157-4627

  Phone: 1-800-733-3000

  Fax: 1-800-659-2436

  This book is for anyone who is dying to be free.

  For the souls who roam and can’t find a home.

  If I could help it, you would never feel alone.

  For the ones who are bold enough to say, “Fuck the world. I can only be me.”

  For the people who just want to love freely.

  This book is for everyone who believes in true love.

  Gay, bi, and even straight, it doesn’t really matter much.

  We all bleed red, so loving each other is a must.

  ACT I

  Rainbow Dreams

  Niya, you saw it all.

  As I walk through life, it is as if I am invisible.

  A ghost who is still living but is ignored nonetheless.

  I watch other people just to make sure it’s not just me, but as I look at them, they look right through me.

  I know that I am different. I know that I stand out. So why is it that they are all blinded to the beauty I house?

  Just when I thought that life wasn’t worth living, you came along and actually looked at me.

  You took the time to see things that I hadn’t even seen in myself.

  You know not what you do, because it just comes so naturally.

  You love me, and that will always be enough.

  So with you I stand through the good and the bad.

  I will forever love you for taking me from a ghost no one saw to a women standing proud and tall.

  Niya, my love, you saw me. You saw it all.

  Jamilla

  Chapter 1

  Niya

  “Why are you fucking with me?”

  The block was packed, and all eyes turned to me. Brooklyn in the summertime brought everyone outside. The kids and their parents littered the streets, hoping to escape the sweltering heat. The corner boys served their poison to paying customers, and as for me, I was having another argument with Rodney.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I asked, hoping that my lowered tone would convince him to do the same.

  “You know what the fuck I’m talking about. You say that you’re my friend, but you are lying to me. You’re gay, Niya. Just admit that shit.”

  I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that my best friend had just outed me like that. Well, maybe that was the problem. I looked at him as if he was still and only my best friend, and not as if he was the lover he wanted to be.

  “Fuck you, Rodney.” I started to walk away, but he just caught up with me and turned me around.

  “No one out here is surprised. Look at you. You dress like a nigga. You act like a nigga. You even wear men’s cologne. I thought that maybe, just maybe, you were a tomboy, and that maybe what they said wasn’t true, but we all have to face the truth.”

  “What the fuck would it matter if it were true? You ain’t my nigga.”

  My heart felt as if it would beat out of my chest. All my life, I had kept one secret. I had never let anyone in on this one thing about myself. I had battled this thing all my life, and I thought I had hid it well. There were plenty of straight girls who dressed like me and wore their hair in cornrows like me. So what made me so damn different? I asked myself while staring into Rodney’s face. I was still me. I was the friend he had always known. Why would admitting out loud the fact that I liked girls change any of that for him? It wasn’t like he didn’t already know. How could he do this to me? He was my one and only true friend. I even trusted this nigga with my life. I just couldn’t understand what had pushed him to embarrass me in front of everyone who was outside. I would never have done that to anyone I care about.

  “I love you, Niya, but I can’t have a friendship that’s not real.
You don’t like dudes, and that’s okay, but at least be real with yourself.”

  I could feel my eyes watering up, but I couldn’t let the whole damn block see me cry. “I’m not gay.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. The truth was, I just couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? I just gave you an out. Are you that fucking weak?”

  “Fuck you! I ain’t weak. I—I just . . .” The words were fighting to get out. They were jumbled only because my brain was getting in the way.

  “Say it. Say that you like girls. Can you do that?”

  With my heart dying to tell the truth, I let my lies turn me around and allow me to walk away. I could feel everyone’s eyes burning a hole into my back as I walked away from the block where everyone already knew the reality of my sexuality.

  * * *

  When I got to my building after a short ten-minute walk, she was sitting there, at the bottom of the stairs, as always, writing in her damn notebook. I took the stairs two at a time, but as I turned to go into the building, I changed my mind. She was still sitting at the bottom of the stairs that led to my building, so I stayed at the top. I pulled out a Black & Mild and just sat down above her. I needed to cool off before I went into the house. I needed to clear my head. I just couldn’t understand why Rodney would do that to me. We had always been close, close enough for me to allow him to be my best friend.

  I had thought that being around him would mask who I really was, but how could that last? I allowed him to bring girls to my house when my grandmother was out. We would freak off, but that was between us. He would bring in a third party so I could watch her, touch her, fuck her, and make it look like a threesome, but I wasn’t fooling anyone but myself. Of course, he would be mad. I had used him to mask who I really was.

  “The least you can do is say hello.”

  She had never spoken to me before. I would always see her, look at her, write something about her, and keep it moving. I had almost forgotten about her being at the bottom of the stairs. It was a good thing she spoke.

  “My bad. I was caught up in my own thoughts. Hello,” I said. She didn’t turn around when I spoke, so I was talking to the back of her head.

  “Upset about what your friend said?” she asked.

  I damn near choked on the smoke I had just pulled in. “That dude’s buggin’.”

  “Is he?”

  I remained quiet. I thought that I had momentarily lost my hearing, because Brooklyn had never been so silent.

  When I didn’t answer, she turned around, which only added pressure to the situation. “Are you going to answer me, or are you just going to sit there all bug-eyed?”

  “Um, nah. He has things all messed up. I just, you know, I—”

  “Okay. I understand,” she said, cutting me off. Her answer sounded sarcastic, and that didn’t sit well with me.

  “Bitch, who the fuck are you? You don’t even know me!”

  “I said, ‘Okay. I understand.’ No need to call me a bitch ’cause you can’t admit to who you really are.”

  I was down those stairs before her last word left her mouth.

  “You don’t understand shit, ’cause there’s nothing to fucking understand. All you do is sit on these fucking stairs, writing in your fucking notebook. What the fuck would you understand about what I’m going through?” I yelled. I snatched her notebook out of her hand and kept it from her as she reached for it.

  “Give me back my fucking notebook,” she demanded.

  “Fuck you, bitch! Mind your fucking business next time.”

  She looked at me as if she was hurt, but I was way too lost in my sea of bullshit to empathize with her. “Fine. Keep it,” she said, looking down at my hand before continuing. “Taking that from me, it won’t change anything that has happened tonight. It won’t change who you really are. You can yell ‘Fuck you’ all you want. It’s your lie, not everyone else’s.”

  I was so taken aback by her words that I was speechless. I watched her walk into the building, and I instantly wished that things had gone differently.

  Chapter 2

  Jamilla

  I had felt her behind me, and that had shit irked me. I hadn’t been sure if she could see what I was writing, so that had made me stop. I had seen what went down between her and her friend as I walked out of the corner store. The whole block had seemed to be watching. In a way, I was kind of shocked that she didn’t light Rodney’s ass up. Niya seemed so tough. Although we had never uttered a word to each other, she just came off that way.

  She hung with the rough crowd, the dope boys, the good-for-nothings. I didn’t even know why I always noticed her, though I guessed it was because she just seemed so different. I thought that it was a known fact that she was gay. She looked like a stud, wore guy clothes, and never had on any makeup, so I was lost. I knew that I should have kept my mouth shut, but being a writer had got the best of me. I had to know what she was feeling and why. I hadn’t thought that things would turn out the way they had, and the worst thing was that she had taken my notebook.

  As I stood face-to-face with her for the first time, I noticed how beautiful she was, but in an “I’m not a girl” way. Sure, she had nice lips, nice hair, which most people would say was being wasted on a butch girl who would never curl it. Her skin showed the mix of her Dominican and Haitian roots. It was smooth, light, but looked tanned at the same time. Her eyes were on fire, yet they held so much in them. They were dark, beneath long natural lashes. Most women would kill for her eyes, which seemed also to be naturally lined with dark pencil. I watched her peach-colored lips as she spit her lies at me. I wanted to ask her to calm down just so I could talk to her, but that wasn’t going to happen. She was all of five feet eight, maybe five feet nine, but her anger made it seem as if she towered over my five-feet-seven-inch frame.

  “You can yell ‘Fuck you’ all you want. It’s your lie, not everyone else’s,” I yelled at her. I had had enough. I just wanted to talk to her.

  I had thought that maybe she had had enough of staring at me. For months, that had been all she did. I didn’t mind it, unlike some of the other girls had during our high school years, but now we were headed to college after the summer was over. I would have thought that she would feel free enough to be herself. But fuck it. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind tonight. As I walked into my building, I prayed that she didn’t open that notebook and read what was inside of it. But a small part of me wondered what would happen if she did.

  Chapter 3

  Niya

  As I walked into my grandmother’s apartment, my cell phone rang. I looked at the name on the screen, and it was White Boy, an albino nigga who would buy some shit off me from time to time. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his ass, so I sent him to voice mail. It just hadn’t been my night. Two arguments with two people in a matter of minutes, and it had left me drained. If I’d known any better, I would have just gone to bed.

  “Niya, mi amor, what all that yelling I hear outside? You know I keep window open. Why you yell ‘Fuck you’ like that?”

  I looked at my grandmother as she made her way over to the fridge to take out my plate and warm it up. I headed to my room, threw Jamilla’s notebook down on my nightstand, and headed back to my granny to finish our conversation and eat.

  “You can’t do that, Niya. You can’t curse people in the streets like that, my love. Don’t act like your mama. She used to—”

  Her comparing me to my mother only added fuel to my dying fire. I had vowed to be nothing like her, a crackhead who roamed the streets, turning tricks for a hit. Not that my father was any better: he was locked away in jail for robbing a bank. Neither of them cared enough about me to get shit right.

  “My mother? Are you for real?” I said, interrupting her.

  “Sí. Igual que ella.”

  “Just like her! Are you crazy?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “Ay, watch your mouth. You are
the crazy, speaking to me like that in my house,” my grandma said with her heavy Dominican accent. She walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and told me to sit. She walked back into the kitchen and brought my plate out. “Now, tell me why you yell ‘Fuck you’ to the nice girl.”

  I looked at her as I picked up my fork, and for a second, I thought about lying to her. “’Cause she overheard Rodney calling me gay.”

  I watched her scrunch up her face before she asked, “He called you what?”

  I put down my fork and looked right at her. “A gay. Lesbian, Grandma. A lesbian.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She got up and went into the kitchen. I followed her, but she wouldn’t face me.

  “Mi amor, why he call you that? And why you yell at her for him calling you that?”

  “Because she wasn’t minding her business.”

  She was quiet for a while, and I would have given anything to know what she was thinking. She never turned around, though. “Why you tell me this Rodney and her think you’re lesbian?” she finally asked.

  My heart rate quickened. Was she about to flip out? She started to wash dishes, as she just couldn’t stand still. She even washed what was already clean.

  “Why, Niya? Why you tell me this, huh? That’s crazy. Rodney tell you that, she tell you that, and now you tell me?”

  I started to cry. What would make her ask me why? I thought that I would be safe with her, thought that she would shield me from others, and even from myself. Was this a mistake? I hadn’t even got a chance to tell her yet, and she was already acting funny. Either way, I told myself, I was just going to tell her the truth. I had lied to two different people on the same day, and those lies would end with the only woman I knew who truly loved me. I was afraid, I was worried, but I couldn’t face knowing that I was a liar just one more time that night.

  “Grandma, look at me.” I touched her back, but still, she didn’t turn around. “Look at me! Do I look straight to you? Why do you always ask me who I am going out with? It’s ’cause you already know. You always ask his name. You know there is no he, Grandma.”