Family Fractures
Royce sat in the driver’s seat of his Audi, parked crooked in a corner spot under the apartment complex’s half-broken awning. The car had been off for ten minutes, but he hadn’t moved. The low hum of Baton Rouge traffic buzzed in the background, muted behind the glass.
The sun was hanging low in the sky, casting long shadows through the windshield, catching the dust on the dashboard in thin streaks of gold.
His phone lit up beside him, vibrating hard against the leather passenger seat.
Collect Call - Department of Corrections: KEVON LAFITTE
Royce exhaled slowly, like the weight of the call pressed directly into his chest.
He stared at it. One ring. Two.
He could let it go. He had every reason to. He knew exactly what it would be: more pressure, more blame, more things put on his back that nobody else wanted to carry.
But still…
He hit accept and brought the phone to his ear.
“Yeah.”
Kevon’s voice came through, that familiar mix of gravel and command. “I heard you went to your mama’s.”
Royce didn’t reply at first. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching a squirrel dart across the parking lot.
“Yeah,” he finally said.
Kevon’s tone sharpened. “You bring that white girl with you?”
Royce’s lips tightened. “Man…”
“And you showed up in that damn foreign car too, huh?” Kevon cut in. “Rolled up in that Audi like you the goddamn mayor.”
Royce’s hand clenched around the steering wheel. “What was I supposed to do, Kevon? Rent a fucking Corolla just so she don’t get mad?”
“You were supposed to go there humble,” Kevon said. “You were supposed to go there like you was trying to fix something, not stunt on her porch like everything been sweet since your brother died.”
Royce barked a bitter laugh. “So now it’s my car and Alix’s skin color that’s the problem? Not the fact that she don’t wanna hear anything I got to say no matter what I drive or who I’m with? I could’ve pulled up on foot, shoeless, and she still would’ve looked at me like I killed Romeo with my bare hands.”
“That woman’s been through more pain than you can imagine,” Kevon said, voice low now, but still taut with tension. “And she’s been tryin’ to keep it together without nobody to lean on but God. The least you can do is not make it harder.”
“I tried,” Royce said, his voice tightening. “I went there. I looked her in the face. I apologized for something I didn’t do. I gave her everything I could, and all she saw was the ways I’ve moved on from the hell we was stuck in. That ain’t my fault. That ain’t on me.”
Kevon’s silence on the other end was louder than his words had been.
“You fix it,” he said again. Firmer. As if speaking from some throne Royce had never been invited to sit on.
Royce’s jaw flexed. His knuckles were white against the wheel.
“I gave it a shot. She don’t want it. So I’m cool on that,” he said, voice flat.
Kevon didn’t yell, didn’t curse. He just repeated himself like a commandment: “You fix it.”
Royce took a slow breath. The ache behind his eyes was sharp. His throat dry from saying things he never wanted to admit out loud.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I hear you.”
And with that, he ended the call and tossed the phone into the passenger seat.
For a long moment, he just sat there, staring straight ahead, watching the way the shadows cut across the pavement outside.
Fix it.
He rubbed a hand over his face, pressing into his eyes until stars flickered behind his eyelids.
“Always telling me to fix shit I ain’t even break,” he murmured.
Outside, a neighbor walked by with her kid, waving politely as they passed.
Royce didn’t wave back.
He just sat there, feeling the walls of expectation closing in again, slow and steady. Just like always.
~~~~~~~~~~
The hum of the small desktop clock was the only sound in the room for a long moment. Britni sat curled on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, her sweatshirt sleeves stretched down past her knuckles. Her expression was blank, but her jaw was tight.
Dr. Langston sat across from her, notebook resting on her lap, pen capped.
“I’ve noticed,” the therapist began gently, “that we’ve circled around the topic of Romeo quite a bit, but you haven’t spoken much about Royce.”
Britni’s eyes flicked to her, her posture stiffening. “Because there’s nothing to say about him.”
Dr. Langston raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
Britni exhaled sharply through her nose, the closest thing to a bitter laugh she could muster. “He’s fine. Thriving, even. Getting praised in the papers, on TV, NIL deals… meanwhile I’m here every week trying to keep myself from screaming in the middle of the grocery store because I saw a bag of Skittles.”
Dr. Langston didn’t flinch. “Grief hits differently for everyone. You’re still working through it. That doesn’t make you weak.”
“No, it makes me human,” Britni snapped, then stopped herself, biting her lip. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Dr. Langston said calmly. “But I think you’re still angry. Not just at the world. At Royce.”
Britni scoffed. “That boy is out here living like he was the one who got killed. Like Romeo’s death was some tragic footnote in his origin story. He’s built a whole life on it. And everybody’s just okay with it.”
“You think he’s capitalizing on your loss.”
“Our loss,” Britni corrected, sharp. “He may have lost his brother, but I… I loved Romeo.”
“And you feel like you lost more.”
Britni blinked. The words hit deeper than she wanted them to. “I lost everything, Dr. Langston. My boyfriend, my best friend… and all I got in return was the constant reminder that Royce gets to keep going like he didn’t have blood on his hands.”
Dr. Langston was quiet for a beat. Then she said, “You mentioned in a previous session that you felt guilty about the way things ended between you and Romeo. That you hadn’t fully accepted some truths about him when he was alive.”
Britni’s face darkened. Her voice dropped. “I was embarrassed of him.”
Dr. Langston gave her space to continue.
“I didn’t want people to know he came from nothing,” Britni admitted. “When we were together… I’d pretend like he was from somewhere else. I told a girl once that his people were from Lafayette instead of Houma. I… I hated myself for it then, and I hate myself more for it now.”
Dr. Langston leaned forward slightly, her tone soft. “Did Romeo know how you felt?”
“I think he knew,” Britni whispered. “I think he always knew. I loved him, but… I wanted to fix him. Or hide him. And now I don’t even get the chance to say I’m sorry.”
There was a long silence. Dr. Langston’s expression remained neutral, but her voice was layered with warmth.
“That kind of guilt doesn’t go away on its own,” she said. “Sometimes, the only way to confront it is by acknowledging it to someone who can meet you in that space. And whether you want to hear this or not—Royce is the only person who can do that.”
Britni’s head snapped up.
“No.”
“I’m not saying you have to forgive him. I’m not even saying you need to rebuild a relationship. But burying the hatchet… that might be the step that allows you to move forward. Not for him. For you.”
Britni folded her arms again, turning toward the window. “Royce doesn’t deserve that.”
Dr. Langston nodded slowly. “Maybe he doesn’t. But maybe you deserve peace.”
That hung in the air like smoke. Britni didn’t respond. She didn’t nod. She didn’t cry. She just stared, her eyes glassy but dry.
When the session ended, she left in silence.
…
Outside, the sky had turned a dull, wintry gray. The air was brisk and still. Britni made it to her car without really remembering how. Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket.
She pulled it out.
’You got time tonight? I could come by, bring dinner or something. Missed you yesterday.’ the text from Jordan read.
She stared at the message, thumb hovering.
He’d been patient. Kind. Consistent.
But right now, she felt like she had no space left to give.
No space for grace.
No room for someone who didn’t understand that sometimes, the ghosts were louder than the living.
Britni opened his contact.
Block.
She sat back in the driver’s seat and closed her eyes, letting the cold glass of the window press against her forehead.
The therapist said peace came from facing things.
Britni wasn’t sure she believed in peace anymore.
But she believed in silence.
And right now, that felt like the closest thing she could reach.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16996
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7987
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
All these characters messy as hell 
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16996
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Only for Tonight
Mike sat on the edge of Laila’s twin bed, elbows on his knees, turning his phone over and over in his hands. The screen was lit with the contact information for Northwestern State’s running backs coach, but he hadn’t hit the call button yet.
Laila stood by the dresser, arms folded across her chest, her head tilted slightly, watching him like she was waiting for a kid to admit he broke the lamp.
“You said they want you, right?” she asked. Her voice was calm, but underneath, there was a flicker of urgency she wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.
“They gave me the preferred walk-on,” Mike mumbled. “Said they’d see about a scholarship later depending on how I come in.”
Laila raised an eyebrow. “So what’s the problem?”
Mike sighed and stared down at his phone again, thumb hovering. “I don’t know… what if something else comes in, you know? A real offer. I’ve been balling lately. That Grambling coach said he’d be at the game next week. Ain’t no reason I can’t—”
Laila cut him off. “Mike, you need to get the fuck out of Houma.”
Her voice was flat, not mean but serious in the kind of way that didn’t leave room for debate.
He looked up, meeting her eyes. There was something in her stare—fear, maybe. Or exhaustion. Or both.
“Shit’s closing in around here,” she said. “And you know it. You don’t say it, but I see it on your face. Every time you’re with Treg and them. Every time you come back from one of those parties looking like you seen some shit you can’t unsee. I’m not about to watch you get caught up in something that ruins everything you got ahead of you.”
Mike looked away. His stomach twisted, and not just because of the pressure.
He hadn’t told her about Erika. The night of the cookout. The laugh. The lap. The moment he knew he could say no—and didn’t.
She was here now, standing in front of him, still believing in him, still pushing him forward like he was worth the effort.
And he couldn’t even look her in the eye.
“You’re better than all this,” she said softly. “But you gotta choose it.”
Mike swallowed hard. “Where you going next year?”
Laila shrugged. “Probably LSU or ULL. I’d rather leave the state, but… I need that TOPS money, and my mom’s been watching the numbers too close. In-state makes the most sense.”
He looked at her, really looked at her. Her hoodie was two sizes too big, sleeves half-covering her hands. Her braids were pulled back into a bun. There was something steady about her. Something that made him feel like if he blinked too long, she’d slip away for good.
She walked over and sat next to him.
“Call him.”
“Right now?”
She nodded. “Right now.”
He didn’t move.
“Mike,” she said, softer this time. “I want you safe. And alive. And gone from here. Please.”
That last word cracked something open in him.
He stared at the phone, at the name on the screen.
Then he tapped it. Held it to his ear.
It rang once. Then again.
The coach picked up. “Mike? Good to hear from you.”
Mike took a deep breath. “Coach, I wanted to let you know… I’m in. I’m coming to Natchitoches.”
There was a beat of silence before the coach’s voice filled with energy. “That’s great news, son. We’re excited to have you. I’ll send over the paperwork tonight.”
“Appreciate it,” Mike said, voice low. “I’ll be ready.”
He ended the call and let the phone fall into his lap.
Laila didn’t say anything. She just reached out and took his hand.
Mike squeezed it back, trying not to think about all the things he wasn’t saying.
Trying not to think about how, even in the moment she pushed him to save himself, he was still carrying a secret that might break her.
But for now, he let her believe in the version of him she wanted.
And maybe—just maybe—he’d learn how to become it.
~~~~~~~~~~
The soft thunk of the apartment door closing behind them was met by silence, the kind of comfortable stillness that only existed between people who’d known each other long enough to not need to fill every moment with talk. Alix slipped out of her heels by the door, flexing her toes against the cool hardwood as she let out a dramatic sigh.
“Bougie-ass place,” she said, tossing her purse onto the couch as she padded toward the kitchen. “You order appetizers and dessert. We even had cloth napkins. That ain’t normal behavior, buddy.”
Royce, tugging at his watch strap, didn’t look at her as he walked to the liquor cabinet. “Don’t act like I never take you anywhere nice.”
“That’s the thing,” she said, pausing with one arm leaning against the counter, “You do… but only when I can tell some new money just hit your account. You always act different after a deposit.”
He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he kept tucked behind a few bottles he never touched, poured two fingers into a glass, and took a slow sip. He didn’t look up.
Alix tilted her head and gestured at herself. “And this dress? Don’t play dumb. You dragged me into the store today, told me what I had was ‘giving outgrown Forever 21.’ Now I’m in something that costs more than your rent.”
Royce smirked into his glass but didn’t respond right away. The kind of silence that said she wasn’t wrong.
“You ever think,” Alix continued, walking toward him, “That maybe I liked some of those tired ass dresses? They were mine. I didn’t need something new to be worth showing off.”
He finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “Ain’t about that. I just wanted you to have something better.”
“You always say that when you’re trying to distract me from whatever’s actually going on.”
Royce raised an eyebrow. “What is going on?”
“That’s what I’m asking you,” she said, stepping closer. “You spend money on me like it’s water, like if you just keep buying stuff, I won’t ask how you’re doing. But I know you. Better than anyone.”
He looked down into his drink again. “It’s just money.”
“No,” Alix said quietly. “It’s not.”
Royce didn’t respond. She stepped closer, until she was right in front of him, hands brushing lightly against his chest.
“You ever think about how long we’ve been like this?” she asked, voice softer now.
He shrugged. “Few years.”
“Three.”
He blinked. That surprised him.
Alix gave a crooked smile. “Crazy, huh? Three years of… whatever this is.”
Royce tilted his head, gave a half-smile back. “You sick of me yet?”
She laughed. “Not even close.”
Their eyes met and something shifted between them—something heavier, less playful. Royce leaned in, brushing his lips against hers, and when she kissed him back, it wasn’t with urgency, but weight. Like the air between them had settled into something real.
His hands found her waist, hers curved around his neck. They moved through the living room like they had done a dozen times before, half-stumbling toward the hallway.
But just before they reached the bedroom door, Alix stopped.
She didn’t push him away—but her hands flattened against his chest, and her eyes searched his in the dim hallway light.
“Wait,” she whispered.
Royce pulled back just enough to look at her. “What?”
Alix hesitated, like she didn’t want to say the words and regret them in the morning. But she said them anyway.
“Can you… say you love me?”
Royce blinked. “What?”
“Just… for tonight,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to mean it forever. I’m not trying to trap you or make it weird. I just—I need to hear it. Even if it’s a lie.”
Her voice cracked slightly at the end, but she masked it with a breath. She looked up at him, steady, like she’d made peace with the fact that she might be asking too much.
Royce stared at her, his jaw tightening. For a second, he said nothing—just looked at her like he was trying to figure out if this was some kind of test. If she was bluffing. If she’d pull away and laugh the moment he gave her what she wanted.
But she didn’t blink.
And when he finally spoke, it was quiet. Unsteady, but real.
“I love you.”
Alix didn’t smile. She just kissed him again.
This time, they didn’t stop at the door.
And the unspoken things between them—who they were, what they were, who they couldn’t be—followed them down the hallway like shadows that knew they’d be waiting in the morning.
Mike sat on the edge of Laila’s twin bed, elbows on his knees, turning his phone over and over in his hands. The screen was lit with the contact information for Northwestern State’s running backs coach, but he hadn’t hit the call button yet.
Laila stood by the dresser, arms folded across her chest, her head tilted slightly, watching him like she was waiting for a kid to admit he broke the lamp.
“You said they want you, right?” she asked. Her voice was calm, but underneath, there was a flicker of urgency she wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.
“They gave me the preferred walk-on,” Mike mumbled. “Said they’d see about a scholarship later depending on how I come in.”
Laila raised an eyebrow. “So what’s the problem?”
Mike sighed and stared down at his phone again, thumb hovering. “I don’t know… what if something else comes in, you know? A real offer. I’ve been balling lately. That Grambling coach said he’d be at the game next week. Ain’t no reason I can’t—”
Laila cut him off. “Mike, you need to get the fuck out of Houma.”
Her voice was flat, not mean but serious in the kind of way that didn’t leave room for debate.
He looked up, meeting her eyes. There was something in her stare—fear, maybe. Or exhaustion. Or both.
“Shit’s closing in around here,” she said. “And you know it. You don’t say it, but I see it on your face. Every time you’re with Treg and them. Every time you come back from one of those parties looking like you seen some shit you can’t unsee. I’m not about to watch you get caught up in something that ruins everything you got ahead of you.”
Mike looked away. His stomach twisted, and not just because of the pressure.
He hadn’t told her about Erika. The night of the cookout. The laugh. The lap. The moment he knew he could say no—and didn’t.
She was here now, standing in front of him, still believing in him, still pushing him forward like he was worth the effort.
And he couldn’t even look her in the eye.
“You’re better than all this,” she said softly. “But you gotta choose it.”
Mike swallowed hard. “Where you going next year?”
Laila shrugged. “Probably LSU or ULL. I’d rather leave the state, but… I need that TOPS money, and my mom’s been watching the numbers too close. In-state makes the most sense.”
He looked at her, really looked at her. Her hoodie was two sizes too big, sleeves half-covering her hands. Her braids were pulled back into a bun. There was something steady about her. Something that made him feel like if he blinked too long, she’d slip away for good.
She walked over and sat next to him.
“Call him.”
“Right now?”
She nodded. “Right now.”
He didn’t move.
“Mike,” she said, softer this time. “I want you safe. And alive. And gone from here. Please.”
That last word cracked something open in him.
He stared at the phone, at the name on the screen.
Then he tapped it. Held it to his ear.
It rang once. Then again.
The coach picked up. “Mike? Good to hear from you.”
Mike took a deep breath. “Coach, I wanted to let you know… I’m in. I’m coming to Natchitoches.”
There was a beat of silence before the coach’s voice filled with energy. “That’s great news, son. We’re excited to have you. I’ll send over the paperwork tonight.”
“Appreciate it,” Mike said, voice low. “I’ll be ready.”
He ended the call and let the phone fall into his lap.
Laila didn’t say anything. She just reached out and took his hand.
Mike squeezed it back, trying not to think about all the things he wasn’t saying.
Trying not to think about how, even in the moment she pushed him to save himself, he was still carrying a secret that might break her.
But for now, he let her believe in the version of him she wanted.
And maybe—just maybe—he’d learn how to become it.
~~~~~~~~~~
The soft thunk of the apartment door closing behind them was met by silence, the kind of comfortable stillness that only existed between people who’d known each other long enough to not need to fill every moment with talk. Alix slipped out of her heels by the door, flexing her toes against the cool hardwood as she let out a dramatic sigh.
“Bougie-ass place,” she said, tossing her purse onto the couch as she padded toward the kitchen. “You order appetizers and dessert. We even had cloth napkins. That ain’t normal behavior, buddy.”
Royce, tugging at his watch strap, didn’t look at her as he walked to the liquor cabinet. “Don’t act like I never take you anywhere nice.”
“That’s the thing,” she said, pausing with one arm leaning against the counter, “You do… but only when I can tell some new money just hit your account. You always act different after a deposit.”
He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he kept tucked behind a few bottles he never touched, poured two fingers into a glass, and took a slow sip. He didn’t look up.
Alix tilted her head and gestured at herself. “And this dress? Don’t play dumb. You dragged me into the store today, told me what I had was ‘giving outgrown Forever 21.’ Now I’m in something that costs more than your rent.”
Royce smirked into his glass but didn’t respond right away. The kind of silence that said she wasn’t wrong.
“You ever think,” Alix continued, walking toward him, “That maybe I liked some of those tired ass dresses? They were mine. I didn’t need something new to be worth showing off.”
He finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “Ain’t about that. I just wanted you to have something better.”
“You always say that when you’re trying to distract me from whatever’s actually going on.”
Royce raised an eyebrow. “What is going on?”
“That’s what I’m asking you,” she said, stepping closer. “You spend money on me like it’s water, like if you just keep buying stuff, I won’t ask how you’re doing. But I know you. Better than anyone.”
He looked down into his drink again. “It’s just money.”
“No,” Alix said quietly. “It’s not.”
Royce didn’t respond. She stepped closer, until she was right in front of him, hands brushing lightly against his chest.
“You ever think about how long we’ve been like this?” she asked, voice softer now.
He shrugged. “Few years.”
“Three.”
He blinked. That surprised him.
Alix gave a crooked smile. “Crazy, huh? Three years of… whatever this is.”
Royce tilted his head, gave a half-smile back. “You sick of me yet?”
She laughed. “Not even close.”
Their eyes met and something shifted between them—something heavier, less playful. Royce leaned in, brushing his lips against hers, and when she kissed him back, it wasn’t with urgency, but weight. Like the air between them had settled into something real.
His hands found her waist, hers curved around his neck. They moved through the living room like they had done a dozen times before, half-stumbling toward the hallway.
But just before they reached the bedroom door, Alix stopped.
She didn’t push him away—but her hands flattened against his chest, and her eyes searched his in the dim hallway light.
“Wait,” she whispered.
Royce pulled back just enough to look at her. “What?”
Alix hesitated, like she didn’t want to say the words and regret them in the morning. But she said them anyway.
“Can you… say you love me?”
Royce blinked. “What?”
“Just… for tonight,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to mean it forever. I’m not trying to trap you or make it weird. I just—I need to hear it. Even if it’s a lie.”
Her voice cracked slightly at the end, but she masked it with a breath. She looked up at him, steady, like she’d made peace with the fact that she might be asking too much.
Royce stared at her, his jaw tightening. For a second, he said nothing—just looked at her like he was trying to figure out if this was some kind of test. If she was bluffing. If she’d pull away and laugh the moment he gave her what she wanted.
But she didn’t blink.
And when he finally spoke, it was quiet. Unsteady, but real.
“I love you.”
Alix didn’t smile. She just kissed him again.
This time, they didn’t stop at the door.
And the unspoken things between them—who they were, what they were, who they couldn’t be—followed them down the hallway like shadows that knew they’d be waiting in the morning.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16996
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Topped
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7987
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
I cant wait for them to figure this shit out. Goddamn-
djp73
- Posts: 13249
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
way too close against WKU tho
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16996
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Looks figured out to me!
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16996
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Unforced Error
The sky over Baton Rouge was turning soft and gray, the kind of quiet dawn that made the streets below feel like they hadn’t fully woken up yet. From his seat on the balcony, Royce watched as the first hints of orange crept along the horizon, streaking the skyline like a slow burn. His elbows rested on his knees, a half-empty glass of water cradled in his hands, gone warm in the time he’d sat out there thinking.
The city was peaceful. Still.
But inside, he wasn’t.
It should’ve felt like calm. A rare moment of stillness after the noise of Saturday—Western Kentucky handled, his stats padded, the team coasting again for another week. The kind of win that would’ve made him feel weightless a year ago.
Instead, the weight hadn’t left.
His phone buzzed beside him on the little patio table, the lock screen still dimmed from when he picked it up twenty minutes ago, thumb hovering over one contact.
Effie.
He hadn’t meant to text her. Not really. But something about the air this morning made him feel like he needed to hear a voice that didn’t carry expectations. A conversation that wasn’t tangled in history and promises.
He finally gave in and typed it:
’You eat yet?’
A few minutes later, her reply came through:
’Not yet. I’m down. Somewhere cheap though—don’t get any ideas.’
A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. Same old Effie.
He glanced through the glass door back into his apartment. The bedroom was dark, the sheets tangled in the soft curve of Alix’s body as she slept, turned toward the wall, one arm draped across the pillow like she was reaching for something.
He stared for a long second before standing, finishing the water in one gulp. The cold didn’t reach him.
Inside, he moved quietly—no shoes, no unnecessary noise. He stepped into the bedroom doorway and leaned against it.
“Alix,” he said, voice low.
She stirred slightly, face still tucked into the sheets, lashes fluttering without opening her eyes.
“Mm?”
“I’m going to see Rana and the baby,” he said. His tone didn’t change. No stutter. No hesitation.
Alix shifted, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulder. “Okay,” she mumbled, barely conscious. “Tell her I said hey.”
“Alright.”
She didn’t open her eyes again. Just nuzzled deeper into the comforter, one hand slipping beneath the pillow, her breathing slow and even. Peaceful. Trusting.
Royce watched her a second longer.
Then he turned and walked out, grabbing his keys, phone, and hoodie from the table as he went.
The door clicked softly behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~
The afternoon sun filtered in through the thin blinds, casting fractured stripes across the living room floor. Cardboard boxes were scattered across the worn-out rug, half-packed, most open, and all of them an open secret.
Arianna was kneeling by the coffee table, folding a stack of T-shirts into one of the boxes. Her movements were stiff. Methodical. Like if she didn’t keep busy, the words building in her throat would come out on their own—and maybe sharper than she meant them.
Toni leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed and one hip cocked, watching. She’d been standing there for the last ten minutes, silent at first, then simmering with the kind of heat that promised a storm was coming.
“You serious about this?” Toni finally said, voice brittle. “You really moving out?”
Arianna didn’t pause. She dropped a sweatshirt in the box and reached for the next one. “Yeah. When the lease ends.”
Toni laughed, but it was more scoff than amusement. “With what money, Ari? You actin’ like you balling. We both barely got two dimes to rub together.”
Arianna straightened up, wiping her hands on her thighs. “I’ll figure it out.”
“That’s your answer? Just 'figure it out'? That’s not real life.”
“No,” Arianna said, turning to face her now. “Real life is me working doubles and still coming home to walk on eggshells in my own damn apartment. Real life is tiptoeing past the living room praying I don’t interrupt y’all arguing again. Real life is me getting sick to my stomach because I don’t know if I’m gonna walk in one day and see you laid out—again.”
Toni’s mouth twisted. “You always so dramatic. He ain’t touched you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s hard to celebrate that when he’s touched you.”
The air thickened between them, heavy with all the things they’d never really said. Arianna’s eyes were sharp now, unflinching.
“You mad at me,” she said, “But the truth is, I’m the only one who’s had your back through all of this. And you treat me like I’m the problem.”
Toni’s voice rose, her cheeks flushing red. “You think I want to be like this? You think I asked for any of this?”
“No, I think you allowed it,” Arianna shot back. “I think you got so scared of being alone you let a man beat the shit out of you and convinced yourself it was love.”
Toni’s face cracked, and for a moment, there was something raw in her eyes. But it hardened quickly.
“At least I got somebody. You ain’t never been able to keep one.”
Arianna blinked, caught off guard. She swallowed hard, jaw clenching. “Wow.”
Toni didn’t stop. “You act like you so above everybody. Like your shit don’t stink. But you just like your mama—bitter and alone, thinking you smarter than the world. But you ain’t.”
Arianna took a shaky breath, her vision narrowing. “Say what you want about my mama. At least I know who one of my parents is. At least I don’t gotta look in the mirror and wonder if I’m some secret somebody left behind.”
The words cut through the air like glass.
Toni’s face twisted, and she stepped forward, fast.
“You better watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” Arianna spat. “I know your ass can’t fight. I’ll bat the piss out you.”
The moment stretched thin. Toni’s fists were balled at her sides. Arianna’s breath was coming fast, chest heaving, but her feet didn’t move.
It felt like something was about to snap.
And then came the knock.
Quick. Two knocks, then the door cracked open.
“Yo?” Jonah’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. He stepped inside, eyes bouncing from Toni’s rigid stance to Arianna’s glare, then down to the half-packed boxes.
He didn’t need to ask. The scene spoke for itself.
“Uh… I came to help,” he said, quieter now. “But I can come back.”
Arianna turned away without saying a word, bending down to pick up the next box. Her shoulders were trembling, but she didn’t let herself cry. Not in front of Toni.
Toni didn’t say anything either. She just stood there, breathing hard, lips pressed tight as her chest rose and fell.
Jonah stepped toward Arianna and picked up a box wordlessly.
As he carried it out to her car, the room felt hollow behind him—filled with all the things that had been said, and maybe worse, all the things that couldn’t be taken back.
~~~~~~~~~~
The diner was halfway to full, the kind of spot where regulars kept their booths and the waitresses refilled coffee cups without asking. The cracked leather seats and faded laminated menus told a story older than either of them, but the food was cheap, the coffee was strong, and the jukebox in the corner was playing Mary J. Blige like someone had paid extra to stay in their feelings.
Royce sat back with one arm stretched along the booth behind him, watching Effie stir syrup into her pancakes like she was working out an equation.
"You gonna mix that another five minutes, or you actually plan on eating it?" he asked, lips twitching.
She shot him a lazy glance, fork still turning. “You in a rush?”
“Nah,” he said, leaning forward to swipe a piece of bacon from her plate. “Just wondering if this breakfast was supposed to come with a performance.”
Effie smirked. “You’re real bold reaching over here like I won’t stab your hand.”
“You wouldn’t,” he said with a cocky grin, popping the bacon into his mouth. “You like me too much.”
Effie rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. She finally took a bite of her food, chewing slowly before setting the fork down again and glancing out the window.
“We used to come to places like this when I was younger,” she said, almost to herself. “My sister always had to sit by the window. Said she hated facing a wall like she was in a box.”
Royce’s brow lifted. “She older than you?”
“Yeah,” Effie said, nodding. “By three years. Thought she was so grown, like twenty-one was ancient or something.”
She chuckled under her breath, but there was something distant in it.
Royce picked up on it. He always did.
“She still around?”
Effie’s eyes stayed on the window. “Nah. We haven’t talked in a while.”
There was a pause, the kind that didn’t need to be long to feel heavy.
Royce tilted his head. “You said ‘used to.’”
Effie blinked, her focus snapping back to him. “She married some military dude. Moved out to Colorado. Different life. We don’t really…” She trailed off, brushing at a nonexistent crumb on her napkin. “Anyway. It’s whatever.”
Royce watched her carefully. The shift in her voice. The way her shoulders had pulled back just slightly, like she was tucking herself into a version of calm she didn’t quite feel.
But he didn’t press. He knew better.
Still, something about the way she said “used to” lingered between them, unspoken but not unnoticed.
He leaned back, studying her. “You do that a lot.”
Effie raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Hide when shit hits too close. Crack a joke. Change the subject. Throw me off the scent.”
She smirked. “You should know. You do the same thing.”
He grinned. “Nah, I’m an open book. I ain’t never hid nothing from no one.”
“A book with blank pages.”
Royce shrugged. “Shit, whole story out there being written about me. You ain’t know?”
Effie shook her head, trying to fight the smile pulling at her lips. She grabbed her coffee, took a slow sip, then set it down again.
“That’s not the one you’re telling.”
“That’s alright with me,’” Royce said. “I don’t like motherfuckers in my business anyway.”
She laughed, leaning forward slightly, her tone shifting just enough to register. “You really think I don’t know how this works?”
“What you mean?”
Effie met his eyes. “You know what I mean. You think that if you keep coming back long enough I might change my mind about you. What’s that the old folks say? I was born on a day, but not today. You’re one of many, you know? A lot of guys shooting their shots in my DMs. Shit, even Moodle.”
Royce didn’t say anything for a second.
“You’re bad as fuck,” he said finally. “And you know it. That’s your problem.”
Effie nearly choked on her sip of coffee. “What?”
“I’m just being real.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, amused and suspicious. “That’s how you talk to your friends now?”
“Maybe we need to stop pretending we just friends.”
Effie stared at him, letting the silence settle between them. Letting him wonder.
Then, slowly, she leaned forward. Her hand reached up, fingers brushing the collar of his shirt.
With the lightest touch, she plucked a long, light-brown strand of hair from the fabric and held it up between her fingers.
She looked at it for a beat, then at him.
“You sure about that?” she asked, her voice low and even. “Because this doesn’t look like your texture.”
Royce didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He stared at the strand, then back at her.
Effie smiled, almost sweetly, and let the hair drop onto her napkin. Then she went back to her pancakes like nothing had happened.
And Royce—he didn’t have a comeback this time.
The sky over Baton Rouge was turning soft and gray, the kind of quiet dawn that made the streets below feel like they hadn’t fully woken up yet. From his seat on the balcony, Royce watched as the first hints of orange crept along the horizon, streaking the skyline like a slow burn. His elbows rested on his knees, a half-empty glass of water cradled in his hands, gone warm in the time he’d sat out there thinking.
The city was peaceful. Still.
But inside, he wasn’t.
It should’ve felt like calm. A rare moment of stillness after the noise of Saturday—Western Kentucky handled, his stats padded, the team coasting again for another week. The kind of win that would’ve made him feel weightless a year ago.
Instead, the weight hadn’t left.
His phone buzzed beside him on the little patio table, the lock screen still dimmed from when he picked it up twenty minutes ago, thumb hovering over one contact.
Effie.
He hadn’t meant to text her. Not really. But something about the air this morning made him feel like he needed to hear a voice that didn’t carry expectations. A conversation that wasn’t tangled in history and promises.
He finally gave in and typed it:
’You eat yet?’
A few minutes later, her reply came through:
’Not yet. I’m down. Somewhere cheap though—don’t get any ideas.’
A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. Same old Effie.
He glanced through the glass door back into his apartment. The bedroom was dark, the sheets tangled in the soft curve of Alix’s body as she slept, turned toward the wall, one arm draped across the pillow like she was reaching for something.
He stared for a long second before standing, finishing the water in one gulp. The cold didn’t reach him.
Inside, he moved quietly—no shoes, no unnecessary noise. He stepped into the bedroom doorway and leaned against it.
“Alix,” he said, voice low.
She stirred slightly, face still tucked into the sheets, lashes fluttering without opening her eyes.
“Mm?”
“I’m going to see Rana and the baby,” he said. His tone didn’t change. No stutter. No hesitation.
Alix shifted, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulder. “Okay,” she mumbled, barely conscious. “Tell her I said hey.”
“Alright.”
She didn’t open her eyes again. Just nuzzled deeper into the comforter, one hand slipping beneath the pillow, her breathing slow and even. Peaceful. Trusting.
Royce watched her a second longer.
Then he turned and walked out, grabbing his keys, phone, and hoodie from the table as he went.
The door clicked softly behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~
The afternoon sun filtered in through the thin blinds, casting fractured stripes across the living room floor. Cardboard boxes were scattered across the worn-out rug, half-packed, most open, and all of them an open secret.
Arianna was kneeling by the coffee table, folding a stack of T-shirts into one of the boxes. Her movements were stiff. Methodical. Like if she didn’t keep busy, the words building in her throat would come out on their own—and maybe sharper than she meant them.
Toni leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed and one hip cocked, watching. She’d been standing there for the last ten minutes, silent at first, then simmering with the kind of heat that promised a storm was coming.
“You serious about this?” Toni finally said, voice brittle. “You really moving out?”
Arianna didn’t pause. She dropped a sweatshirt in the box and reached for the next one. “Yeah. When the lease ends.”
Toni laughed, but it was more scoff than amusement. “With what money, Ari? You actin’ like you balling. We both barely got two dimes to rub together.”
Arianna straightened up, wiping her hands on her thighs. “I’ll figure it out.”
“That’s your answer? Just 'figure it out'? That’s not real life.”
“No,” Arianna said, turning to face her now. “Real life is me working doubles and still coming home to walk on eggshells in my own damn apartment. Real life is tiptoeing past the living room praying I don’t interrupt y’all arguing again. Real life is me getting sick to my stomach because I don’t know if I’m gonna walk in one day and see you laid out—again.”
Toni’s mouth twisted. “You always so dramatic. He ain’t touched you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s hard to celebrate that when he’s touched you.”
The air thickened between them, heavy with all the things they’d never really said. Arianna’s eyes were sharp now, unflinching.
“You mad at me,” she said, “But the truth is, I’m the only one who’s had your back through all of this. And you treat me like I’m the problem.”
Toni’s voice rose, her cheeks flushing red. “You think I want to be like this? You think I asked for any of this?”
“No, I think you allowed it,” Arianna shot back. “I think you got so scared of being alone you let a man beat the shit out of you and convinced yourself it was love.”
Toni’s face cracked, and for a moment, there was something raw in her eyes. But it hardened quickly.
“At least I got somebody. You ain’t never been able to keep one.”
Arianna blinked, caught off guard. She swallowed hard, jaw clenching. “Wow.”
Toni didn’t stop. “You act like you so above everybody. Like your shit don’t stink. But you just like your mama—bitter and alone, thinking you smarter than the world. But you ain’t.”
Arianna took a shaky breath, her vision narrowing. “Say what you want about my mama. At least I know who one of my parents is. At least I don’t gotta look in the mirror and wonder if I’m some secret somebody left behind.”
The words cut through the air like glass.
Toni’s face twisted, and she stepped forward, fast.
“You better watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” Arianna spat. “I know your ass can’t fight. I’ll bat the piss out you.”
The moment stretched thin. Toni’s fists were balled at her sides. Arianna’s breath was coming fast, chest heaving, but her feet didn’t move.
It felt like something was about to snap.
And then came the knock.
Quick. Two knocks, then the door cracked open.
“Yo?” Jonah’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. He stepped inside, eyes bouncing from Toni’s rigid stance to Arianna’s glare, then down to the half-packed boxes.
He didn’t need to ask. The scene spoke for itself.
“Uh… I came to help,” he said, quieter now. “But I can come back.”
Arianna turned away without saying a word, bending down to pick up the next box. Her shoulders were trembling, but she didn’t let herself cry. Not in front of Toni.
Toni didn’t say anything either. She just stood there, breathing hard, lips pressed tight as her chest rose and fell.
Jonah stepped toward Arianna and picked up a box wordlessly.
As he carried it out to her car, the room felt hollow behind him—filled with all the things that had been said, and maybe worse, all the things that couldn’t be taken back.
~~~~~~~~~~
The diner was halfway to full, the kind of spot where regulars kept their booths and the waitresses refilled coffee cups without asking. The cracked leather seats and faded laminated menus told a story older than either of them, but the food was cheap, the coffee was strong, and the jukebox in the corner was playing Mary J. Blige like someone had paid extra to stay in their feelings.
Royce sat back with one arm stretched along the booth behind him, watching Effie stir syrup into her pancakes like she was working out an equation.
"You gonna mix that another five minutes, or you actually plan on eating it?" he asked, lips twitching.
She shot him a lazy glance, fork still turning. “You in a rush?”
“Nah,” he said, leaning forward to swipe a piece of bacon from her plate. “Just wondering if this breakfast was supposed to come with a performance.”
Effie smirked. “You’re real bold reaching over here like I won’t stab your hand.”
“You wouldn’t,” he said with a cocky grin, popping the bacon into his mouth. “You like me too much.”
Effie rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. She finally took a bite of her food, chewing slowly before setting the fork down again and glancing out the window.
“We used to come to places like this when I was younger,” she said, almost to herself. “My sister always had to sit by the window. Said she hated facing a wall like she was in a box.”
Royce’s brow lifted. “She older than you?”
“Yeah,” Effie said, nodding. “By three years. Thought she was so grown, like twenty-one was ancient or something.”
She chuckled under her breath, but there was something distant in it.
Royce picked up on it. He always did.
“She still around?”
Effie’s eyes stayed on the window. “Nah. We haven’t talked in a while.”
There was a pause, the kind that didn’t need to be long to feel heavy.
Royce tilted his head. “You said ‘used to.’”
Effie blinked, her focus snapping back to him. “She married some military dude. Moved out to Colorado. Different life. We don’t really…” She trailed off, brushing at a nonexistent crumb on her napkin. “Anyway. It’s whatever.”
Royce watched her carefully. The shift in her voice. The way her shoulders had pulled back just slightly, like she was tucking herself into a version of calm she didn’t quite feel.
But he didn’t press. He knew better.
Still, something about the way she said “used to” lingered between them, unspoken but not unnoticed.
He leaned back, studying her. “You do that a lot.”
Effie raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Hide when shit hits too close. Crack a joke. Change the subject. Throw me off the scent.”
She smirked. “You should know. You do the same thing.”
He grinned. “Nah, I’m an open book. I ain’t never hid nothing from no one.”
“A book with blank pages.”
Royce shrugged. “Shit, whole story out there being written about me. You ain’t know?”
Effie shook her head, trying to fight the smile pulling at her lips. She grabbed her coffee, took a slow sip, then set it down again.
“That’s not the one you’re telling.”
“That’s alright with me,’” Royce said. “I don’t like motherfuckers in my business anyway.”
She laughed, leaning forward slightly, her tone shifting just enough to register. “You really think I don’t know how this works?”
“What you mean?”
Effie met his eyes. “You know what I mean. You think that if you keep coming back long enough I might change my mind about you. What’s that the old folks say? I was born on a day, but not today. You’re one of many, you know? A lot of guys shooting their shots in my DMs. Shit, even Moodle.”
Royce didn’t say anything for a second.
“You’re bad as fuck,” he said finally. “And you know it. That’s your problem.”
Effie nearly choked on her sip of coffee. “What?”
“I’m just being real.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, amused and suspicious. “That’s how you talk to your friends now?”
“Maybe we need to stop pretending we just friends.”
Effie stared at him, letting the silence settle between them. Letting him wonder.
Then, slowly, she leaned forward. Her hand reached up, fingers brushing the collar of his shirt.
With the lightest touch, she plucked a long, light-brown strand of hair from the fabric and held it up between her fingers.
She looked at it for a beat, then at him.
“You sure about that?” she asked, her voice low and even. “Because this doesn’t look like your texture.”
Royce didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He stared at the strand, then back at her.
Effie smiled, almost sweetly, and let the hair drop onto her napkin. Then she went back to her pancakes like nothing had happened.
And Royce—he didn’t have a comeback this time.
-
Soapy
- Posts: 16861
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
mercurial ass nigga man, goddamn
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16996
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
