tishtingz

The closer you were to pulling up to your sister’s home, the harder it was becoming for you to breathe.

It wasn’t like you were ignorant enough to believe you could escape this.  You’d always known, deep down inside, that one day, you’d have to face them again. Yet, here you were, tucked into the smooth tan leather of Shuri’s car, hiding the fact that you were on the verge of an anxiety attack, and your girlfriend to the left of you filled with positive anticipation to meet your family.

Your sister, Alex, was turning twenty-five today. It is a big celebration for your bloodline, and though much of the original purpose of the celebration had been lost due to oral passing, the general belief was that the lucky lady who’d survive to her twenty-fifth birthday was to be guaranteed a long, fulfilling life.

Of course your sister would have a long, fulfilling life. Alex was a woman of greatness. She’d worked hard in school, got into an amazing college, met a handsome guy who she’d married as soon as she landed her first official big-girl job at some law firm in your home city. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Alex was guaranteed for greatness.

Alex was…perfect.

You didn’t want to go. As much as you knew it would have hurt her to not have her sister at her side for her big day, Alex would’ve understood. You never liked the elaborate, extravagant lifestyle. You were a simple girl with simple pleasures, who led a simple life and wanted nothing more than to live simply.

Though, that seems contradictory, since about a year ago, you found yourself gaining the attention and affections of the very Queen of Wakanda. How you managed that feat, you would never know.

It was Shuri who had found the invitation. She was visiting you during an monthly check up at one of the outreach facilities posted in your town, when she had inevitably seen the pretty invitation sitting on your kitchen island. It was all written in cursive, no doubt the product of your sister’s perfect penmanship, and most of all, it was addressed to you and Shuri.

You’d only told Alex of your relationship after the six month mark. You wanted to be certain that such a relationship would last; though, now that you thought back on it, what good would it have done Shuri to play you? Her intentions and integrity were clear the first day she had introduced herself to you. She’d never given you any reason to not trust her, and yet, you had still doubted her. It was a period of time you regretted most, and yet, Shuri still loved you. And in realizing that she would continue to do so, even after seeing the ugly parts of you, you allowed yourself to truly love her back.

Shuri was ecstatic to go. She wanted to meet your sister in person, having only ever seen each other through video calls and communicated through text. And with Shuri’s pretty brown doe-eyes that had always been a weakness to you, you couldn’t say no.

And now, here you were, gripping the door handle tightly as you released tight breathes, wondering if it would have been beneficial to sit Shuri down and tell her the reason why your eyes showed a glimpse of dread when she’d picked up that invitation.

“Darling?” The Queen’s voice cuts through the cloudiness that fogs your brain, grounding you in a way only her honey-laced voice could do. “Are you alright?”

No, you want to say, turn the car around, take me home. I don’t want to go there-

“Yeah, just a bit tired.”

Shuri looks at you quizzingly. You have not been acting as yourself since the day she’d stopped by your apartment. Since, she’d been trying to pinpoint the cause, but to no avail. Even after a year together, she still found you hard to read sometimes. It was endearing to her, a challenge she greatly accepted as part of the packaged deal that came with your relationship. 

However, she couldn’t deny that this time, things felt…different.

There’s a melodic beeping that comes from the vehicle, and the red flashing on the dash panel alerts Shuri that the car is running out of gas. And not a second later, a familiar voice speaks from the surround-sound speakers:

Panther, the vehicle is reaching low fuel. It would be wise to refuel soon. There is a petrol station approximately ten miles ahead. Fuel here is priced at four ninety-seven per gallon.

“Thank you, Griot,” Shuri hums, turning to you, “we shall stop there. Fill up on gas and get some snacks. You haven’t eaten much today, my love.”

Though you fix your lips to protest Shuri’s ever so keen observation, the way her hand slips over your thigh, her open palm meeting your skin through the large hole in your ripped jeans, it’s almost enough to have you relent. “I did eat; at breakfast.”

“Which was eight hours ago,” Shuri reminds you, “almost nine, once we arrive at your sisters. I’m sure there will still be room for the food if you just have one bag of chips to hold you over.”

You hate how well Shuri knows you. It makes it hard to hide things with her keen perception and observation skills. Though, you suppose those traits all come with the territory of being The Black Panther.

A sigh escapes your lips, and the lack of a reply worries Shuri. Yet, she does not push. Instead, her thumb continues to swipe in soothing strokes along the smooth skin of your thigh as she continues to drive to the designated gas station.

All of five minutes pass until it comes into view. When Shuri parks at one of the gas lanes, she fishes into her pocket for her wallet. From it she produces a black card, and hands it to you. “Fifty should bring it back up,” the Queen says, “and a bag of chips for you should do the same.”

“Shuri, I said I’m fine-”

“Darling.” Shuri’s tone is firm, yet gentle, and leaves no room for argument. So all you can do is press a kiss to her cheek - a practice routine of mundane intimacy that brings you both pleasure - before exiting the car and walking towards the entrance of the gas station.

Shuri sits back in her seat, a sigh pushing past her lips. She’s not quite sure what to make of your behavior.

In the year that the two of you have been dating, never once did you bring up the topic of your family. Shuri didn’t even know you had a sister until six months ago. Alex reminded her much of Nakia in some sense - powerful and self made, and in that regard, she was glad that you had some semblance of family you could reach out to.

Your parents, however, were another story. A story you had well avoided, and as of recently as a few months ago, downright refused to talk about. It became quite clear that it was a touchy subject for you, so Shuri didn’t pry. However, she could not deny that part of her grew…heated, at the unpleasant thoughts that plagued her mind when it came to the reason for the non-existent relationship between you and them.

“Griot.”

“Yes, Panther?”

“What were my beloved’s vitals during the ride?”

A beat passes, as Griot computes.

“(Y/N)’s heart rate had been jumping from one hundred forty-five to one hundred seventy beats per minute. Her grip on the door was strong enough to break a thin glass cup. It appears (Y/N) was on the verge of an anxiety attack, but had been fighting it off for the duration of your journey.”

Shuri curses under her breath, more or less to herself at the information that had been relayed to her. 

“She has been on edge all morning,” Shuri says aloud, “I did not ask, for fear of triggering her, but I cannot allow her to feel threatened.”

Shuri knows your triggers like the back of her hand. She’s learned to speak in a level tone to avoid startlement; she’s learned to make her presence known when entering your space; and most importantly, she reassures you, letting you know each and every day how much she loves you, how much she treasure your existence in her life, and how she vows to hold your heart with the utmost care in the world.

Shuri is the smartest person in the world, and yet, she cannot decipher the reason behind her lover’s heightened emotions. If it weren’t for the fact that she was focused on figuring out why you were like this, and how to calm you down, she’d surely find the thought embarrassing.

“Might I speak freely, Panther?”

A hum rumbles from Shuri’s throat as a sign for the artificial intelligence to continue.

“(Y/N)’s vitals have been heighted since one week ago,” Griot points out, “around the same time she had received the invitation to her sister’s birthday party. It would be safe to assume that these two instances have a correlation with one another.”

  “You are insinuating that Alex’s birthday party is somehow the cause of my love’s anxiety spiking?”

“Perhaps not the party, but rather, who will be there, Panther.”

Silence fills the car as Shuri takes in the information given to her. Though, she doesn’t have much to think on it, as she spots your figure exiting the sticker-covered glass door of the gas station, a black plastic bag in hand, of which she hopes holds the snacks she had requested of you to get for yourself. She exits the car and takes hold of the gas nozzle, opening up the tiny door and unscrewing the protection cap, and slots the nozzle into the car to fill with fuel.

A few moments pass before Shuri returns to the car, having placed the nozzle back in it’s place and secured the gas compartment. Her black card rests on the arm rest, which she slips back into her wallet as the corner of her eyes catches you with something in your hand - something that’s not a bag of chips.

“I thought I told you chips, darling?” Shuri asks as she starts up the car again.

“I got chips!” You respond. “I wanted a Twix, too.”

Your free hand fishes into the black plastic back to produce a bottle of water for Shuri, slotting it into the cup holder.

“What is this?” Shuri asks, gesturing to the water bottle.

“You were thirsty,” You point out.

Shuri indeed was thirsty. She can’t help the smile that paints her lips soon after, taking the water bottle into her hand, unscrewing the cap, and taking a swig of the water.

“Are you sure you’re alright, my love?” Shuri asks once more after setting the water back down, preparing to put the car into motion.

To busy chewing on the cookie-chocolate-caramel treat, you opt for nodding your head, a short ‘mhm’ to accompany it.

As much as Shuri wanted to question further, she knew nothing would come of it. So she slips her hand back onto your thigh, presses down on the gas, and rolls out of the gas station, the conversation with Griot filing back into her mind as she drives down the long strip of highway.

“My parents are gonna come.”

You’d said it the second Shuri had parked into the driveway of your sister’s home. With each second that passed on the way there, your chest kept growing tighter and tighter. You thought that maybe if you focused on Shuri’s touch on you, or her low singing voice when Tems starts to flood the car with her hypnotic, warm and swelling voice, that maybe you would be able to calm down and not worry her. It usually worked, but perhaps because this instance was due to the fact that you would be seeing your parents for the first time in years, what was usually the cure for your attacks did very little to help.

Shuri pauses as the words leave your lips, and for a moment, it looks as if she is cross. And while she has every right to be, you hope that it isn’t at you.

You should have told her before the two of you left, as you thought to do. It plagued your mind when you were in the shower, when you were fixing your hair, when you were choosing your outfit. And Shuri had been in the same apartment with you the entire time. You had ample enough time to tell her and yet…you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You know Shuri. She would try to remain calm and collected for you, to not show her anger, because of course she would be angry either way. The car ride would have been in silence, the air thickening with each mile crossed from one city to the other. But you would know that she was upset. She should be upset now because you just dropped this bomb on her and-

“Beloved,” the Queen mutters to you, bringing you from your thoughts once more, “look at me.”

Your head turns to face Shuri. She’s put the car into park, one arm leaning on the arm rest, the other reaching over to soothe your nerves by caressing your outer thigh. She looks at you with a softness that relieves some of the pressure on your chest stunting your breathing. Her gaze tells you that she is not cross with you.

“Hey,” she says, “I am not upset with you.” And the reassurance helps you unclench the fists your hands have balled into.

She doesn’t speak again until she’s certain that your breathing has evened out, as opposed to the harsh and forced inhale-exhale pattern from before. “Is there…anything I should know?”

You tear your eyes away, but Shuri’s gaze remains firm. Consistency is key, she’s learned, when it comes to you confiding in her. Her eyes are your safe space, you will return to them. And you do, after a short moment, trying to gather your mind together.

“They’re not nice people,” you confess, eyes hesitantly returning to hers, “they’ll try and woo you and shit, but don’t fall for it. They ain’t shit.”

“Okay,” Shuri hums, “and…is there anything I can do? For you?”

“Um,” a shaky breath racks through your throat, as you speak, “they’re not here now. Alex texted me that, so I should be fine, but when they get here…j-just, don’t leave me alone.”

“I will not leave you alone.” Shuri assures. Her hand gathers yours into hers, your palms rendered chilly from cold sweat. “I promise.”

Gathering your hands into hers, Shuri brings them to her lips and presses a kiss to them. She then reaches over to press a kiss to your lips, of which you reciprocate gladly.

“Thank you for talking to me about this,” the Queen commends, “and telling me how to best take care of you. I know it is not easy-”

“I hate it-” you correct, which brings a grin to Shuri’s lips and a chuckle from her throat, because yes, she knows you hate it.

“-but you are doing it, and I am very proud of you for it.”

It’s sincere, Shuri’s praise. It’s still not easy for you to digest it, but you know her love is not transactional, conditional. She means what she says, and you know her love for you is unconditional and unyielding. 

She loves you. 

She is proud of you.

The pressure on your chest becomes lighter.

Upon exiting the car, you’re approached by your sister, Alex, who had seen the two of you pull into the driveway and wanted to be the first person you’d engage with. You’re not shocked when you see her eyes glassy looking - it’s been years since you two last saw each other face to face.

Alex is hesitant when approaching you - she wants to envelop you in the most bone-crushing hug she can muster, because she misses you and it has been so long since she’d held her baby sister. Though all it takes is for you to outstretch your arms to her, and Alex embraces you in the way she had been dreaming of.

“Oh, mama,” Alex breathes as she pulls away to get a better look at you. You notice the youthfulness in her face and the life in her eyes. She looks happy, “look at you. All grown up. My baby sissy is all grown ‘nd shit.”

It’s heartfelt, her words, and they make you smile. Alex turns to look at Shuri, who’s chosen to stand to the side to witness the sisterly reunion without interrupting. “And you have a girlfriend? You have to tell me how this happened.”

“By complete accident,” you say, as Shuri steps up. Her hand presses into the small of your back, encouraging you while she holds the other out to greet Alex officially, “but I guess anything can happen when you spill coffee on someone in the middle of a morning rush.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Alex.” Shuri says.

Alex shakes Shuri’s hand, and the Queen notes the hesitance in the older sister's movements. “Well, it’s not every day you meet the queen of a country. Much less, a queen of a country that’s also my sister’s girlfriend.”

“Well, I hope not to bring too much excitement with my titles,” says Shuri, “I am more than alright with being just Shuri.”

She sincerely hoped that she could just remain Shuri. For if a situation arises that she would have to act in the manner of either of her titles - Queen or Black Panther - she could not promise that the birthday celebration would remain a splendor.

An hour passes before either of you know it. You’ve found entertainment amongst the younger cousins who all gawk at your girlfriend, who sits not too far away. Shuri has a cup of punch in hand as she watches you chase the children around the yard, a small smile on her lips. It’s as if you are reliving a part of your childhood you’ve missed, the way you seem so content with the children. It all but warms her heart.

“So,” Alex’s voice interrupts Shuri’s not so discreet admiration of her girlfriend, nearly making the Queen jump, “you and my sister?”

“Ah,” Shuri breathes, looking down into her cup as a rush of heat travels up her dark skin, “me and your sister.”

“I’m not gonna go into the whole interrogation thing, grilling you on if you’re treating her right,” Alex says, “I see how you look at her. If that ain’t the look of someone in love, then I’on know what is.”

Shuri chuckles at that, because she knows that Alex’s observations are true. In fact she has no idea just how correct her observation is.

Shuri leans forward in her seat, elbows propped up on her knees as she finds your figure amidst the mess of kids once again. Her necklace dangles from her neck, the gold contrasting against her black tee that nearly meets the fabric of her ripped blue jeans with her hunched over position.

“(Y/N) is…the ray of sunlight one sees after a long, dark night,” the Queen hums fondly, “and had I known my gods would send me such a woman, I would have prepared myself better.”

Alex smiles warmly. She can tell the strong connection between you and Shuri is pure and unadulterated. It warms her heart beyond comparison.

“Thank you for coming, truly,” Alex says, “I was almost worried she wouldn’t, since our parents would be here and everything.”

And at the mention of them, Shuri finds her jaw tightening just the slightest.

“Your parents?” Shuri is beginning to put two and two together, and she doesn’t like the outcome that is unfolding from her assumptions, however careful they are.

“I…assume she’s told you about them?” Alex implies.

Shuri shakes her head lightly, taking a sip of her semi-forgotten punch. “I find myself piecing the picture together on my own…She does not talk about them.”

“That isn’t a surprise,” Alex says, “given…well, everything.”

Shuri turns her head to look at Alex. Her eyes are firm, inquisitive; Alex’s words have sparked an interest in Shuri.

”She says they aren’t good people. Is that true?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Alex replies, “to the community, their saints. To us they’re just….people.”

Shuri notes the hint of solemness that laces Alex’s voice as she speaks. “They weren’t good to either of us…but they were especially bad to (Y/N).” Alex clarifies. “You know what they say; hurt people, hurt people.”

Not when the person is your child, Shuri thinks, but keeps to herself, taking another sip of her punch. Things are starting to make sense now, and Shuri finds that perhaps she will also have to have you at her side to ground her whenever your parents decide to show up.

“So you mean to tell me you got yourself stuck in a tree, and then got angry because she tried to help you get down?”

“I was not stuck! I was admiring the view.”

“Sure you were…with tears coming down your face.”

“I think this classifies as bullying-”

Shuri had grown quite comfortable as the next hour passed. More of your family had begun to show up, a number of aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, and cousins wishing Alex a happy birthday as they passed through the foyer of her house and into the backyard. Shuri couldn’t count the amount of gasps she’d heard when their eyes fell upon her, sat comfortably in the outdoor gazebo, her presence obviously a surprise to the many relatives who had come to celebrate the special birthday girl. Much more, the fact that she had you close to her side as she greeted them.

The behavior of your family members irked her. Shuri suspected that Alex had talked to each of the adults to assure that they’d be on their best behavior for the occasion, given the tight smiles and curt greetings between each of them and you. Or perhaps it was because of her own intimidating presence next to you, and the fact that she wasn’t even trying to hide the look in her eyes as she analyzed each adult that seemed to pass through.

“Babe,” you cleared your throat, “stop looking like that, you’re scaring them.”

“Looking like what?”

“Like you’re contemplating murder.”

Would it have been so bad if she was, though?

Shuri sighs as she places the red solo cup she had been nursing for a while onto the table. “Just behave, for Alex-”

“I am behaving for you,” the queen clarifies, “and your sister would say the same.”

Unable to comment any further, you released an exhale through the nose, sinking back into Shuri’s side.

“It’s guilt, y’know.” You try to reason, but Shuri had already considered that route. Perhaps there were a few who did have a guilty conscience. Shuri didn’t find herself caring if that was true or not. “They’re not bad.”

“Beloved-”

“Shuri.”

“-I am merely observing,” she says, “I promise.”

Of course Shuri was only observing. Observing the behavior of each adult family member. How they acted towards you. How very little regard was given to you. How, with the amount of bodies that have accumulated in the backyard, the gazebo area remained relatively desolate, beside the two of you, Alex, and Alex’s black and white spotted cat, who had made a home on the red painted banister.

Sure. Shuri was just observing. Definitely not questioning anything at all. Definitely not formulating words she would say to your parents if they decided to make themselves an issue.

“I’m gonna go get a shot,” you say, before propping yourself up with your hands and lifting from the cushion of the outdoor couch, “you want a refill?”

You take Shuri’s cup before she officially gives you a response. You needed a way out, to move around so that the beating in your chest could quell.

Inside there isn’t much of a party scene - it's practically empty besides a teenage family member fighting their sleep on the couch while watching an infant in the living room. The music from outside is muffled when you enter the house, and you take the time to admire the mahogany walls and deep maroon floors of the home. You could compare it to the childhood home you’ve grown up in, and you think that perhaps this was Alex’s way of healing. Recreating your shared childhood environment in a more peaceful manner.

You find the kitchen quite easily, rounding the kitchen island in pursuit of the adult punch purposefully left inside so that the underaged family members wouldn’t get it confused with the family friendly punch that rested in a big glass bowl on the party table outside. On the counter is an array of liquor choices, from fruit flavored tequila to everyone's favorite, Hennessy. You weren’t a drinker, but this far into the party, you needed some sort of incentive to get you to relax a little bit.

Once you’ve chosen your choice of liquor, you take a red solo cup, pour what you deemed to be a shot's worth, and downed it in one gulp. The burn in your throat definitely woke your senses, of which you were grateful for.

On your way towards the kitchen doorway, Shuri’s refilled solo cup in hand, the sound of familiar voices drifted to your ears from the foyer, and it made you stop dead in your tracks. 

“Happy birthday baby!”

“Happy birthday, babygirl.”

“Oh, look at you, all grown up-”

It took everything in you to not drop the cup in your hand at the sound of your parents making their presence known. You backed into the kitchen again, your back finding a nearby wall to ground yourself with. Your chest began to tighten, a tight lump forming in your throat, and in that moment, your hand fished for your phone in your back pocket to text Shuri.

Kitchen. Now.

There was a light shake in your hands. You hated how just the mere sound of their voices sent you into a spiral; how much of an influence they still had on you after trying so hard to separate yourself from them. Then they had the nerve  to act pleasant.

There was a growing ringing in your ears, accompanied with the muffling of surrounding noise that made you breathe harder as you tried to stabilize yourself from the very apparent anxiety attack that was waiting to crash into you. You couldn’t decipher if it was the same one from before that you had fended off by sheer will, or if this was a new, more powerful one. However, when the smell of patchouli made its way to your nose, the thought of it became seconded.

“Hey,” Shuri whispered, one hand running the length of your arm, the other taking the cup from your hand that was seconds away from meeting the floor, and settling it onto the kitchen island, “hey, I am right here.”

“They’re out there, Shuri.” You breathe out.

Something shifts in Shuri’s eyes, and you can’t quite tell what it was, but the way her grip on you tightens in the ever so slightest way lets you know she’s thinking something.

“We can leave, beloved,” Shuri begins, but you’re quick to cut her off with a shake of your head.

“No,” you say, swallowing thickly, “I can’t leave, it’s Alex’s birthday-”

“Alex will understand, love; would she really want you to risk your own self for her?”

I’ve done it for years, the little girl in you voices tiredly, what’s another evening of it?

Shuri never wants to be forceful with you. She knows you’re your own woman and can make your own decisions, even if they go against her better judgment, even if they hurt you. Which is why, against every logical bone in her body, she proposes a compromise.

“Three chances,” Shuri says, “three chances is all they have. Then we will leave. How does that sound?”

Knowing Shuri, she’ll want to throw hands at the first encounter. It was endearing, really, how hard she went for you. The extent of such craze was never explored, simply because she was always calm, cool and collected. There was a part of you that always wondered  the extent of it as well.

And, in hindsight, you weren’t wrong about her.

Shuri peaks from the kitchen doorway and into the foyer, seeing Alex still entertaining the two adults, their backs turned towards the Queen, which gave her the incentive to leave while the trio were occupied.

She mutters a quick ‘let’s go’ with a gentle smile, and after a few seconds, you nod. Your hand finds her, tightly interlocking your fingers as Shuri pulls you back to the backyard gazebo. Shuri had no idea the depths she was about to breach in the layers of your estranged family, but whatever the case may be, she will not let you face it alone.

It was almost the perfect getaway, too, but apparently Shuri wasn’t fast enough in getting you out of the house. She heard the matured voice of your mother call out to you, asking if it was her other daughter, and Shuri supposed that it wasn’t meant to be taken in a demeaning way, but the queen certainly did. Perhaps it was predisposed biases, perhaps it was intentional. Either way, Shuri would make sure to take as much of the burden off you as she could.

“Mom,” you say, jaws tight, but Shuri stands close behind you, a hand on your waist, and it stabilizes you, “good to see you.”

The older woman, short in stature, with wide hips and thick arms, saw Shuri standing behind you, but whether or not she didn’t address her because she didn’t recognize the queen or because she simply didn’t care couldn’t be deciphered. “Come give me a hug-!”

“I’m good,” you hurriedly said, “just- uh, not feeling well.”

“Don’t be like that,” the deep, bolstering voice of your father chimed in; a large man with an intimidating physique. Shuri was not phased, her arm only snaked it’s way around your waist, “give your mama a hug, lil’ girl-”

“I said I’m good.” You reiterate more firmly, though there was an added incentive to clear your throat shortly afterwards to make your fib more believable. “Really; I know how easy it is for y’all to get sick.”

There was a moment of pause - and exchange of glances and a shift in energy before a light ‘humph’ came from your mother’s throat. “Well, I suppose that makes sense,” she snooted, “and I suppose that’s why your friend there is the exception-?”

“Girlfriend, actually,” Shuri interrupts, though it wasn’t planned, and surely wasn’t expected, “it is one of many perks of being the Black Panther. I do not succumb to normal colds and illnesses as easily.”

The pads of Shuri’s fingers press into your side as she steps beside you; she’s now side to side with you, face your parents with a high chin and a look you were sure she’d only pulled out when in front of important people - or people who she suspected would try to intimidate her, yet she’d still have to play nice for publicity purposes.

“Allow me to introduce myself formally,” Shuri said, holding out her hand for your mother to take; the shorter woman did just so as Shuri spoke again, “I am Queen Shuri to my people, but for tonight's festivities, I would like to remain just Shuri.”

“A queen?” Your mother breathes out in an amused chuckle, though you couldn’t tell if it was in actual amusement or in disbelief. “Well, perhaps we did do something right with her, hm, honey?”

Strike one.

Shuri’s hand then reaches out to your father, who stares at the long, brown arm outstretched before him for a moment, before taking one of his thick, meaty hands, and shaking Shuri’s tinier one. Though, the look on his face when the queen’s grip strengthened around his hand was enough to tell you his surprise and lack of proper judgment on the brown-skinned woman.

“Got a…firm grip for a lil’ lady.” He says.

“Well,” Shuri begins as she slips her hand from your fathers, “my baba and big brother always said a firm hand makes a firm leader.”

“Well, wise men they were.”

There was much to observe in the few words shared between Shuri and your parents. Your father hid very well behind the facade of a pleasant man of few words. Perhaps he was sculpted that way, by your mother or by his own parents; either one didn’t matter, only that the end result was a man with a weaker grip than the elders she held council with, and they were pushing their latter years of nineties and hundreds. Your parents looked to be in their mid-forties.

Your mother…Shuri admits that she wished her own were still alive, for the words she knew Ramonda would have for this short-stack of a woman would be more lethal than any weapon produced by her own hands. Condescension laced in her voice with a familiar tone of jealousy that she’d heard and witnessed many black mothers having towards their own daughters. It wasn’t hard to tell, Shuri thought, but perhaps when enough people ignore such a dangerous thing, the ugly nature becomes a tolerable norm.

“Well, if you will excuse us,” says the queen, “I’m going to take my beloved to sit down. She is in much need of rest.”

Shuri did not give your parents time to react, nor to object to the sudden ending to the conversation. She’d quickly pivoted your body around and walked back outside to the gazebo, a firm hand on your back and a ticking clock in her head for when the next strike would come.

Sure enough, Shuri did not have to wait long for that second strike. 

After getting you back to the gazebo to take a seat, on the verge of hyperventilating from the amount of anxiety the back and forth gave you, despite the fact that you weren’t even the one talking, Alex had come with a look of disdain. Your parents were in tow, as they claimed to want to ‘have a sit down and reconnect’. Of course, Shuri didn’t buy into that bullshit. Neither did Alex. And surely, neither did you.

And yet, neither you nor Alex yet had the courage to send them off, and Shuri, keeping herself in check, had no other choice but to allow them to sit with the three of you. So now you were tucked into Shuri’s side, phone in hand as a distraction, while Alex sat on a beige-cushioned chair to your left, and your parents in a similar-fashioned loveseat to the queen’s right.

Alex was kind enough to hide her discomfort in nervous laughs and meek agreements as your mother and father raved on about your childhoods. Specifically, the accomplishments of Alex, which would have been understandable as it was her birthday, if it didn’t have to include the ‘disappointments’ of yours they had to bring into the light.

“Remember the speech competition your grammar school had, Lexi-Pooh,” your mother chimed, using the youthful nickname Alex very physically cringed over, “you won your first ever trophy then at eight years old! Oh, we were so proud of you-”

“Mom, everyone got a trophy,” Alex reminded, putting emphasis on the word ‘everyone’ as she spared a glance your way, “we were babies, and it was a participation trophy. They just didn’t want us to be left out.”

“Well, still, my baby had the best poem on that stage!”

“Mom, I literally stole that poem off the internet.” Alex reasons.

“Yeah, off DeviantArt no less,” you speak with a chuckle, remembering the nights your sister scoured the internet for a poem to read because she, for the life of her, couldn’t write her own. Which she couldn’t be faulted for, she was in third grade after all.

Alex shares a small laugh as well. “If anyone should have won that competition, it should’ve been (Y/N),” She says. “All the teachers swore up and down she was gonna be the next Lorraine Hansberry or Audre Lorde. I bet you she got some bars hidden somewhere.”

Your mother could only hum in response; “Well, we can’t all be winners, I guess.”

There was a familiar sting that ached your heart. Despite how used you were to such rhetoric coming from your mother, it didn’t make the twang in your heart any less hurtful.

“You never liked that kinda stuff anyway, (Y/N),” your mother says, “so why did you join it-”

“I do like writing,” you say sharply, “and I wanted to be like my sister. Who doesn’t wanna be like their older sister at seven years old?”

You glanced up from your phone to look between the three people sitting before you. Alex shifts in her seat, uncomfortably, slightly shaking her head as she knows what is to come.

“Or were you just so busy with your perfect princess that you ain’t have time to learn me?”

“(Y/N)!” Your mother scolds, and you feel the protective arm of Shuri’s curl around you in defense. “Hush your mouth with them lies, girl!”

Your father remains silent, as he’s always done when your mother gets this way, and Shuri sees this, and takes note of it.

“I swear, I don’t know where we went wrong with you,” your mother huffs, “lost yo’ damn manners and mind talkin’ like that.”

Your mother then turns to Shuri, sporting an apologetic look, though it is not sincere, and merely a coverup for her own outburst. “Now I know your mother taught you well and good, Shuri, about how to talk to people and behave-”

“My mother is dead.” 

There is an inevitable shift in the conversation now, one that brings the eyes to Shuri as a deafening silence befalls the gazebo. Even you rise from your curled position into Shuri’s side to eye her demeanor, checking over her form to note any changes that came with the sudden mention of her mother. Yet, she is calm and collected, her eyes showing no shifts and her demeanor intact. All seemed well…on the surface, at least.

“My mother is dead, may she be at peace with the ancestors,” Shuri says, “and she is incomparable. I do not wish to speak further of her.”

A beat passes. Your hand travels to Shuri’s leg, providing a comforting touch to the woman beside you. You weren’t ignorant to the news of her family’s passing - since her father’s death, you’d had a semblance of understanding the inner turmoil she had endured. With her brother and mother gone, she was virtually alone - save for a sister-like figure and a nephew she’d only told you a little bit about in the past few months or so.

You wanted to say something, but your mother beat you to it - this time, she actually sounded somewhat apologetic for her ignorance.

“My condolences,” the woman mutters softly, clearing her throat, “I only meant that she must have had it easy raising you. You’re so well put together and polite, if only some of that would rub off on (Y/N)!”

Strike two.

“Mom, stop it,” Alex interrupts, voice firm with a scowl on her face, “you doin’ a lil’ too much now.” 

“Now, your mama ain’t said nun’ wrong,” your father suddenly speaks, who had been quite the entire conversation, but suddenly decided to stick up for his woman who was clearly in the wrong, “it’s just ladies spat, y’all know how y’all do.”

“And like I said before y’all got here, I don’t want it in my house.” Alex emphasizes. “If that’s the type of time y’all on, the door is very clearly marked with an obnoxiously pink birthday banner. Period.”

There was a small swell of pride in your chest for Alex as she set her foot down to your parents. She was determined to have them behave; she wanted a classy, friendly party for her birthday celebration. Though, she would know just as well as you that even when being put in place, the audacity of your parent’s always found itself back into trouble.

Your mother mumbled out an apology, along with something along the lines of ‘got me apologizing to my child’ under her breath as well, before you cleared your throat in an attempt to cut through the tension.

“Shuri, baby,” you hummed, “don’t we have something for Alex? In the car?”

Shuri turned to look at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed, before she officially caught on to what you were insinuating.

“Yes,” the queen breathes out with a small smile, “we do have something in the car. For the birthday girl.”

Alex, too, shares the same look Shuri previously sported, with furrowed eyebrows and confusion written on her face. “M-Me? Something for me?”

“Of course!” Shuri answers. “Surely you did not think we would show up empty handed?”

Shuri’s hand rests on your leg, both as a reminder of her very physical presence as a grounding for herself, “How foolish of me to forget. I do not know what I would do without you, my darling.”

Shuri stands, offering her hand to you as well, adding on how she will need your help to retrieve it, before escorting you from the gazebo. While on your way to exit the yard, Shuri can hear Alex giving your parents a further scolding, which makes the queen smile mischievously.

It wasn’t a complete lie for escape, however. Shuri was nice enough to buy a gift for your sister for her birthday, though it wasn’t anything massive, and despite your constant jokes of it, wasn’t a pair of kimoyo earrings (though, from Alex’s birthday outfit, she could tell that she was a jewelry girl, and a pair of earrings probably would have sufficed better).

“I’m starting to understand why you never told me about your parents,” Shuri says in a breathless scoff, pressing a button on her beads to pop open the trunk of her car, “infuriating doesn’t even begin to describe them.”

“Are you okay?” You ask in all seriousness. “The..comment about your mom, I mean.”

How could you be worried of her feelings when she’d just had to watch your mother berate you in front of her? Shuri wonders this as she turns from the open trunk of the car to face you again. Though, she supposes that from that interaction, you were more used to centering others and their emotions than yourself. Although it caused an ache in her heart, the revelation made sense of previous actions between the two of you.

“What I said was true,” the queen replies, “though I admit, perhaps there was a bite in my tongue.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t curse her out.”

“Well…I do have a promise to keep to Alex.” Shuri says in a soft laugh. “I do not want to be the cause of her birthday being ruined. Your parents are making it fairly hard to do that, however.”

Shuri closes the trunk of the car, the tiny bag holding Alex’s gift inside being set on top of it as the queen leans against the sleek black vehicle. She invites you into her embrace, pulling you between her legs and resting her hands on your hips; yours make their way onto her shoulders, a weak smile on your face.

“That’s two strikes by my count.”

“I know.”

“We have yet to even make it to dinner.”

“I know.”

“What do you want to do, beloved?”

I don’t know anymore, you think, this is all just too much.

“Let’s…stay.”

Part of you was reluctant to leave due to wanting to experience your sister’s birthday with her. You’d all but promised that you’d come to enjoy yourself with Shuri, even if your parents made that hard. But there was also an inkling of pettiness inside of you that wanted to show the assholes your parents were to the rest of your family members (who, while had suspicions of their weird behaviors and holier-than-thou rhetoric, would rather not engage in family drama to keep peace amongst the ranks). 

“I’m not letting them get the better of me,” you add on, “today is for Alex. And if they wanna make it a problem, it can be a problem.”

The look on Shuri’s face was a mix of shock and pride; she hadn’t expected you to say that, and if she were being honest with herself, she was secretly anticipating such a moment to occur. Perhaps because it would give her a chance to release the pent up frustrations that had collected within her due to your parents actions; perhaps it was because seeing you stand your ground had always been an attractive sight to her. Regardless, the small smile that spread across her face was a reflection of her hopefulness.

“One more chance, then?”

“Hopefully they make it count.”

Shuri remembers how she used to dislike family dinners.

The prospect of eating with her family irked her at a young age. Though she loved her parents and her brother dearly, her teenage self was far too absorbed in her technological advances to actively partake in the family tradition. She’d taken such a routine for granted, and now, the dinner table in the large palace she called home was barren. She barely ate there anymore, consumed by the regret of not making such precious moments a priority in her youth.

As she sits next to you at the elongated party table with the rest of your family members, she notes the same air of barrenness, but not of presence of people. It is a barrenness of love.

The behavior of certain family members began to change as the night progressed. Despite the lingering glares of your family members, many aunts and uncles approached you again, expressing their joy in seeing your presence. Perhaps it was truly the guilt that you mentioned earlier, how these extended family members were subject to the bystander syndrome, and hadn’t known how to deal with their guilty consciences for whatever reason. Perhaps these people did genuinely want to reconnect with their long lost niece, cousin, auntie. Shuri would never admit it aloud to anyone, but seeing the look of distaste upon your parents face was entertaining to say the least.

“So do you drive a space ship everywhere you go?” One of your many nephews asked the queen out of curiosity, big brown eyes and white bucked-teeth shining with glee, as he’d never seen anyone of her status before.

“Not everywhere,” Shuri answers, “only the far away places.”

“Do you go to other planets? Like Mars? Or Pluto?”

“Hmm,” the queen thinks, “I don’t think I have. I shall put that on my books and tell you about it upon my return. How does that sound, little one?”

“Awesome!”

Seeing Shuri interact with the younger children eased your tense body and racing mind. She was almost a natural with them, it seemed. You leaned into her side, your cheek squishing against her shoulder with a playful huff. “Can I have my girlfriend back, please? You’ve been askin’ her questions since we got to the table.”

“Nu-uh!” Objects the little boy. “Have not!”

“Have too, lil’ boy,” you reject, “now gon’ eat so your mama don’t yell at you.”

“Can we talk about spaceships after dinner then, Auntie Shuri?”

Shuri wasn’t sure if she should adhere to the new term, having only known the child for an hour or so, but to entertain him, she allowed it. “Sure. We can talk about spaceships after dinner.”

Thankfully, the young boy seemed to be satisfied with the compromise, and began to eat his plate of food. Shuri turns to you with an amused grin, eyebrows raised as she asks “Were you jealous of your own nephew?”

“I can be jealous if I want to,” you pout, bottom lip tucked out in protest, “lil’ shit was taking you away from me.”

Shuri laughs at your banter, both glad that you’ve somewhat relaxed, and that the evening seemed to be going well. She hoped that it would stay like this.

The clinking of metal to glass caught her attention, as well as the other partygoers. Looking towards the head of the table, Alex is standing, grasping the attention of everyone in order to speak.

“Now, we all know the reason today is such an important day, aside from the fact that it’s my birthday,” Alex begins, glancing around the table, making eye contact with each individual, “though some of the kids might not know. And since we have a newcomer with us,” she says, gesturing to Shuri, who returns a nod of acknowledgement as she speaks, “I figured now is as good of a time to talk about why we celebrate the twenty-fifth birthday of the girls in our family.”

Alex sets the glass down, clears her throat, and speaks again. “Now the story has never been written down, but anyone who has sat between Nana and Great Nana’s legs to get their hair done will know the story by heart. A generation or so before them, our family had a ‘curse’ on us girls. One of our enslaved ancestors was forced to ‘engage’ with their owner who desired a mixed child. That ancestor cursed our bloodline so that no girls would survive, and slowly our numbers began to dwindle.”

You always loved to hear this story. You were never sure why, but it had always been more than hair braiding entertainment to keep a child's attention. The raw history that your grandmother and great-grandmother passed down your line of lineage always held a special place in your heart.

“Then one thing lead to another, a generation passes, and a girl is born…and she lives old enough to run away with another slave guy she fell in love with. And that ancestor had Great Nana, who had Nana, who had mom and the aunties…who had us.”

You’d been sitting to Alex’s right when she extended her hand to you to hold. You accepted it with a warm smile. She’d done the same to your mother as well.

“Reaching twenty-five is like a right of passage. Guarantees to a long, fulfilling life. And that is what we celebrate tonight.”

There were a series of claps, cheers, whoops and hollers that erupted from the table, coming from the queen herself as well. It was indeed a remarkable retelling, she thought, and she even noticed the way that Alex posed herself as a bridge between you and your mother. She applauded the woman for still trying to reconcile, but knew that there was no hope for such a feat.

As soon as Alex sat down, your mother took a stand. “I’d like to make a toast as well.”

Shuri felt you lean just a little bit closer to her. 

“My baby, oh, what can I even say?” Your mother begins, striking up a face of pride. “You were perfect since the day I first laid eyes on you. I knew you’d be destined for greatness, and I can’t be any more proud of you than I am now. My baby girl is all grown up, and I can’t wait to see more of the outstanding woman you’ve become…”

Another round of applause echoes throughout the backyard, and Shuri breathes. Though she doesn’t trust your mother one bit, the words that came from her mouth seemed very genuine-

“...and you are more than fit to carry on this tradition. My only daughter that can.”

-nevermind.

The distant crickets could be heard as your mother took her seat again, seemingly proud of her little stunt. Perhaps she thought it was something good to say, but neither you, Alex, or Shuri saw the need for the ending.

“That ending wasn’t needed, but thank you.” Alex says through gritted teeth, a sigh leaving her lips. It was much like the older woman to need the last word, and although Alex truly hoped she would behave, her own patience was waning thin with the woman and her antics.

“We have a toast as well!”

Shuri whips her head to you, brows furrowed in confusion as she whispers, “We do?”

The words leave your lips before you can actually think about what you’re about to do. Upstaging your mother had never been something you’d acted upon, although you’d fantasized about shutting her up numerous times with your own words; the courage was just never there. Perhaps it was because now you were older, or perhaps it was because you now knew that Alex was on your side, or perhaps it was because you had Shuri next to you to back you up. Whatever it was, it began surging through your veins that once were riddled and crippled with anxiety.

Nonetheless, you’re standing up, and so is Shuri, so there isn’t any backing down now. All eyes were on you.

“Sister,” you begin, reaching your hand out Alex who stands up again to be eye level with you, “I will make this quick, ‘cuz you know I hate sappy shit.”

Alex laughs a little. Her grip on your hands is comforting, and the way she looks at you is almost in a coaching matter. She hadn’t expected such a burst of confidence either, but wasn’t about to let you face it alone.

“We’ve had our…ups and down,” you say, “and there were ‘things’ happening that I blamed you for, that I pushed you away for. But you’ve always been there. You were..the only person there.”

You feel Shuri’s hand caress the small of your back for support. You feel like crying, and you're not sure the reason for it, but you push it down and continue.

“I am grateful for you, and I’m glad I came to celebrate with you…and I love you.”

The air that was once thick when you started to speak seemed to ease when you said those last three words. And again, claps and praises flew out into the air at the confession. Alex, the much more sappier of one of the two of you, tried to keep her eyes from swelling with tears, but of course it was harder for her to do so.

“Don’t you start crying,” you say playfully through the loudness of the table, “‘cus you know if you do, then I’ma start crying, and we just gon’ be two snotty nosed bitches-”

Yet you didn’t get the chance to finish, because Alex then pulls you into her embrace. It’s tight and full of love, and she gives you no choice but to sink into it. For a second, it seems like the noise drowns out as you bask in the love from your sister, and you hear a faint ‘thank you’ being whispered into your ear right as she pulls away.

“I suppose this means it is my turn,” Shuri says sheepishly, once the embrace has finished and you’ve returned right at her side. She’d been thinking of what to day this entire time, though each scenario that she had run through her head didn’t seem worthy of a quality toast to a quality woman, “I shall try to make this toast worthy of your time, Miss Birthday Girl.”

“Sitting at this table, surrounded by all of you; it reminds me of a similar family routine that I took for granted in my youth.” Shuri’s eyes gaze from person to person as she speaks. “You see, I was too absorbed in my technological advances to truly appreciate the aspects of family dinners. The mundaneness of sitting with one another and being present. I used to want to give anything to be left to my own devices. And now, I sit at the head of the same table, with no one. I am Queen of the most powerful nation in the world, and my entire family is gone.”

Another silence fills the table as everyone looks onto Shuri; her head is held high as she speaks, though, voice unwavering. She breathes when she feels your hand slip into hers.

“Alex, you are a very blessed woman to have your family here with you to celebrate a generational obstacle overcome,” the queen bids, “and for that, I propose a toast to you, and a saying from my people to yours.”

The queen picks up her red cup, and watches as each individual picks up their own, before speaking again. “To Alex, a woman of virtue and genuity. ‘Akukho mntu ngaphandle kwesidenge ophika usapho lwakhe’.”

A round of cheers sounds before everyone downs a gulp of their chosen drinks in unison, applauding Shuri for her heartfelt toast and gratitude. As the both of you sit, and light chatter begins to cover the table, your mother calls out to Shuri with a look of curiosity.

“Such a lovely quote, Shuri,” your mother says, “what does it mean?”

“Oh, the proverb,” Shuri says, “it is one my baba used to say.”

“Did he now?”

“It means ‘No one but a fool denies their family’.”

Hearing this, your gaze shifts from the food in front of you to Shuri, who sports a proud smirk as she watches your mother grow uncomfortable in her seat from the queen’s words. As if she were putting the dots together in her own head.

With Dinner done, your nephew was all too quick to pull the queen aside to continue their conversation about her fancy spaceships. While his eagerness was endearing, Shuri had to put the conversation on hold because of an important phone call that came through. You assumed that it was Ayo, a name you had heard in fleeting conversations, but knew it to be a person of importance to Shuri. A captain of her Queen’s Guard, which Shuri had respectfully asked to fall back on attending the outing with the both of you, since it was a family thing, and Shuri didn’t want Alex’s neighbors questioning why so many bald-headed women were lingering around her house.

She said she would make the call quick, five minutes at most, before stepping into the house for quiet and privacy. The loss of her presence made you slightly anxious, but you maintained your spot in the gazebo, and Alex popped in here and there. She was the host, so she had to engage with the rest of her partygoers, but you were more than grateful that she took the time out to still check in on you, despite it being her day.

You took a sip of your drink - the adult punch that had been put in the kitchen so kids couldn’t get to it - and watched the party goers enjoy themselves from the comfort of your seat. Children running around, chasing each other with sparklers; aunties and uncles dancing to the old school remix; teens making TikTok videos with dances and skits. For a moment, things were content, and everyone was happy. Normal.

For a moment, for the first time in a long time, you felt happy with your family. 

“You’ve found this corner real comfortable, I see.”

The voice of your mother slips through he peaceful silence that previously covered the gazebo, and although you don’t feel it at first, your body begins to tense. She herself sports a red solo cup, though you can’t tell what’s inside of it. 

She doesn’t ask to join you - just takes up a single seat across from you - and even if she were to ask, you aren’t sure if you could even mutter an answer.

“It’s been so long since you’ve left,” your mother says, “since you decided you were grown enough and left your family behind. How has life been for you?”

“Good.” You reply, short and curt, taking a sip from your drink.

“You seem more than good,” she continues, “I assume living with a queen gives you a lot of financial relief-”

“If you came over here to start shit, please don’t.” You quickly cut off. “One; my relationship is of no concern to you, but Shuri doesn’t pay for shit of mine that I have. I was good before I met her, and I’m still going good on my own.”

You weren’t sure where the sudden crossness came from, but you definitely knew it had something to do with your mother’s constant mention of Shuri, as if she held prominent importance tonight and not the other child she’d birthed. “And it’s Alex’s birthday. I’m here for her.”

Your mother scoffs at your words, “-and there you go, twistin’ my words around and making me seem like the enemy. I’m just trying to talk to you!”

“Bullshit,” you spit, rising from your seat in a quick bid to find a quick exit into an area more populated, and more importantly, away from her, “I’m not doing this with you.”

You turn to try and leave, but your mother continues to speak behind you, pushing you further, “you’re so ungrateful; after everything we’ve done for you, you can’t even show an ounce of respect to your own mother.”

In that moment your body froze on the steps of the gazebo. A dull chill awakens within you, spreading through your limbs, your skin nearly rising into goosebumps, before a wave of anger crashes in.

“Fine,” you mutter, “you wanna ‘talk’?”

You turn to face your mother once again, eyes burning holes into her face, which has the audacity to hold a look of shock. “Let’s fucking talk.”

“Oh, but where to begin?” You scoff. “Maybe lets talk about how you can’t seem to ever say one good thing about me. It’s always some backhanded comment that you can’t help to point out how amazing Alex was and how shitty I was in comparison-”

“-that is not true,” your mother tries to interject, “but you were - and still are - a difficult child-”

“-I wasn’t fucking difficult!” You shout, drawing a few pairs of eyes to you and your mother. “I wanted fucking attention that you weren’t giving me! And you thought beating me was the best way to get me to ‘stop acting out’?”

“It was discipline!”

“Oh, but Alex never needed it though, right?” You question. “Alex was just so perfect to yall. She got the best of everything while your little mistake became the punching bag you took your frustrations out on!”

The increasing shouting started to draw attention from the other partygoers, who muttered among themselves, wondering the reason for the altercation, questioning if they should intervene. And it only got worse when the sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the backyard, making the music that played from outdoor speakers seem quiet.

Your mother, the pious, religious, righteous woman she claimed to be, just slapped you in front of the rest of your family.

“What’s going on over here?” The voice of your father bellows as he approaches the gazebo, having only made his presence known after a few gasps from seeing your mother hit you.

“I will not be disrespected by you, you ungrateful wench,” your mother seethes, “I was a damn good mother to you, even when we fell on hard times. I raised you!”

“I was a fucking kid!” You yell back. “How does a fucking adult take their anger out on their own kid!?”

“And you,” comes your voice through gritted teeth upon seeing your father coming to console your mother, which seemed to anger you even more, “dear old dad, who never ‘picked a side’. You sat there and watched as she fucked up her own kid.”

Your voice comes out more strained, wavering at the sight of your father. The man you saw treat Alex like a literal princess while you could only ever dream of being treated as such. You knew the next words you’d say were going to push his buttons - perhaps part of you wanted a reaction from him that could show that maybe, somewhere inside of him, he cared when your mother didn’t.

“If anything you’re more of a bitch than her!”

You weren’t sure what scared you more in that moment; the loud grunt and your fathers arms menacingly reaching out towards you, or the flash of black that shot across your vision right before you closed your eyes shut, anticipating something to happen.

The silence was deafening as you felt your legs stumble back into something warm but you were too scared to open your eyes yet. Of all your senses that had been stricken with tension, the first to register with reality once again was your hearing.

“I want you to think carefully about your next actions,” the queen’s voice comes out hardened and unyielding, “because I can assure you, I will not have to think about mine.”

That flash of black that had crossed your vision earlier had been Shuri. And if your eyes had been open, you yourself would have shuddered at the pure rage that was present on her face.

Shuri’s hand, albeit tiny and delicate in most cases, held your father’s wrist in a right grasp, and despite the broader man's struggles to pull free, it was futile. She was not letting him go, and neither was the intensity of her stare that held your mother’s gaze. 

“If you don’t let my husband go-”

“Shut. Up.” And her words were absolute, leaving no room for question. Perhaps it was part of the authoritarian aura that she’d gained from taking on her queenship that shut your mother up, but whatever the case may have been, Shuri admits that she certainly enjoyed the look of surprise on your mother’s face.

“Alex,” Shuri says, and it now becomes clear to you that the thing you had back into was your very sister. It also became clear how tight her grip on you was, as if she were scared to let you go, “take my beloved back to my car. We will be leaving shortly.”

There’s a gentle nudge and a hushed ‘c’mon’ before you feel yourself being moved sideways, then forward, Alex doing as Shuri says and relocating you to the front of her home to get you into a safer, calmer place.

It isn’t until Shuri sees your figure disappear behind the wooden fence that she releases your father’s wrist. The man winces as he regains control of his limb, his wife bringing her hands to soothe the skin where it was beginning to turn purple from just how tight her grasp was.

Shuri turns in a slow circle, eyes scanning each and every one of the individuals who’d stood by and undoubtedly watched the scene unfold, offering no sign of intervention. “This is what your family is?” She calls out. “It is sickening.”

The guilt shines in their eyes but Shuri has none of it. To her, they are all just as guilty as your parents, for they've watched the same scene unfold many times before, and just the same, no one stood up.

The queen turns back to your parents, as she bites the inside of her cheek to control her composure. “I do not know your story,” she says, “nor do I wish to, and now, nor do I care. I only leave you with this as I leave.”

Shuri takes a step forward to your parents, jaw clenched tight and piercing eyes meeting theirs once again. “My (Y/N) will be loved…as it is clearly something neither of you could bestow upon her.”

And in the same flash of black she leaves the party, that had long gone silent, and biting her tongue so hard she thought she’d draw blood.

Exitting the back yard, Shuri comes around the front to see you and Alex sitting on the porch steps. She holds a towel to your cheek, whispering to you with care about holding the cold, wet cloth gently on your cheek to battle the inflammation. It was the first and only thing she could grab without immediately leaving your side, the green garden hose still running into the grass proof of it.

It takes everything in Shuri not to run to you, to pull you into her arms and cradle you into her embrace, to shield you from the cruelness that has surely been brought back to the forefront of your mind. There’s a pit in her stomach that churns with the pain of unease, and it eats at her as she thinks; if she had just been swifter with that call with Ayo, or better yet, not even answered at all, then you wouldn’t have been left alone, and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Shuri grows closer and realizes that the both of you are crying, and her heart tightens in her chest. She bends down to meet you on eye level, resting a soothing hand on your leg. Alex holds her head in one hand, her other still grasped tightly onto your side, holding you close to her. Shuri finally understands what Alex meant when she talked about the varying levels of harm done to the sisters in their youth. You took the physical and verbal brunt, while Alex took the emotional.

“This was not suppose to happen.” Shuri hears Alex mutter, and the queen quickly cuts in before Alex has a chance to even say as such.

“It is not your fault, Alex,” the queen asserts, “you cannot be responsible for the actions of your parents.”

Alex looks up to Shuri, sniffling as their eyes connect. A beat passes before the older sister nods, though her jaw is still tight with tension. There’s a shift in Alex’s eyes, from sadness and regret, to a hardened security.

“I need to get my house in order,” she says, glancing to her side, and reluctantly peeling her arm from around your waist, “party’s officially over.”

Alex stands to do just as she intends, and as she leaves, Shuri grows closer to you. One hand rubs circles into your knee, the other one gently lifts your face up to meet hers. Your eyes are tired, likely due to adrenaline fatigue, but your body still shakes with a light tremble.

“I am taking you home.” She says, leaving no room for argument; even though, in your current state, you couldn’t refuse her if you wanted to. So when Shuri wraps her arms around you and lifts you to your feet, you all but lean into her warmth. 

And the kiss she presses into the crown of your head provides reassurance that even after the events that have unfolded, with Shuri, you will be okay.

Normally, this made her prideful, contrasting the majority, but what was to be said when your dreams mirrored the reality you wished valiantly to escape?

When it came to sleep, when it came to rest, she envied the mundane. Riri coveted being at peace whenever her eyelids fell. And she yearned for her moments loitering in REM to be more than brief ones.

The scenes behind her lids were recurring — prophesied long before Riri’s skin met her mattress. But despite this premonition, she permitted their slipping from her mind when existing within that slim pocket between consciousness and unconsciousness, and it was then that the monster seized his opportunity, creeping from the closet, on the prowl for his next meal. On the prowl for Riri, and her gorgeous mind, feeding on the memories dwelling inside the grooves of her brain, and forcing her to relive each one as he sucked them out.

This was the part she thought herself able to exploit — the extraction. If the monster removed the recollections for good, she wouldn't have to suffer this constant loop.

It’d been a naïve thought though, because this belief called for compassion. And if the monster — her monster — existed as one comprised of compassion, there would be no nightmares at all. Riri would be able to rest in her own bed, and the caress of another would not be desired when attempting to drift. Though Zariyah’s warmth did nothing to keep her still now as she lay entwined in her arms; he followed her here, to her girl’s place, so on spun the cycle.

Riri’s small body twisted in her girl’s sheets, writhing in distress through the frightening ordeal she’d been compelled to endure over the past few nights. She thrashed, chest tearing itself open to sanction her heart’s escape. Her monster siphoned her brain — grinding its contents with daggered canines — just before vomiting it all back into the young engineer's head so she’d be impelled to recall everything about that day.

Riri became one with the icy sweat clutching her frigid skin, knees jerking with her body's brash kicking, and she whimpered meekly, plunging into the depths of the horrors projected behind shifting eyes.

“Ri…” Riy blew it groggily, her own eyes still locked as she absorbed Riri’s movements. She drew Riri in closer, wanting to be her serenity, but Zariyah was unaware of the violence Riri recounted in her dreams while she spasmed beside her.

Riri launched herself upright, snapping the buckle of her girl’s embrace, gasping for a breath of oxygen as those freezing sweat beads traveling her flesh rolled down with leisure, not caring about the paranoia rocketing through the sinking chest they scaled.

Her monster retreated with a sneer, thwarted off by her abrupt emergence from silk pillows. When Riri’s eyes were open, cowardice swallowed him whole, because he was aware his tactics couldn't work on her barricaded brain now. She knew how to protect herself when she awakened — how to cage her thoughts — and he couldn't manipulate her here, in the real world.

Of all the objects in her familiar setting, it was the essential oil diffuser that steadied Riri's rugged exhales, and she allowed her breathing to emulate the timed puffs expelled by the cream-colored device perched on Zariyah's dresser.

“Ri baby, are you okay?” Zariyah whispered, soft and tired.

Riri glanced back at the naked silhouette of her girl draped in velvet, catching a glimpse of those pouty lips in love with her skin, and she chuckled timidly, watching a half-awake Riy feel around the mattress for her body. “Ri… lay back down, let me hold you.”

“I gotta go, baby.” Her knees indented her bare chest as she spoke, loose smile tightening the second Zariyah tossed that scolding glare her way; it seared, but Riri welcomed its burn, because her shivering frame had yet to fully defrost the chill in her veins.

“Another nightmare, Ri? What's this, the third one this week?”

Third one this week, fifth one this month. But Riri wasn't counting.

“I’m fine, Riy,” It slipped off her lying tongue readily, free-falling from her mouth before dissolving into the gust of Sandalwood oil mugging the air. “Go back to sleep baby, Ima just let myself out.”

Zariyah was unconvinced, and her frustrated sigh consumed a stumbling Riri as she tripped out of bed, fumbling around in the darkness to put her clothes back on. “I know you're not fine. And I need you to get your lil ass back in this bed, Riri.”

Riri wanted that, fuck, she needed it. That incessant voice in the back of her head throbbed so sweetly, pressuring her to climb back in bed, mold into Zariyah, granting her addictive kisses the power to sedate her.

But for unbeknownst reasons, the forces of the universe thought her undeserving of simple pleasures, and Riri lacked the desire to fight back, not with the splitting headache from the fucking lobotomy she just barely survived ringing in her temples. So she made leaving Zariyah's arms her only option. “Z, I can't stay. Not tonight.”

“Riri.”

The smaller girl stilled, Riy’s frigid tone frosting her melting arteries once again, and she rolled her eyes, gaping down at her ever-trembling hands. “Everybody has bad dreams Z, why you making it a national emergency cause I’m getting them?”

“Because I give a damn, Riri. And you been shaking and shit in your sleep for three nights, it's concerning.”

Riri pulled on her hoodie, then turned, capturing the troubled look in her girl's stunning eyes, trouble she put there. Riy sat up, crimson curls peeking out the top of her head scarf as she eyed a fully clothed Riri, allowing the covers to fall from her nakedness.

And her nipple jewelry danced in the dark, hypnotizing Riri from where she stood. The sight alone should be enough to keep her here, her eyes fanning their expanse as she got lost in the work of art that was Zariyah’s illustrated body. Tattoos her fingers traced a few hours ago, piercings that created sinful friction against her build; the memories made her moan aloud, and she chewed her bottom lip when she felt her smirk’s approaching climb.

Riy tossed a pillow her way, full in her force, but she ducked, barely dodging the thing, “Girl, stop staring at my titties and talk to me. I can't stand yo ass, I swear.”

Riri’s laugh was low, and it was mostly genuine on her short walk back to the bedside she previously indented. Mostly. “I said I'm good Z.” Maybe repetition could be enough to persuade, both Zariyah and herself, Riri thought.

She leaned over, puckering her lips in Riy's stern face pleadingly, but Riri was not met with the contact she grew desperate for. Zariyah craned her head to the side, denying Riri’s wet mouth as she crossed her arms, removing the view of her gorgeous breasts as well. “What? I can't get a kiss now?”

“No.”

Riri raised her eyebrow daringly, “No?”

“That's what the fuck I said.” Riy huffed in annoyance, making Riri grin slightly.

“Would it make you feel better if I said it wasn't the same dream every time?” She knew Zariyah wouldn't let her leave without an explanation of sorts, and this wasn't a lie, not entirely. Her nightmares were serial, sure, but there were many angles of that day, and a plethora of memories that could be used to torment Riri’s psyche. And used they were; her monster held no belief in leftovers, so he denied Riri the luxury of leaving any semblance of her trauma untouched.

Riy groaned, “Why the fuck would that make me feel better Riri?”

“They're just dreams, Riy.”

They were just dreams. It's what she told herself anyway, and one day, she would arise from the never-ending nightmare that was life without her dad, and life without her best friend.

Zariyah crawled toward Riri, hooking her chin over her shoulder before pressing a kiss into her sweaty throat. “You promise?”

And Riri’s head sprang immediately, because her nod was practiced. “Yeah.”

Her tremoring word was devoid of credibility, but Zariyah let it suffice, and fuck if Riri wasn't grateful for that; she already felt her lie cracking, her weak facade crumbling, and she wasn't sure either would remain intact if her girl continued the grilling.

Smiling into the hot pecks adorning her neck came with ease and satisfaction as she looped her favorite fingers around her middle. “Z…”

“What is it Ri baby?” She smirked, tongue lapping that sweet little spot she knew drove Riri insane, and when she produced that sigh she sought after, Zariyah pushed off her entirely, settling back into the comfort of her linens.

“You gon gimme my kiss now? Before I go?”

Riy giggled, “Hungry ass always want my mouth all over you.”

“You know I do, Z baby.” Riri stood, turning to face her as she slowly caressed her inked throat, capturing the heat of Zariyah’s mouth on hers. She ingested the flurries of Riy’s moans, anxiously awaiting the assertive way the golden sphere punched into her girl's tongue dominated her own.

It was impossible to stop her fingers’ wandering; Zariyah kneeled undressed for her, whining for her, making Riri feel like everything would be alright if she slipped back into those taunting threads.

“Stay…” Riy practically whimpered it, digits finding their way beneath Riri’s hoodie with a mission, and if she didn't break away soon, said mission would be accomplished.

When they parted, Riri drank in those dazed irises that cared for her, smiling faintly before pressing another peck to Riy’s plump lips. She stroked her cheek, wanting to bask in the gentleness of her girl’s skin, needing the reminder — gentleness was hers to claim if she so chose. It was here, Zariyah was here, quite literally at her fingertips. But she supposed it was more in her nature to fall victim to the universe’s spell, easier to accept haunting dreams and sleepless nights to be her fate.

So she gathered her scattered things in the shadows of the room, inhaling sweet Sandalwood before heading to the door sporting a stupid little grin subject to melting away the minute she left her girl’s presence.

“Bye, baby.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder, gripping the bedroom door as she allowed herself one last look at a worried Zariyah gazing over at her, those bright eyes of hers dimmer now, pleading almost.

“Be s–”

Riri laughed halfheartedly, “Be safe. Yes, I know, ma. I always am.”

•••

Arriving to her classes on time had never been a task Riri prioritized; showing up was enough in her book, and the activity was never to become practiced behavior. But, the terror reposing behind shut eyes served as quite the motivator today, encouraging her to attend each of her classes wide-eyed and hopped up on caffeine.

Riri hadn't even made it back to her dorm after leaving Zariyah’s; she solicited refuge from the freezing walls of her garage instead, and in the challenge of her latest creation.

She'd found herself doing that, building devices she likely had no use for, more so than usual. Riri’s instinct to constantly construct, coupled with her desire to keep her eyes open often resulted in impressive, yet unnecessary productions. Because what could her need for an arm cannon that doubled as a 3-D printer possibly be?

Regardless, it was something to do, so she stayed there, well into the early morning ignoring sleep’s call, and when the Sun climbed the sky, Riri was relieved to have survived yet another night.

Alongside her monster, someone else rummaged through memories she wished to bury — you. As much as the young engineer wrestled the acceptance of it, Riri was aware she’d hurt you that night, she'd caught the slightest glimpse of the expression coloring your features just before the door slammed shut. Regret rushed her immediately after, berating her as she came to a sole conclusion: hurt did not belong on your face. But it was there, because she put it there, and she was not deluded enough to believe she hadn't gone too far.

The physical image of you remained scarce after that night, throughout the week, and this bugged her for reasons she refused to acknowledge. Not being able to deconstruct you as you twitched beneath her watch, not being able to gauge where she stood with you after what she'd done unsettled Riri.

And this too, fueled her timely arrivals. Riri had been skipping all of her classes for the past few days, neglecting the homework she had piling up, disregarding her phone's consistent dinging. Today was Friday though, and Riri liked Fridays.

She got to see you today.

When she strutted into the room, Riri’s feet halted unexpectedly, her white Air Maxes screeching on the floor as her eyes scanned the large, mostly empty space. She was one of three students who'd arrived early, too early, the sound her sneakers made shifting all gazes to her.

“The fuck…” She muttered it under her breath, side-eyeing her professor who seemed astonished to see her. She made the quick journey to her row in the back, the one you two shared, eyes rolling instinctively and Riri sat, lying wait.

Riri knew herself to be impatient, but the extent was forever lost on her before now, before she was made to anticipate your entrance. She exhaled anxiously, leg bouncing as she feasted on the flesh of her raw bottom lip, thus making it the only content she'd ingested all day. Sickening, Riri thought, but her stomach accepted whatever she had to offer; constricting; grumbling as its acids dissolved the dead skin.

Feral eyes darted to the door following the slightest sound of footsteps strolling into the classroom, but she grew irritated every time the person entering wasn't you. Was this normal? Were you late? You couldn't be late, you were never late, she was just uncharacteristically early.

“Someone's sitting there.” She spat at some random blonde girl gunning for your seat.

The girl's smile shook under the obvious agitation Riri laced her words with, but it didn't melt away when she asked, “Who? It's empty right now, I just–”

“Does it matter?” She shoved her backpack into the chair, leering at the girl who’d now gone beet red. “It ain't gonna be you. Move.”

“But I–”

Riri possessed the ability to intimidate, in spite of her height, she also knew her words held force when she said them just right, “Go.” And she watched the girl scurry off with the blow of just the one. She was harmless, only looking for someplace to sit, but why would Riri care? There were plenty of others for her to choose from.

The dreams weren't a force she could control, not for lack of trying, but usually, what she could control was her chosen proximity to you. Riri would refute it if confronted, but being near you remedied, your aura was powerful like that; too powerful, she’d realized, and she despised its dominion over her.

But she couldn't deny she needed it now. So where the fuck were you?

Typical, she thought. Leave it to you to sour her mood, even now, when you were the singular reason she bothered coming in the first place. You aggravated her with ease, without even being present. Her fluctuation between hot and cold when it came to you perplexed her more than any equation taught within these four walls, or any algorithm she dared herself to develop on her many sleepless nights.

Every time she found herself wanting to extend a sliver of kindness your way, you found a way to fuck it up. Why were you like that? Why was she? She waited still however, the coffee she downed adding speed to her already twitching leg.

“Where the fuck–” Riri choked on her words, swallowing them back down as she permitted her eyes boldening when they spotted you prancing into the classroom. They softened, oh so briefly before she denounced the gesture, opting for another eye roll instead. Her gaping brown orbs — designated home to judgment and disgust — betrayed her often, when they focused on you that was. And Riri fucking hated that.

Your hair was done, gorgeous curls now protected underneath long soft locs flowing past your hips, past your ass like cascading fiery falls. They brightened the room and her bleak world alike, leaving her almost breathless.

Ropes of red suited you, she thought, suited your eyes, your face, your dark skin; Red was your color. Never had she thought a shade so vibrant and willful would be made for you, but you existed as a conundrum to Riri. She was staring, waiting, examining you from where she sat; you were speaking to Dr. Lucas, so she nabbed the opportunity.

Riri liked your makeup, she always did. She admired the subtlety of your soft beat, and how it opposed the defiant blaze your hair emitted. Your signature knife-edged eyeliner threatened to stab her as she prolonged her onlooking, making the short scientist curve her lips ever so slightly.

Your sweater though, it wasn't yours. She recognized its washed-out green shade. She knew the zipper no longer worked, and Riri located the small hole just below the left pocket with ease, because she was responsible for it; a very late night, and a joint. You were wearing Hakeem’s sweater, and her insides dropped at the revelation, making her gag just as you looked up at her.

Fuck she was pathetic.

Riri scoffed at her own involuntary sound, exhaling an intake of air as she prepared for you to join her on your shared row. You watched her intently from where you stood in the front, brow arching in that perfect way she liked, signifying you were already annoyed by her glaring. Riri smirked at you, feeling that familiar burst of thrill that slithered through her system whenever the pair of you locked eyes, because she knew she had you, hooked on her line like a fish — you made it too easy.

Except, she didn't have you, and Riri realized this a little too late for comfort. You broke the stare, seemingly unbothered when you plunged into an empty seat on the front row, your body lithe in its descent, and Riri’s right eye mirrored her leg’s tic.

This was not your routine, and deviating wasn't your normal, Riri studied this, learned this, knew this. You were supposed to sit on the last row with her, two seats over from her, and she expected to see your face. It's why she chose this spot at the very beginning of the semester.

Your eyebrows always knitted when your professor spoke, you listened attentively for as long as you could, chewing on your pencil's eraser when deep in thought; she was supposed to witness this. God, your infinite eyes. Riri was meant to view them fluttering shut when you inevitably began dozing off. Your neck was supposed to jerk, you'd spring up, catch her eyes, she'd laugh, and you were supposed to be annoyed that she laughed.

This was your routine. So why the fuck were you sitting in the front row? Why the fuck did you have your back to her? Why the fuck was she being made to stare at your head? And good lord, why in the blue fuck did the distance between the pair of you anger her this much?

Riri didn't like this.

Dr. Lucas’ rambling about visualizing solutions using direction fields and approximating them using Euler’s method made no home in her jumbled brain; his monotone voice worked only to amplify her confusion. Were you ignoring her?

You, ignoring her? The notion didn't even seem plausible the longer she sat with it. Was it because of what she'd done last week?

Riri's eyes were locked on the back of your head for the duration of class, brain mulling over the events of last Saturday night, forcing herself to recount her actions, her words — becoming her own monster as she snarled. Surely you couldn't still be stuck on that. Right? She’d noticed the way you never stayed upset with her for too long, perhaps she could even admit she took advantage of it, because she had not anticipated… this, whatever it was.

It was a slap in the fucking face, she decided. You were trying to piss her off, and it was fucking working.

Her knee continued jumping as she was made to count the brick parts in your hair. It wasn't hard for her to calculate the exact number of locs in your head, she fixated on doing it, guessing, before concluding that it’d be an even number: fifty-two. They were perfect; intricate; precise, just the way you liked things.

You're not a dummy.

She’d hoped the sharp daggers she tossed down at you would at the very least, make you turn with a threatening glower, but you remained forward, fiddling with the broken zipper on that stupid fucking sweater, and Riri remained frustrated. Because she knew you felt them, her pointed daggers; you made no move to dodge them, and you tensed after each throw.

You’re not a dummy. Turn around.

This right here was why she didn't like you, why she couldn't like you, because you played with her, you tested her. She couldn't stand it, blood boiling over the longer she watched your pencil move and wrist flick from behind.

You're not a dummy. But you're behaving like one. Turn the fuck around.

She contemplated moving down to sit beside you, but class ended ahead of her internal battle, and she reprimanded herself for even entertaining the thought immediately.

You were on your feet, quicker than she'd ever seen, trying to escape her; Riri could recognize this because it's what she did, and she'd be lying if she said your exit speed had not been formidable.

But she refused to focus on your ability to impress, because this role reversal quickly became another thing eating at her delicious brain. She stalked you out of class, teeny feet doing what they could to keep up with your long strides; Riri was quick, but it seemed today, you were quicker.

Why the fuck was she resisting the unyielding urge to scream your name as she chased you? Who the hell gave you the right to stride away from her, gracefully at that, like she didn't matter? Who the fuck did you think you were?

Riri didn't like this. She really really hated this. She gasped when her lips parted, your name teasing the tip of her tongue. She bit it back though, enraged. You forced her to stare at your dancing scarlet locs, and perfect swishing hips cloaked by that ugly green fabric as you strutted away from her.

Riri would not allow you to get away with this little attitude you’d adopted. You wore it well though, confidence. Fuck. But she would have to get to the bottom of your shift in behavior. She was not invisible, and you would pay attention to her.

As she backed away, embarrassed, her back collided with the front of another student, sending his things tumbling to the ground, “The fuck is wrong with you? You walking with your eyes closed or something? Don't fucking bump into me are you crazy?!”

“I'm sorry I didn't–”

“Oh! Oh! You didn't?” She mocked, fuming. “Fuck outta my way.” She huffed, stomping off and out the same door you’d just exited, tiny fists balling at her sides.

•••

The weariness Riri fled all day had finally caught up to her, compelling her to permit the shutting of those heavy eyelids. Her torso bent, slumping forward, head plunging down onto her work table where several tools dug into her cheek. Riri didn't care though, in fact, she remained blissfully unaware, drooling all the while as she succumbed to a dreamless nap.

Her garage existed as her refuge, the one place her scavenging monster had yet to infiltrate. She was safe from him here; she could sleep here, without duress. And she slipped immediately, because she was tired, really fucking tired.

The fatigued girl hadn't even relished in the luxury of dozing off for fifteen minutes before a thunderous pounding frightened her awake. Continuous, jarring, and disturbingly rhythmic — Riri allowed the noise to usher her off of her stool, and onto the ground with a grumble. She jetted over to the side door, ready to reprimand the only person she knew to be so obnoxious.

Upon opening it, that sickeningly cheery smile she'd begrudgingly grown to love greeted her, and she grimaced on command. Hakeem marveled down at her whilst patting the crown of her head, teeth, and diamond earrings stinging her slit irises.

“Nigga, the fuck are you doing here?” Riri jerked from under her best friend's touch, holding tightly to her slipping scowl.

He moved her miniature body with zero effort, stepping around her and into the garage, his smile never wavering. “Uh, you texted me goofy.”

“I did?” Keem nodded absentmindedly, wandering deeper into Riri’s sanctuary, becoming enraptured with her latest sketches. “Oh shit… I did.” It was only then that Riri remembered, so caught up in the promise of rest, her actions had completely escaped her. She'd texted Hakeem to come by after his last class, her elusive intention buried beneath the message itself; Riri was hoping — praying — you'd tag along like the puppy you were.

You were back on good terms with him now, well, good enough according to him, and you never seemed to understand when you weren't wanted somewhere, so she figured you'd pout your way into accompanying him. Riri was desperate for a chance to question you about your behavior towards her earlier; she couldn't move past it, despite her efforts. And your blatant disregarding of her existence joined the long line of entities overrunning her busy brain, what was left of it anyway.

Why would you just ignore her like that? You weren't supposed to ignore her like that. You’d never done it before, why now? Why today? The single day where she needed you. So fucking selfish.

Riri craned her neck out the door, almost tripping the longer she extended it, searching for you, waiting for your face to appear in her doorway.

“Don't worry, I ain't bring her this time.”

“What?” She whipped around.

Hakeem chuckled, picking through Riri’s things on her table nosily, “Ooh, what's this?”

“Keep ya nasty lil fingers off my shit,” She strutted over to him. “And what you mean you ain't bring her this time?”

“She ain't wanna come.” He shrugged, completely oblivious to the desperation guiding Riri’s words, and the disappointment coloring her tired lips when they fell. His eyes and lanky fingers were too busy tracing the images on Riri’s board and the scattered parts surrounding it.

You didn't wanna come? Since fucking when?

She cleared her throat awkwardly, dousing the flames crackling in the void of her tummy, “Well, uh, good. Cause I was getting tired of you always dragging her ass around me unannounced.”

“What kinda top secret–” Hakeem's eyes widened, glazing over with a hint of awe, “Riri, is yo ass building an Ironman suit?! Please please please tell me you building an Ironman suit!”

She nearly let her lips curl after noting his legitimate excitement, but she deadpanned instead, face slackening, voice taking on its signature bored infliction, “Yes Hakeem, I'm definitely building a damn Ironman suit.”

Sarcastic and sardonic — the only way Riri knew how to be. Sometimes her cynicism concerned her, like now, as she chose to remain cryptic, when the option of being open with her best friend about her work existed as an easier choice.

“Your sneaky ass would be doing some shit like that.” Hakeem cut his eyes, and Riri rolled hers.

“Anyway! Move away from my things, thank you!” Both palms indented his stomach as she guided him over to her computer screens.

He harrumphed, still suspicious, but ultimately choosing to drop it, making Riri sigh. “What your itty bitty butt call me over here for anyway?”

She prepared for this question; this entire interaction was drummed up immediately after your departure earlier. What she hadn't prepared for, was your absence; it threw her ever so slightly, more so than she would ever admit. “I can't just wanna hang out with my best friend?”

Hakeem laughed, and its vigor shoved Riri into a fit also, settling her anxiety some. “I uh, I need your help finishing up this reprogramming.”

“Ain't no way you called me over here cause you need my help.” Hakeem snorted in disbelief.

He wasn't wrong, she didn't need his help, she didn't need anyone's help, she'd finished this exact project two days prior for another student. But she wouldn't have minded yours. Why didn't you just fucking come like she expected you to? God, you were so damn irritating.

“I um, I do, actually. I was supposed to have it done for one of them rich white kids but, I-I haven't been able to focus on it, or anything school related if we being for real.” She grumbled that last part shyly, but of course Hakeem's fucking elephant ears picked up on it.

He eyed her cautiously, before speaking, “And why you can't focus on anything school-related, Riri?”

“You gon help me or what?” Meeting his eye line didn't present itself as an option, so Riri fiddled with her computer mouse instead, opening the software that had finally downloaded.

“Answer the damn question.”

Riri sighed, shooting the tall boy a brief look. “Don't make a big fucking deal about it, but, the dreams are back.”

“See, I knew it. That's why you was sleeping here and shit? Riri you can't be sleeping in this garage, it's not safe, you–”

“Bruh didn't I just tell yo ass not to make a big deal about it?”

His scrutiny made the scientist flinch; Hakeem could be unnerving when he chose to be, and Riri found his easy way of shifting to be daunting, like the immense pressure felt from his spiky stare, and the abyssal drop in his lively tone could be enough to scare every answer she concealed straight from her drying throat. “Have you been sleeping at all?”

She watched his brows knit, eyes sullen as he regarded her with concern. “A little bit.”

“Mmm, why I don't believe that?”

She huffed, “I was actually tryna sleep a few minutes ago, but your ass pulled up, knocking on my shit like you had a warrant.”

“Riri, you can't sleep here.”

He was right, she knew this, but who would she be if she didn't challenge him? “Nigga you ain't my daddy.”

Bitter words Riri regretted instantly, as she gaped at her silent, staring best friend.

She loathed those eyes of his, the way they perceived her, thawing her frozen facade. She'd labored endlessly to forge her high walls, only for her work to be rendered useless; Hakeem bulldozed straight through their very foundations.

“Ri.”

She shook her head, “Can you just help me?”

“You lucky coding is kinda my shit.” His grin reemerged slowly, like it never left.

Though she still craved sleep, the buzzing inside her was beginning to still, being near Hakeem did that. The pair of friends worked silently next to each other, swift fingers smoothing over keys. Riri was grateful for the company, grateful for her best friend, his willingness to lend his time and mind.

“What are they about? The dreams, I mean.” He caught her eyes when she glanced timidly up at him, and immediately, she snatched them back.

Never had Riri disclosed the contents of her dreams to anyone, not even Hakeem. He knew about her Dad, about Natalie, but she'd kept him in the dark about the details.

“Don't wanna talk about that,” She chewed her lip, mind defying her, running to you when she glanced up at his screen. “And that whole line is wrong.”

He chuckled a little when he realized she was correct, bringing back the annoyance she thought to be previously settled. “Thought coding was your shit.”

“I ain't said I was perfect, bruh damn, ” He picked up on her indignation, good. “How much you getting paid for this anyway? I can get a cut?”

“You be too deep in my damn business, bummy.”

Her patience was bred to be thin, but today, it's like you made it completely nonexistent with your antics. What pissed her off, even more, was that she knew you wouldn't make such a simple mistake like your boyfriend did. You were thorough, rarely did you take your eye off the ball. Riri liked that, and it was probably the only thing she admittedly respected about you.

You should be here right now, assisting her as you did last week, diligently avoiding your boyfriend’s screw up. Instead, you decided to be childish.

But Riri couldn't shake the feeling that you were justified in your avoidance, if that's what you were truly doing. Perhaps you’d drawn a line somewhere and hadn't told her, maybe she crossed it with her actions, her words.

The moments prior to her outburst were enjoyable, she let her guard slip with you, not all the way, but just enough for the conversation to be pleasant. She laughed with you. Your mind intrigued her; called to her, and she felt inclined to answer.

Your hand in hers, your fingers between her own; it was shameful, but your apprehensive responsive full body twitches made it feel not so.

After a while, her stomach churned, scolding her reminiscent thoughts, and her remorseful eyes fanned up to a concentrated Hakeem caught up in correcting his mistake.

“You being real quiet Ri,” He sang, smiling knowingly, moving for the robot sitting on Riri’s messy work table. “Must mean you avoiding telling me something.”

He wasn't even looking at her, his focus set on downloading the firmware to the robot sitting beside the computer, yet somehow, he still decoded her. Riri spoke of walls and their supposed impenetrable builds, but were they ever up around her best friend?

She chuckled dryly remembering the spark of their friendship. A group project last semester forced them to work together, and Riri had every intention to remain guarded when around him. She wanted nothing to do with the popular black boy who spent most of his time partying with white frat guys. He had a reputation, on campus and in her mind.

Riri tried upholding her signature “don't talk to me” persona, but Hakeem bought none of it, and getting her to crack became more important to him than their assignment. Eventually, she did, because he housed a charm like she'd never known, and one could only deny that mischievous smirk for so long. He was quite proud of himself, latching onto her after that, leaving Riri with no choice but to become okay with his presence.

He was loud, rambunctious, extremely audacious, and always searching for the next party. A stark contrast from Riri who just wanted to smoke and build shit in her garage.

“I'm down for that, too,” He’d said. “You’d be surprised what these sexy ass hands can do, I'm tryna tell you.”

“Please don't ever say no shit like that around me again.” She’d retorted, expression wry, allowing him to follow after her.

She soon realized that his company had never been intentional, until her, making the pair an inseparable one.

“Not avoiding anything.” She fibbed, biting back a grin of her own.

Keem pushed the completed robot toward her, eyes narrowed. “Mhmm.”

“Riri, people care about you, you know?” She scoffed, not wanting to hear the spiel he chose to recite every time this happened. “I care–”

“Sappy ass nigga.”

But this time, he hadn't produced that signature laugh she grew accustomed to. Hakeem's dark browns swirled softly with compassion, leaking reassurance, making Riri stiffen as he stepped closer. “I mean it, Riri. You can talk to me, you don't gotta be so closed off all the time and shit.”

“Nigga you tryna kiss me? Back up.” Deflecting was her defense mechanism. She wished to let him in, shit, she probably needed to, but Riri knew she couldn't — wouldn't. Because letting Hakeem in meant opening the door for those feelings she struggled terribly to keep locked out. She could not chance them entering her barriers.

“I gotta go, Ri.” He sighed, defeated. Christ, he should know, he should know that Riri knew. Why did she have to say it out loud? She didn't understand why people required words to know how she felt, about them, about herself; they should just be able to fucking know.

“You need anything else? A hug?” Keem’s smile stretched, and she gagged immediately.

I need to know why your girlfriend is avoiding me.

But you do know why, don't you Riri? Isn't this what you wanted?

“No.”

Hakeem tugged her to him anyway, receiving not a word of protest from his tiny best friend, because she needed this too, this was nice. The space between his shoulders welcomed Riri’s exhausted physique, muscular arms flexing to swaddle her just right. Hakeem's cologne was so strong, so fogging, Riri found herself almost nodding off with her face pressed to his abdomen.

But another scent kept her awake, the faintest whiff of something embarrassingly familiar: You.

That light mist of smoky vanilla and saffron; one she didn't even know she could recognize until now. But there you were, spritzed all over him like you were his. And here Riri was, inhaling you deep, allowing you to enter her lungs as an oxygen dupe whilst her stomach ate itself.

She didn't want to pull away, because pulling away meant you'd be gone again, just like you'd left her earlier. So, she buried her face deeper into his shirt, diving further into your smell until Hakeem's no longer existed in her nostrils, until the aroma of you alone began to drown her, and she sighed.

Hakeem's reverberating chuckle assisted her resurfacing, and Riri grew hot all over when he pecked her atop her braids, burning in her furnace of guilt.

She let him go, rougher than she intended to, but he didn't seem to notice. “I knew yo weird ass wanted to kiss me.”

“I love you, Ri. You know that.”

“Yuck!”

He smiled, using those fucking dimples to unveil her own petulant grin, “I know you love me too. Ima see you, Ri. Try to get some sleep, aight? Preferably in a bed?”

She did love him; Hakeem was the person Riri was closest to, her lifeline, and this sentiment only worked to further her stomach's self-consumption as she watched him drive away.

•••

There was something to be said about an angry Riri Williams on a mission. Those speedy little legs of hers were thrusted forward by rage, her golden R pendant bouncing atop her chest with the same ferocity, clinking in tandem with the other chain adorning her slick neck.

She was hot, and tired, as the Sun blared its rays directly into her cocoa irises, but still, she refrained from turning her fitted hat forward to help shield her eyes. Her steps were so brisk, warm air wooshed in her ears, and the ends of her braids tucked beneath her cap slapped violently against her back.

When her phone buzzed in her fist, she hoisted the screen to her face, eyeballs turning in her head just before she swiped the message away so she could focus on the tiny red dot she was tracking.

She lowered the device, storming toward her target with a stern face.

“I see that phone still work.” She approached the brown-haired boy sitting with his friends, his face falling the second he took in her wild expression.

“Uh, hey Riri, what–” She snatched it from his stubby fingers, eyes fixated on the way they trembled when they lost their grip on the thing.

It was unlocked, great, less work for her. “You sitting up here real comfortable, snacking and shit, like youn owe me a band, and change.” Her vision was trained on the iPhone she seized, scrolling through various apps until the one she sought jumped out at her: Venmo.

“Sorry, I uh, I forgot. But I thought we agreed on seven hundred.” The boy peered over at his alarmed friends.

He attempted to reach for his phone, but he'd underestimated Riri’s guile. She anticipated his move long before he made it, stepping back, holding the device to her person. “Yeah, two days ago maybe, but prices go up the longer you take to run my shit.”

He was fidgeting, and Riri let her smirk curl, entertained by him. “Look, I did most of the work, I think it's fair that–”

“I’m the reason you got that grade you got.” She stated plainly, bored of the back and forth. She awarded herself the desired amount, allowing the defeated boy to take hold of his property once she no longer had use for it, and she plastered her face with a faux smile as she bobbed away.

“Fucking white people.” She mumbled with a head shake, turning her phone off completely as a measure to dodge the emails from her therapist she refused to respond to.

Riri plucked her nose from her phone, the Sun still working to abuse her eyes, and it was then that she saw you.

Steady flows of molten lava scorching her retinas, the rays emitted by the sky's ball of fire made an afterthought now. Riri’s legs stilled, her pupils dilating under the beams of your hair. She knew how she must've looked, gaping at you the way she did, out in the open, and her unwillingness to care mixed her mind. But she couldn't, care that was, not at the moment.

You wore that hideous green thing still; Riri was unaware of her disdain for the sweater until today. How many times had she seen Hakeem in it without batting an eye? It wasn't even cold out, like at all. Why did you have it on? You were so fucking odd.

Warm air blew your locs to and fro as you inched closer to her, making her hold her breath with each step you took.

You weren't looking at her yet, but surely you felt her eyes on you, on the way you clasped your backpack, on your nails. She hadn't noticed them in class, because your stubborn ass hadn't given her a chance to, but your nails matched your hair now. When she saw them last, was the night she held them, they were purple then.

They were still as long, still as dangerous, except now, they were painted red, much like the blood heating her ears.

Riri braced herself for impact; you were inches away, eyes boring directly into hers, so she fixed her lips into a hard line, something menacing, something deterring. She wouldn't speak first, no. In Riri’s mind, you were even, she was mean to you, you retaliated by ignoring her, so you were even.

You were so close, your perfume kissed her skin, and she smirked when your eyebrow jumped. Jackpot, this intense eye contact was to be her in.

But again, you’d managed to con her into believing she would be getting your attention. You didn't stop, your feet brought you to her, bypassing her, and you bumped her shoulder in the process without so much as a word. Riri was stunned, at a loss, as she whipped around to see you marching away from her for a second time today.

She resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a child. Riri was short, not fucking invisible. Where the hell did you get off? Why were you getting to her this much? You shouldn't be able to.

She blamed it on her lack of sleep, because was there another conclusion to be drawn? She couldn't, wouldn't, draw one.

With one last look over her shoulder, Riri headed in the other direction, dragging her heavy limbs back to her dorm with the hope of sleeping your likeness away.

•••

Riri lay unmoving on her bed, heart stunned into a sprint after yet another gruesome attack. She was awake, but locked lids provided aid in keeping her eyeballs off of the closet door in the distance.

That's where he resided, her monster, snickering in amusement at the state in which he left her.

Her dorm steeped in moonlight when she unstuck her face from her pillow, bathing her damp skin in streams that cooled. Riri’s vision barely existed as her eyes darted around the room, but despite this, her wells found the recently stripped photograph taped to her wall. She hadn't the heart to reframe it; keeping the film near loosened her constricting chest on nights like these. A slanted gaze trailed to the digital clock on her desk: 12:04 a.m. At least she’d slept some.

Riri sighed, hands moving before her brain could stop her, and she reached for her phone, scrolling through her recent calls before her thumb hovered hesitantly.

One ring, two rings, three.

She was going to hang up, having regretted the act already. No way h–

“Hey, wassup?” Hakeem's voice sounded groggy, oh good, she'd woken him. Surprising, Riri thought, a Friday night spent indoors was not his normal. “Nah, it's just Ri, baby girl.” So you were with him, and she'd woken the both of you with her desperate little phone call. Amazing.

Were you at his place? In his bed? Or, was he in yours? That image, the one of the two of you sharing the same sheets, was not one she needed on her conscience, so she did away with the thought, just as she pretended not to feel her tension band tighten in her abdomen.

“Yo, Ri, you good?” She remained silent on her end, thinking, spinning, spiraling inside her warped mind.

This call was a mistake. “Sorry, I uh, I didn't–”

“I'm on the way.” And then she was made to listen to that beep, beep, beep; Hakeem hadn't given her a chance to decline, not that she'd wanted him to. It’s why she called him, because Riri knew he'd know, without her having to say it.

She was shoving her head through the neck of her hoodie when her phone pinged, and she rushed to it.

Bestie Westie: I'm outside.

Riri rolled her eyes at the contact name every single time Hakeem texted her, she had no hand in it, but she wouldn't dare change it. She slipped her feet into her crocs after grabbing her phone and keys, making her way to her awaiting best friend.

Upon opening Hakeem's car door, a wave of heady Vanilla crashed onto her, its current forceful, and deliberate as hell, making Riri scoff. What the fuck did you do? Douse the seats in your fucking perfume just to taunt her? Three times now she'd been assaulted by your smell, three times she recognized it on command. Riri valued consistency, somewhat, she liked a pattern, but this one, this pattern of you — she was not fond of it.

She’d zoned out, Riri realized, involuntarily floating on the aroma surrounding her, and it was Hakeem’s voice that brought her back. “You getting in, Ri?”

“Yeah.” She collected herself, exhaling as she stepped into the car with a shy smile that Keem reciprocated, allowing her best friend to drive her off into the void of the inky night.

•••

“Wish Freeda’s was twenty-four-seven, could really use some fries right now.” Riri’s lips separated, preparing themselves to once again come in contact with the burning blunt her fingers clasped. Her drag was long, smoke gliding down her throat, collecting in her lungs as she held it, awaiting that familiar burn she craved. And then she exhaled, billows of white clouds blowing from her mouth.

“You and them damn salty ass fries.” Hakeem teased with a laugh that should be deemed too enthusiastic, even for him, but his high guided it, and Riri was stoned enough to match it.

She sipped her Slurpee, passing the blunt over, watching him accept it leisurely through hooded eyes. When the straw left her tongue, she slurred, “Look, that seasoned salt ain't nun to play with. Ion know what to tell you.”

“Seasoned salt my ass, swear Ion see your itty bitty butt eat nothing else. What that cholesterol looking like?”

The girl damn near cackled under the slow drum of the question, and Riri shook her head with a loose smile. “Cholesterol? Nigga, the fuck, I look fifty-five to you? I ain't worried bout no damn cholesterol.”

“What are you worried bout then? Cause I know it's something,” Hakeem took a hit, eyeing Riri tentatively where she sat with her back against the door. “That's when the dreams come back, right?”

His seat was halfway reclined, and he puffed a breath of smoke up toward the car's ceiling, adding to the haze existing around them already. He waited, foreseeing her hesitation before even she did, humming along with the song wafting out his speakers, patient as ever.

Riri didn't like this, she knew the question was underway, but she really fucking hated it; vulnerability was not a carried skill. She wanted to enjoy her high, to forget, momentarily, that her feelings were her enemy, and her brain was their friend. “I told you Ion wanna talk about that shit.”

“No, you said youn wanna talk about what goes down in your dreams. That's cool. But, I ain't asking bout that, I'm asking bout what's causing them, small fry.” He shot her a wink, or what she perceived to be one, smiling lazily.

Riri grimaced, vermilion-stained eyes regarding him with the utmost contempt, “Call me that again, see what happens.”

“Riri, you not getting off that easy. Now talk to me.”

A beat of silence befell them, per Riri’s doing, and she sucked her straw in again, forcing the taste of mango-lemonade to wash her mouth, needing it to pacify her speech. “Guess I'm just stressed,” She spoke after a while, and Hakeem bobbed his head.

“Okay. What's stressing you out, small fry?” He exhaled, a gust of gas following his words.

“Nigga.”

“Ri.”

The wrap touched her digits once again, and the drug entered her system, along with that fucking smell, your fucking smell, that for whatever reason, chose to follow her. “Ion know. I’ve just been feeling real weird over the past three months. And no the dreams ain't been back for that long. I just feel off.”

“Your classes?”

“No, well kinda this week, but not usually. Ion know what it is.” Except she did know, and she wished desperately to unknow; Riri wanted her lie to ring true, but, she had your perfume in her lungs right now, it was acquainted with her nose, her bloodstream. God, she could fucking taste it — taste you — there was no way for her to unknow that.

Hakeem tutted, and Riri’s eyes rolled. “Wrong answer.”

“What?”

“Ri, you know I know you. And I know when you fixing them lips to lie to me.” His arm extended, pinching her chin, and she recoiled in disgust.

“Eww. Weird ass nigga, don't touch me.”

He snatched the dwindling blunt from her, taking the last hit before placing all attention on his tightly wound best friend. “Soooo, you gon tell me?”

Riri huffed, swigging her Slurpee, her body unconsciously rocking to the current song. “I just told you Ion know what the fuck I got going on.”

“Sticking with your lie. Okay,” He threw his hands up. “You and Riy good?”

Riri giggled automatically, be it because of the weed, or just the fondness she held for the tattooed girl, she didn't know, nor did she mind. “Yeah. We good.”

He shook his head, “See, Ion understand you man.”

“Nobody gets me Keem, that's how I like it.”

“Ha.” He laughed dryly, “I mean ion understand how you have a baddie like Zariyah, and still playing games, you know shawty want you.”

“And she has me.”

He tossed her a challenging glare. “Y’all official?”

Hakeem was right, rarely was he ever wrong when shrinking her brain. Riri could admit that internally, but never aloud, because then she'd have to own her shit, and she didn't see herself able to. Not yet. “Man, whatever.”

“If I was you… Damn, what would I do with all that if I was you? Damn. Like shit Riri, the fuck is wrong with you for real?”

“Nigga, don't you got a girl?”

“You gon tell her?”

Riri deadpanned, wincing at the thought of you avoiding her entirely. “Like I would willingly talk to her.”

“Guessing y’all lil study session ain't go well last week? She been dodging yo ass like the plague.” He chuckled.

She couldn't pretend this blatant confirmation didn't pack a punch, even if it’d been clear as day. You were avoiding her. Hakeem pushed it into the open, and he found hilarity in your behavior. Riri on the other hand, could not pinpoint which of the sensations incited by your behavior bloomed the strongest in her depths. Anger? Irritation? Bewilderment?

Or could it be the one that lay dormant in her body until today, the sole sensation she detested, and refused to give attention to? “You shouldn't have sent her irritating ass to come check up on me.”

“Aye, watch it,” She heeded his warning, but not without an eye roll, of course. “You ungrateful as hell, you know that?”

Riri pouted. Its appearance on her face would never be permitted outside of this setting, outside of Hakeem's presence; she was too high to wipe it away. “I ain't need no babysitter.”

“Evidently you do, small fry. Yo ass need supervision, since you can't seem to sleep in your bed.” Hakeem spat his words playfully, but Riri knew him well enough to place his trepidation, about her, about her stressors.

“Stop calling me that shit.”

“Stop deflecting.”

“Whatever nigga.”

He was trying, and failing, to readjust his seat when he blew the chilling question her way, and maybe the fog in the car’s air created a mirage before her, because Riri was certain Hakeem's words frosted the melted dregs of her syrupy drink once again. “Why youn like her anyway?”

This sight of him, struggling with his worn-out car, should be comical. She should laugh. But, she couldn't, because this question, and its intrusiveness, stunned her into stillness in the passenger seat. “W-What?”

“Why youn like my girl? She ain't never did shit to you for real, but you always on her. Why?”

Riri Williams was a super-genius, and prior to this instance, there was no equation she thought herself unable to solve, no question she believed existed without a complementing answer. With effort, and a little elbow grease, she was usually able to make the seemingly impossible, possible. But that ceased to be the case now — she did not possess the response her best friend was in search of.

Because you were unsolvable. Her answers did not compliment you.

“Ion gotta like everybody, Hakeem. I barely like yo ass.”

And though she never presented herself as a friend, Riri had to thank the universe still, along with the high dazing Hakeem's expression as he started the car without another word, leaving Riri alone with the question he'd tossed out, blissfully ignorant to the damage he'd just done.

She fiddled with the pendant dangling around her neck, the pad of her thumb grazing the letter as she pondered: Why didn't she like you?

You were in her veins right now — she was gone off your smell. She liked that. So why didn't she like you?

Riri rolled the window down, basking in the cool air nipping her heightened skin as she poked her face out like a thrilled dog, resisting the tempting urge to actually stick her tongue out playfully. If Hakeem could dismiss his words so readily, why couldn't she? So, it's what she chose to do, in her final attempt to reclaim the lastings of her sanity.

The drive back to her dorm carried a consoling quietness, save for the silky whispers Hakeem's speakers breezed out, his pressing question long lapsed in her head. She hummed, eyes low as she made way for a goofy little grin to cross her once-contorted features.

“You good, Ri?” And for once she could answer this question truthfully, because Riri was indeed good, better than good — perfect.

She nodded, glimpsing at his matching smile before he stepped out of the car. “Aight, come on.”

Once back in her room, Riri fused to her mattress again, this time lacking fear. Because Hakeem was here, his warmth capable of keeping her monster at bay. He found the taste of Riri’s security to be rancid, refusing to feed when protection blanketed her.

“Wait, before I get in,” Hakeem kicked his shoes off at the door, his voice interrupting Riri’s thoughts of a peaceful undertaking. “Was you fucking in this bed recently, Riri?”

She leered up at him blankly with an unamused expression. He was smirking, brow cocked, expectancy apparent on his smug face. What an insufferable man, befriending him had to honestly be her biggest mistake.

“Nigga, if I was, I definitely changed the sheets. Now, be a damn gentleman and hold me, I’m fragile.”

Hakeem gagged dramatically. Riri wanted to smack him, but unfortunately, luck remained planted at his dreadful side, because her approaching drowsiness advised against the attack.

After placing his phone on Riri’s side table, Hakeem scooted in behind her, still smirking, still giggling as his lanky arms engulfed her far smaller build, and Riri begrudgingly relaxed into him, eyes barely shut before a new set of words attacked her ears, “Fragile cause you be getting that ass tore up? Zariyah be doing the bending, don't she? See I knew it, I–”

“I'm so damn close to strangling you. Shut up and go the fuck to sleep, goddamn. Don't never know when to stop talking.”

He laughed, pulling her closer with a loud sigh. Riri was seconds away from the sleep she sought when Keem's phone buzzed beside her, so naturally, she took a gander, coming face to face with a photo of you as his lockscreen, the notification ceasing to matter now.

Chasmal brown eyes spilling mirth as you cheesed at your photographer, who she presumed to be the boy knocked out in her bed. She studied every corner of your face, completely enamored by your skin’s deepness, before the screen went black again. It was so fucking swift, the way you'd wormed your way back into her head, a task you'd perfected it seemed, even in absence.

She lay there for a while, stewing. Shame should devour her entirely for what she did next, lord, it was low, and if the mocking rattle drumming inside her closet was to be indication, her monster agreed.

She was still high enough to cast blame on the indica she'd ingested, and a snoring Hakeem bore no threat. So, Riri tapped the phone again, your shining smile eliciting a gentle, dopey one of her own. The light faded, taking her consciousness with it. Tangled in your boyfriend's arms — Riri allowed you to paint your portrait behind her lids — becoming her solace as she slumbered.

•••

Sunlight seeped through Riri’s array of windows, blazing streaks greeting her first for once, instead of the other way around when she pushed her eyes open. They panned around her brightened room cautiously, still grappling with the belief of staying shut throughout the night.

Hakeem was nowhere to be found, but this was hardly surprising, the only thing remaining in his wake being the sticky note pressed to her forehead, his signature way of announcing his departure. Usually, the impact between paper meeting skin stirred her awake, but this time, he’d slipped out with stealth.

She peeled the small square off her face, scoffing at the blurry vision of his atrocious handwriting. The only legible words were ‘text me’ scribbled below a drawing of some kind, and she blew a laugh, sitting up to reach for her phone perched on her side table.

The action birthed remembrance, as she sat, glaring blankly at her phone screen. She wasn't high anymore, meaning acceptance shadowed her unwanted remembering — Riri dreamt of you. Your smile, your eyes, your fucking hair, God, you were everywhere in her mind as she slept. And she was awake now, compelled to reflect on this truth.

It was getting out of hand, her seemingly inescapable fixation with you, and quite frankly she was fucking over your witchy ways. This was her line drawing, you didn't get to infiltrate her life and her REM cycle, even if your kind eyes offered her the best sleep she'd had in weeks. She had to put a stop to this — she had to see you.

Riri: Lemme take you out.

Her phone buzzed in her palm two seconds later, making her eyes roll expectedly as she grinned, hitting answer. “You know, when people text you it's prolly cause they don't wanna be on the phone with you.”

“And when you get asked out, it ain't usually through a half-assed text message.” Zariyah chimed, her smooth voice washing over Riri like honey.

She laughed, timid and jeering as she bit her lip, imagining the smile that must also be on her girl's face. “What you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. That ain't how you ask nobody out. You wanna try again, lil mamas?”

“Man, you wanna go out or not? Cause ain't no–”

Zariyah’s reprimanding pitch held all of its ferocity through the phone, and it’d be a lie to say Riri didn't seek her girl’s signature bite, “Uh-uh, I don't play with you like that Riri, watch that mouth. I ain't one a them.”

“Oh you not?” She quipped, twirling the end of her braids poking out from under her scarf.

“Nah. Now ask me out properly before I hang up this damn phone.”

She waited a few beats, deliberately trying to piss off the gorgeous girl on the other line. “Ain't you the one who called me though? You the one who wanted to be on my line, right?” Her smirk played in her words, forming fully when she tuned in to that inevitable sigh of frustration she perked her ears up for.

“Riri. Don't piss–”

Riri’s fingers massaged the necklace clasped around her neck, kicking her dangling feet as she spoke, “I would like to take you out Zariyah. You gon let me?”

“That really ain't no better. But, I guess I can squeeze you into my oh-so-busy schedule. When's this date? This is a date right?” Riri detected the twinge of uncertainty lacing Zariyah’s questions, which only broadened her sly little grin.

“It can be a date,” She started, shaking her head at the butterflies waking in her depths. “Tonight?”

Zariyah giggled, “Tonight works. Where you taking me?”

“Just be ready by seven, which for you is really eight, cause you know how you be.” Riri teased.

She could feel the eye roll hurled her way, and Zariyah’s tone of voice gave away her faux annoyance. “Oh don't do me. Ima be ready when I’m ready, how bout that!”

“Okay Z,” She conceded. “Ima see you tonight.”

“See you tonight, Ri baby.”

She clobbered out of bed after ending the call with the dumbest little smile, socked feet dragging her to the bathroom. It only lasted so long though.

Riri glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror, hoisting her damp toothbrush to her mouth just as flashes of your lips flooded her senses, and she resisted the urge to smash her head into the mirror before her. Maybe a self-induced concussion could scrub you from her memory.

•••

“Riri, when you said you was taking me out, this ain't what I had in mind.” Zariyah’s complaints were predictable, making Riri shake her head at the red-haired girl straggling behind her.

She tossed her question back, already aware of the response she'd get from this as well. “What, you too bougie for Freeda’s now?”

“Yes.”

She stuffed her fist into her pocket, striding languidly to the door with that silly grin curling her mouth. Freeda's wouldn't typically be a designated date spot for Riri either, but she had to admit her intentions for the night surpassed the innocence of simply taking Zariyah out.

She wanted to see you.

You didn't get to act like she wasn't worthy of acknowledgment. And showing up to your job was sort of her last resort, because you couldn't avoid her here. Showing up alone, however, that could send the wrong message, hence, the Zariyah of it all. “Girl, shut up and come on.”

She opened the door, holding it wide for her unimpressed girl, but she smiled still, because Riri had that effect on her.

“Welcome in, Ima be with y’all in a minute. Just sit wherever.” You hadn't turned as you spoke, but your drawl made Riri shudder all the same. A rehearsed line, she'd heard it countless times on her many visits to the diner, but when you said it now, her hot blood ran cold.

She smirked to herself as she realized; Riri had missed the sound of your voice.

“Alright,” When you approached their booth, bewilderment charged your deep eyes, your forever-taut shoulders tensing in understanding. “H-Hey y’all…”

Oh, fucking finally, she’d cornered you, regaining her status, once again, as cat to your mouse. You couldn't run, the panicked lightning in your irises vindicating this fact, and Riri smirked, content with where she had you now.

Your eyes competed with hers, vehement, determined, wanting desperately not to falter. You were struggling under her scrutiny though, she could tell. And for whatever reason, it pleased her, knowing that even after your decision to steer clear of her, the cards belonged to her still.

“Aww Ri baby, Keem’s girl works here! Hi cutie. I love your hair!”

“Yeah,” Her eyes stalked your uniform, sly as ever, noticing the abrupt inhale you failed to bury. Your rising chest would pass anyone by, but not Riri, because she reveled in your body's mechanical reaction to her staring. You couldn't help it, poor thing.

God, she missed eyeing you until you shook under her unwavering gleam. She missed your face. Fuck. “She do.”

You cleared your throat, evidently uncomfortable with all of this, red nails strangling the pen in your vice grip. It was an intense sight to behold, a tad amusing, and it replenished Riri's weakened ego. “Uh, th-thanks. Can I start y’all off with s-some drinks?”

Riri couldn't speak, far too bewitched by your hair hissing her name, drawing her in close, close, closer until she caught herself sliding to the edge of the booth, causing you to back up some with a broken exhale. Her skin heated, attention fleeting your face as she scratched her neck awkwardly.

She understood it now, her sudden draw to you. It was your hair’s doing. Fucking Medusa. But with the ability to liquefy rather than harden.

Your hand pranced across the pad as you wrote what she could only assume to be Zariyah's order, she wasn't paying attention, her focus now collared by the jarring thing she thought to be impending: an eruption of blue ink. She pitied that pen, unaware that it’d just become a weapon of mass destruction. You were similar to the writing utensil in that regard; you too remained heedless to your power.

If only Riri was to be so lucky, because she knew the might you held, she fucking felt it. It's the same sensation she vied for yesterday in class, the same force she allowed to plunder her dreams. It was here now, bombarding her senses as you stood so close, colluding with your conniving fragrance.

That crackle of saffron she could recognize with the faintest intake of air.

“And uh, for you, Riri? You know what you want too or you need a minute?”

When you said her name she internalized how your soft eyes hardened, at the same moment hers melted completely. “Fries and a coke.”

“That's all you getting, baby? You sure?”

She nodded, head dancing to the beat of your hair's song.

“Okay. Ima get these in for y’all.” You smiled at an ever-clueless Zariyah, and Riri would trip into that too, if it weren't feigned.

Riy reached across the table, tattooed hands cupping Riri’s, “Ri, oh my god, guess what happened at work today!”

You walked away, tossing loose red tendrils over your shoulder as you dismissed Riri like an afterthought, and she couldn't help the flare of irritation sparking in her chest. “What happened at work today, baby?”

Riri had zoned out when Riy began her ramblings about the number of holes she poked in the faces of strangers at work, becoming distracted when a completely different server brought their drinks out. Was this another attempt to stay away from her?

She stalked your steps as you moved to clear a recently departed table, and she figured no time like the present.

“Z, I gotta go um, ask shawty bout an assignment for class,” She pointed to you. “Ima be right back.”

Zariyah nodded, smiling shyly, “Don't go too far. I'm gon miss you.”

“You're cute.” Riri huffed a laugh before standing, stepping out of the booth to make her way over to where you worked.

She followed the wave of your perfume, stopping short when she almost bumped into you. “Shit, my fault.”

“The fuck do you want Riri?”

“Oh we cussing now? That's crazy.” Her words worked only to piss you off, making Riri smirk some when they woke that breathing vein in your temple. “Talking to me like I’m Keem or something.”

“Riri, your food gon be out in a minute. Just go back to your girlfriend and let me do my fucking job.” You faced away from her, swiping the rag in your fist over the same spot for the seventh time since she approached you.

Riri chuckled, intrigued to see how far she could get with this unfamiliar version of you. “Bussing tables ain't really that hard though, is it?”

Your grip on the soaked cloth tightened, suffering the same fate as that mangled little blue pen from moments ago. “What the fuck–”

“That the only cuss word you know?” Her hip pressed into the table, vision trained on the soapy water gushing from the rag you were choking.

“Maybe. You know us dummies don't really got much going on up here.” You gestured to your head, knocking your finger directly against the vein blinking there.

She kissed her teeth, “You still on that?”

“If you not here to apologize, then Ima need you to get the fuck out my face, Riri.”

Riri barked a laugh, you were fucking hilarious. “Apologize? Ain't yo ass the one who broke my shit? I think them fumes you inhaling right now might actually be affecting your lil smarts, cause if anybody deserves an apology, it's me.”

You dropped the rag, regarding her fully now, your emotionless expression making her feel smaller than she actually was. Riri found herself wanting to breathe in your frustration as you blew it down to her, but she refrained. She shouldn't. She wouldn't. She could not. “Ion have time for this.”

“Okay, okay. My bad, damn.”

“Your bad?”

“Yes.”

You narrowed your eyes, your expression brittle as its dust landed on the small engineer stood in front of you, dry words bristling her entire body, you hadn't seemed to notice though. Because you didn't care, Riri realized. “And what is my bad supposed to mean?”

“Girl, the fuck is with your lil attitude? You said you wanted an apology, and your ungrateful ass–”

Your laughter carried, and it was loud enough to garner unwanted glances, including one from a rather bored-looking Zariyah at the far end of the diner. “Maybe Keem wasn't lying when he said your lil ass was funny, cause if this is your definition of an apology, we gotta get you on a stage and shove a microphone in them baby fists. It's giving comedian for real.”

This was the first time Riri Williams found herself lacking a comeback.

An empty stare colored her face as she watched your attempt to vacate her presence, leaving her brain with only one viable option.

She didn't stop her arm’s extension when it reached for you, and you hadn't protested when her skin touched yours. She held you in place, dismissing the intrusive thought encouraging her to tug you in closer. She couldn't do that.

You kept your flared eyes on her fingers wrapped around you, sighing unsteadily, the contact overwhelming you. Riri could tell, though she was unsure if this was her goal. She spared a glance at Zariyah who still peered at the two of you curiously, trying, and failing to care about the visual your current positions must be emitting.

“I ain't mean all that shit from the other night.”

“All what shit?” Shaky, damn near breathless — your tone from earlier had betrayed you, stealing your confidence, and placing it directly in Riri’s palm for her to do with it what she wished.

Her voice was softer when she spoke to you this time, housing patience as she refused to let you go. “I shouldn't have slammed the door in your face. I know that, I can own that. I know you ain't mean to break my shit.”

The slow creep of your smirk alerted her that she was wrong; your assurance had not waned; it blossomed, and her hand indeed remained empty. Blackness guzzled your eyes, and Riri was forced to watch as their mirth disappeared.

“Aww, you want a cookie? You ain't order one, but we got some in the back,” You pointed over your shoulder. “Ain't nothing you just said worth a damn to me. You don't get to show up at my job with some bootleg apology cause your guilty conscience keeping you up at night, nah, shit don't work like that.” You snarled, yanking your wrist free wickedly, pointing to the server bringing out her food. “Your food’s out.”

Again, Riri was left dumbfounded by your astute observations about her as you sauntered off to the back, your ruby serpents admonishing her with their sway. Their once euphonic hiss turned into lethal venom spat directly into her face, aiding her reluctant hand in concurrence — you’d turned her into the mouse she once chased.

Maybe she’d misconstrued just how powerful you really were.

“Ri baby, the food’s here.” Zariyah called, rescuing Riri just as she was about to sink into her mind’s rapids, and she smiled on her trot back to the table, abandoning her seat across from the taller girl, opting to sit directly beside her instead.

Riy gaped at Riri for a second, but she didn't question their new seating arrangement. “Everything good with your assignment?”

“Huh? Oh, um, yeah.” She upheld her lie, pecking Zariyah on the cheek. “I tell you how fine you look tonight?”

“Girl, eat them fries.” Riy rolled her eyes.

Riri laughed, but did as she was told, sliding a greasy fry onto her starving tongue.

Tastebuds tangoed with the flavor skipping across them, and she blushed, like actually blushed, the hot flush of sudden embarrassment baking her skin. Riri hadn't asked for seasoned salt on her fries, in all honesty, she'd forgotten to, too caught up in you and your embers. But there it was, sprinkled across her food just the way she liked it, and a small smile scratched its way free, etching its shape deep into her face when she noticed your emergence from the kitchen.

Exhausted eyes averted her vicinity, but Riri stared anyway, because once her gaze met your face, it was usually hard for her to rip it away. You could've requested the cook spit in her food, and it probably would've been justified, but you didn't. Instead, you did what you always did, you perplexed her just by being.

Even though you were angry at her, you thought of her still. You were like her in that regard.

The blush crawling her body stayed put the longer her pupils gawked at you. You were putting your hair in a ponytail, all fifty-two faux locs, well, except for one in the back. You missed that one. Riri didn't; it's where she fixed her brown orbs, on that lone loc dangling and tickling your pretty neck.

You were facing her now, the sear of her stare steering your turn. Irritation rested on your cheeks still, but it held no relevance, as she smirked at you, because your eyes had regained their mirth-filled deepness, and it took only the gentlest flick of your lips for her to plummet into their abyss completely unguarded.

As her smirk slackened, Riri felt her Earth shake, her highest walls deteriorating and coming undone all around her. The feelings she wrestled to keep outside would soon be awarded entry, and Hakeem's haunting question was on the verge of gaining an answer.

She kept watch of you, gulping down the remnants of potato in her mouth before surrendering.

Riri liked you.