An ugly girls diary 3 th.., p.1
An Ugly Girl's Diary 3 (The Cartel Publications Presents), page 1
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WWW.THECARTELPUBLICATIONS.COM
AN UGLY GIRL’S DIARY 3
By
T. STYLES
Copyright © 2024 by The Cartel Publications. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission
from the author, except by reviewer who may quote passages
to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
Organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the
Author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance of
Actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2024901874
ISBN 10: 1948373947
ISBN 13: 978-1948373944
Cover Design: Book Slut Girl
First Edition
Printed in the United States of America
What up Fam,
What's good? As the world keeps spinning and we keep winning, I'm sliding through with that real and crazy love straight from the heart. Y'all know how we do it at Cartel Publications, always keeping it a buck!
Now, let's chop it up about the latest banger, “An Ugly Girl's Diary 3”. T. Styles ain't just spinning yarns, she weaving whole tapestries where every thread is a nerve. This joint gonna take you on a ride so buckle up and see if you can guess where you’re going!
Now, let’s shift our focus and keep in line with tradition. In this novel, we want to give love to,
LAMAR DEMEATRICE JACKSON JR.
If you’re unaware, Lamar D. Jackson Jr. is an NFL quarterback for the Baltimore Ravens for the past five years! However, this season he has taken the team to the AFC Championship game being played in Baltimore for the first time in franchise history! In fact, by the time y’all get this book, the Ravens would have won and be on their way to the Superbowl!! (Fingers crossed) Or they lost…but I’m hoping it’s a W! Either way, I’m proud of the team and I’m super proud of Lamar! He is incredible and I know he will bring many Superbowl’s to the city of Bmore!
Aight…As Lamar has said all season…lock in, fam. It's time to get comfortable, kick back with your snack of choice, and let the story wash over you like the love we pour into every line. This is for the dreamers, the believers, the underdogs this one's for you!
Stay up, stay blessed, and never forget…we are the stories we tell, and this one's gonna be legendary.
One Love!
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PROLOGUE
CURRENT DAY
It was a bitterly cold fucking night, as Courtney Martin shivered, not just from the chill but from the realization of where she found herself: an uninviting shack she had no business being inside in the first place.
She was completely naked.
Beside her lay her large Louis Vuitton purse, its contents haphazardly scattered on the ground. The most valuable item she had was her cell phone, which, frustratingly, had no service. Equally important was her diary, her constant companion.
Something she wrote in every day.
While her teeth chattered, she berated herself for her foolishness, for getting entangled in a game she had willingly played, yet she knew anyone in her situation would have fought tooth and nail for what they believed was rightfully theirs.
But it wasn't just any fight. It was for her life's work, her sense of security.
Her fucking money.
She refused to be robbed of it again!
Not after fighting so hard.
Surveying the shack, Courtney's eyes landed on a milk crate and an old, stiff potato sack. The cold sharpened her wits. What was she going to do? Use the sack for warmth or lay it on the crate to avoid splinters piercing her skin.
She chose to put it on the crate.
Once settled, she peered through the wooden slats in front of her. The world outside was covered in darkness, save for a distant house with a lit window. She decided to stay motionless, more frozen than ever, for this standoff of her life.
Diving back into her purse, she retrieved her diary.
Regret flickered through her heart because a knife or even the retractable bat she owned would have been more useful in this situation. Yet she knew dwelling on 'what ifs' wouldn't help. She needed a clear mind.< br />
Maybe her diary could provide clarity.
Opening the flap to the first dated entry six months ago.
Courtney began to read….
CHAPTER ONE
May 3rd, 2023
Dear Diary,
Everybody hates me.
The amount of reaction videos to my content and the amount of angry mail I get is so heavy, that I told my team don’t show me anymore.
If it wasn’t for my son and my man, I would feel alone.
And even now I’m starting to think that my nigga is over me. We've been solid 'til now. But lately he feels off. After spending so much time with a person whether they say it or not, you know if something has changed.
The first time we met?
It was kind of cute.
If you keep an open mind.
Last year I was in a diner, waiting on a sponsor I was supposed to be meeting. When I went to grab a sugar jar off another table because mine was empty, he walked up to me, whispered in my ear, and said, ‘You should go home.’
I'm like, 'Excuse you?' He's fine as fuck, but I don’t care. Why's he even talking to me, let alone telling me to go home?
I laugh when I think about it now. Because we’re so compatible.
And then he tells me, ‘We got a meeting.’
I’m confused.
Since I’m very private not many recognize me from 'An Ugly Girl’s Diary' podcast.
But he knew me on sight.
How?
Of course he was the one I was waiting for. It’s just that he was more perfect in person. His IG pic didn’t do him justice.
I sat back down in the booth. "First of all you’re late. And why do you want me to go home anyway?" I poured sugar into my coffee.
He sat down, leaned in, and whispered, 'Cause you got blood on your clothes. The back of your pants.' I nearly died, Diary!
This is why I dread meetin' new people. Not 'cause of some period mishap like I had in front of Mr. Fine, but 'cause I'm socially awkward. Always the wallflower, safe in my corner, no competition.
I just…
“Bae…”
Courtney closed her diary when she heard Plazo walk in. She was wearing her robe and it showed her light brown skin, and the strawberry patch tattoo adorning her shoulder blade. Looking up at him with hazel Brown eyes, she said, “Yes? Do you want anything for breakfast?”
At 47, he was a towering presence with his dark, silky skin. His beard was a distinguished blend of black with streaks of grey, which added to his youthful face.
He sat next to her and put his hand on her leg. She loved when he did that because in her mind it meant he cared. “No, I'm just surprised you're writing in that thing so early.” He pointed at it as if it were a dirty magazine.
“What you mean?”
“Don’t you have to take Lawson to school?”
“Oh, fuck! And he has football practice this morning. Like they don’t give us enough stuff to do as is.” She looked at the time on her watch surprised she let it get away from her. But Plazo was on her mind because if that man left her at that point in her life, she would have a tough time sorting things out.
“Something is bothering me.” She pushed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. “I need to know right now what you're going to do.”
“What you talking about?”
“Plazo, I know things haven't been good with us–”
“I care about you. And, I'm gonna fight for us as long as I can. At the same time it’s not the right time to talk about this. You got to take Lawson to school. But I'm going to be here when you get home.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Trust.” He squeezed her leg again and walked out the room.
She wasn't sure if he meant to do it or not but he damn sure eased her mind. At least briefly. Dropping the diary in her purse she went to see about her son.
Walking into the living room, she took a moment to observe her home and open up the house. This meant opening the blinds. She loved how the sun crept up over the roof, spilling its light inside. As if it was a spotlight, that shined love on the environment she was providing for her son. In addition to the comfortable clutter of a life lived hard.
And then there were the photos. Despite her not being in most of the pictures. Because after all this time, Courtney still had a problem with her own reflection. And there was nothing anybody could do to tell her differently.
Not even her boyfriend, Plazo.
“I know you’re not trying to do homework at the last minute? Not when you know I got a meeting and have to get to my studio.”
Her son, fifteen-year-old Lawson, lounged on the couch, textbooks and headphones scattered around him. His dreadlocks draped his face and blended into the beard and stash he had working.
“Ma, why you sweating me?” Lawson's voice, deepening with adolescence, broke the morning stillness. “I heard Plazo just tell you to come in here. Because you were in that diary again.”
“You talking to who right now?”
“You know what I mean, ma.”
“I’m not one of your friends, Lawson. You’d do well to remember it.”
When she turned her head under his breath, he said “I know, but I wish you were sometimes.” He looked at her as she fussed with buttoning her shirt.
As she served scrambled eggs and wheat toast, her movements were somewhat ruffled. The very important sponsor, who she preferred to talk to over the phone was probably waiting on her at her favorite diner.
Courtney glanced at the clock, time was tight as usual. But lately weird things had been happening. People left strange notes on her front porch. Sent packages with nothing in them and even called her without saying anything. So she liked to make sure the coast was clear before bringing her son outside in the morning.
When she opened the front door and peaked out, she saw a paper bag. From the smell of it, she could tell it was shit. It seemed like every other week, it was something. She started to be immune to it because sometimes it felt childish. But if her son suffered a setback, she would go off for sure.
After throwing it in the trash on the curb, and examining her car, which was fine, she went back in the house.
“Let’s bounce, Lawson! Now!”
Just as disheveled as his mother, he tossed everything into his book bag and followed her outside the door.
Once in the car, and when the seatbelts clicked, she said, “Don’t forget I’m picking you up.”
“Ma, when you gonna let me take the bus? Or walk to school. You treat me like a kid.”
She frowned. I mean had he met her ever? “You’re my son. And I’m gonna treat you like that because I want you safe. Be glad you got a mother who cares.”
When she parked in front of Todd Davis high school, in Washington DC, Courtney fixed his shirt and made sure his jacket was nice and neat.
“Ma, I know you want to fix everything, but sometimes it feels like you're fighting ghosts of the past instead of fighting for yourself.”
“What you talking about?”
“It feels like you’re pushing me in a hole over something that probably happened before I was born. I mean after all this time, ain’t we safe?”
She was stunned.
For starters, it seem like he had that one in the chamber. Ready to go at the right time. She was somewhat impressed, but she also felt embarrassed.
He kissed her on the cheek and exited the car. All she could do was watch as he disappeared into the school. He was becoming a grown ass man.
****
Courtney slipped into the booth at the bustling local restaurant, the aroma of coffee and sizzling bacon filling the air. She spotted the sponsor, Tasha, waving from a corner table. And just the sight of the woman had her feeling inferior already.
She was beautiful, despite being much older than her. Clear skin. Fashionable clothing and a smile that said everything was good in her life. At least Courtney thought from the outside looking in.
She hadn’t even met her formally yet. She hustled in her direction.
“Hey girl, you found me!” Tasha greeted her with a bright smile, the bonnet from her line dazzling in an array of colors.
Courtney waved back.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t get my message in time about where I was sitting. And I decided I didn’t want to sit at the breakfast counter.”
“Actually I didn’t get your message. But I couldn’t miss that bonnet anywhere. I love how you wear it in the street. Monique would probably go off though. You're a walking billboard, for real,” Courtney laughed, settling in, fussing with her clothing in the process. Had she known she was going to be so cute, she would’ve dressed better.
