Send ‘Em One
Royce spotted the Charger before he even turned into the row.
Wide-body. Black-on-black. Parked near the stairwell of the third level, taking up more space than it should’ve. It wasn’t the car itself that raised alarms—plenty of people in Baton Rouge drove like they were auditioning for a rap video—it was how still it was. Like it had been waiting.
And when Royce parked a few spaces over, his stomach sank lower.
Because he saw them.
Meech was leaned against the passenger side, arms relaxed at his sides, wearing a clean white tee and slides like the heat didn’t bother him. Poochie stood a few steps away, quiet and unreadable, eyes fixed on the elevator doors.
Royce let the engine idle for a second.
Just a second.
Then he shut it off, grabbed his duffel from the passenger seat, and stepped out. The concrete underfoot still radiated heat even as the sun had started to dip behind the complex. The air smelled like brake dust and honeysuckle. The garage echoed every step.
“Damn,” Meech said, grinning as Royce approached. “He still alive.”
Royce adjusted the strap on his bag, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck. “Yeah, I been around. Just busy.”
Meech nodded. “Yeah, we figured. You been ghost though. You see my messages?”
“I seen ’em,” Royce said, not defensive, just measured. “We deep in spring ball right now. Schedule’s tight.”
“Right,” Poochie muttered under his breath, like it was a tired excuse.
Royce caught it but didn’t react. He kept his posture neutral, let his tone stay even. “It’s real this time of year. We got morning lifts, film in the afternoon, install meetings, then back out there tomorrow.”
Meech waved a hand, dismissive but not disrespectful. “Ain’t say we tryna pull you out the building. Just… it’s been a minute.”
“Yeah. I hear you.”
They stood in silence for a few beats. The low whir of the overhead fan echoed off the cement. Somewhere on the level below, a car horn chirped.
Meech tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning Royce. “Everything good with you, though? Like... for real?”
Royce hesitated. Just a half-second too long.
Then nodded. “Yeah. I’m straight.”
Meech nodded again, slower this time, like he was weighing the answer. “Cool. We just checking in, that’s all. Lotta folks watching your name. Watching how you move.”
Royce offered a faint smile, enough to pass. “Yeah. I know.”
Poochie finally looked up. “You look different,” he said.
Royce raised a brow. “That right?”
“Yeah. You carrying it now,” Poochie said. “Like you think you that nigga.”
Royce didn’t respond to that, not directly. He just shrugged. “I’m just get through tomorrow then the day after that.”
Meech smiled faintly. “That’s all we want to hear. You know, we rooting for you, bro.”
“I appreciate that.”
Royce shifted the bag higher on his shoulder, starting toward the stairwell.
Meech held up a hand to stop him. “Real quick.”
Royce paused.
“How you like living over here?”
Royce gave a quick glance around. “It’s quiet. Low-key. Good for staying out the way.”
Meech nodded. “Yeah, looks that way.”
He didn’t ask for the address. Didn’t say how they found it.
But Royce felt the weight of the silence between the lines. And the only person who could’ve put this on the GPS… hadn’t been sitting in this garage.
Royce forced another small nod. “Y’all be safe.”
Meech smiled again, wide and easy. “Always.”
Royce took the stairs two at a time—not fast, but not dragging. By the time he got to the floor, the Charger hadn’t moved yet. He ducked inside his apartment, locked the door behind him, and didn’t turn on the lights.
He set the duffel down gently.
Then stood in the middle of the living room, staring out the window, watching as the Charger finally pulled out, rolling slow down the garage ramp.
Only once the taillights disappeared did he reach for his phone.
He scrolled past messages from his coaches. From Billy. From Alix.
Then paused at Shayla’s name.
He didn’t tap it.
He didn’t need to.
The silence was loud enough.
~~~~~~~~~~
The quad was alive with noise.
Students spilled across the lawn like confetti—some laying on blankets with textbooks open, some tossing footballs half-heartedly, others just standing around in cliques that seemed to multiply in the sun. The air buzzed with laughter, Bluetooth speakers, and the scent of Cane’s and cheap body spray. Spring in Baton Rouge didn’t tiptoe—it pressed itself against you, thick and sweaty and full of sound.
Royce sat on the edge of a raised flower bed near the center of the quad, head down, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. He wore a plain black T-shirt, loose mesh shorts, and slides that had seen better days. His phone sat in his lap, screen locked. Earbuds in. No music playing.
He wasn’t hiding—but he wasn’t trying to be seen either.
The voices around him were static. Just enough distraction to blur the edges of whatever had been chewing at him since the run-in in the garage the night before.
He was still turning it over.
How they found him.
Why it felt like everyone was pulling on him lately—Shayla, Meech, Alix, the team, his family, even Delpit.
And then, like something out of a dream he forgot to forget, a shadow crossed his lap.
“Can we talk?”
He looked up, the sun behind her head like a halo.
Britni.
Her arms were crossed tight across her stomach. Her braids pulled back in a bun. Gold hoops in her ears. She wore a fitted white tee and jeans, the knees worn and soft from too many washes.
Royce stared at her like she was a glitch in the system. “Ain’t shit to talk about between us.”
She didn’t blink. “Can I sit?”
He shrugged like he didn’t care, but inside, something twitched.
Britni lowered herself beside him without another word. Careful not to touch. Her perfume was faint but familiar—sweet and citrusy. Like the air fresheners their grandma used to keep in the car.
There was a pause. Neither of them looked at the other.
“I’ve been going to therapy,” she said.
Royce’s head tilted just slightly, but he didn’t look at her. “Okay.”
“It’s been helping. I’m... working through stuff.”
Royce let out a dry, humorless laugh. “They still got you doing coloring books in there? Breathing exercises?”
Britni didn’t take the bait.
“I talk about him. About Romeo. About you.”
“Of course you do,” he muttered.
Her voice stayed calm. “It’s not about blame.”
Royce turned to her now, face hard. “You sure about that? Or is this like... step four or five of your little recovery program? Go sit next to the guy you think got your man killed and try to ‘process your pain together’ or some shit?”
Britni blinked slowly. “You think I’m here because someone told me to be?”
“I think this whole ‘talk-it-out’ shit is fake,” Royce snapped. “That’s what white people do when they break. They pay someone to pat them on the head and tell ’em it’s okay. You was always built for that. Never thought you was really one of us.”
Britni’s jaw tightened, but her voice didn’t rise. “My therapist thinks I should forgive you.”
Royce blinked. Then laughed. For real this time. “Forgive me? For what?”
“For how everything ended,” she said quietly. “I don’t know. Maybe for surviving.”
“Man…” He shook his head. “That’s fucking crazy. You talking about forgiveness like I cheated on you or left you at a bus stop.”
He turned toward her fully now. “You think this shit is about closure? Romeo was my brother. My twin. My blood. You were just some girl he liked fucking and texting after practice.”
Britni’s face didn’t change.
Royce leaned back, arms resting across his knees again. “You trying to fold that into your trauma narrative? Add it to the folder in your iCloud therapy journal?”
“I’m not here to make you feel better, Royce.”
“No shit, Britni,” he said.
There was silence between them again, but it was thicker now. It pulsed.
Students passed by in the background, their chatter and footsteps washing over them like they were underwater.
Finally, Britni stood. Brushed her palms off on her jeans. She didn’t look angry. Just... sad.
“You can say whatever you want to me,” she said. “I’ve been blamed for worse by people who meant less.”
Royce didn’t move.
“I’m not asking for anything. But I need you to hear this: you’re not the only one who lost something. And if you keep walking around like the world owes you for it, you're gonna wake up alone and realize you gave everything else away.”
He didn’t look at her.
Didn’t even flinch.
Britni stepped back. “I hope you figure it out before it’s too late.”
And then she walked off across the quad, cutting through the sunlight like it didn’t matter whether he watched or not.
But he did.
He watched until she disappeared into the crowd.
And then he sat there a little longer.
Head down. Phone untouched.
Like if he sat still enough, maybe the guilt would finally crawl out of him.
But it didn’t.
It never did.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16960
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7957
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
I don’t know what she was trying to gain from it but it’s wild that Britni was the bigger person in that interaction
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16960
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Captain Canada wrote: ↑17 Apr 2025, 20:48I don’t know what she was trying to gain from it but it’s wild that Britni was the bigger person in that interaction
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16960
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Lack of Focus
The lights in the gallery buzzed overhead—soft, warm, and entirely too still. Royce shifted on his feet, the concrete floor cold even through the soles of his sneakers. The walls were lined with prints in thin black frames, spaced carefully apart. Each photo had a white card pinned beneath it: title, artist, medium, a short note if the student was feeling ambitious.
Royce didn’t read any of them.
He stood near the corner of the room where Alix’s setup was stationed, hands buried in the front pocket of his hoodie. He’d dressed down for the occasion—black cargo pants, clean white tee, a gold rope chain tucked just enough to suggest casual effort. But the longer he stood there, the more he felt like he was in a place that didn’t make space for him. The whole vibe smelled like incense and academic ambition.
Still, he stayed. Because he said he would.
Alix was glowing, half-talking and half-floating around the room. She’d dressed in all black—high-waisted slacks, a cropped blouse that showed just enough midriff to make him feel slightly possessive. Her hair was pulled up into a soft bun, earrings dangling just above her jawline. Every time she caught his eye, she smiled.
And every time, Royce smiled back. Or at least tried to.
He didn’t hate it here. Not exactly. But he hated not knowing what to do. There was no script for these kinds of events. No playbook. Just a bunch of soft-spoken students with cameras slung around their necks talking about contrast and truth like it was a language Royce had never been taught.
Still, he stayed near her corner, nodding when appropriate, hugging her once when someone complimented her work and she beamed up at him. “You came,” she whispered, wrapping both arms around his waist for a second before pulling away. “Thank you.”
“I told you I would.”
“I know,” she said, like it still surprised her. “It means a lot.”
When she stepped away to go to the bathroom, Royce let out a breath and took the moment to wander.
He moved past a trio of classmates talking about aperture like it was politics. One wall had shots of rusted cars and cracked sidewalks. Another showcased portraits of old men who looked like they hadn't spoken in decades.
He turned the corner—and stopped.
The photos on this wall were... different.
Crisp. Colorful, but restrained. A child’s hands covered in red clay. A window reflection bisecting a woman’s face with the setting sun behind her. A low-angle shot of someone running uphill, legs blurred, frame tilted just enough to suggest speed.
They felt like something real. Like something you didn’t have to explain to feel.
“Those are mine,” a voice said behind him.
Royce turned.
Effie stood with one hand in her coat pocket, the other holding a plastic cup of something vaguely wine-colored. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, one long tendril escaping to frame her cheek. She wore a dark green button-up half-tucked into her jeans and black boots that looked worn but clean.
Royce smiled. “So you’re the one making everybody else look like motherfuckers with a Barbie Polaroid.”
Effie raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
“That’s supposed to be the truth.”
She laughed, not shy. “I’ll take it then.”
He nodded at the portrait with the hands. “That one’s fire. What’s the story?”
Effie glanced at it, then back at him. “My friend’s niece. She was making something for a school project. I asked her what it was, and she said ‘power.’ That’s all. Just—‘power.’ So I took the shot.”
Royce blinked. “You make that sound deep as hell.”
Effie smirked. “It kind of is.”
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the photo.
Royce finally asked, “Where’s Chris?”
Effie took a sip from her cup. “Not here.”
Royce gave her a sideways look. “He seems like the art type to me.”
She smiled again, smaller this time. “We broke up.”
“Damn. My bad.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “We saw things differently.”
Royce tilted his head. “That sound like a political statement.”
“It kind of was.”
He chuckled. “So no plus-one tonight?”
She gave him a glance. “You offering?”
Royce smirked. “That depends. You asking?”
Effie didn’t look away. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
He shrugged, casual. “Around here somewhere.”
Across the room, Alix was standing with one of her professors, laughing a little too loudly at something said, even though her eyes were locked on Royce. She saw the way his shoulders were relaxed now. The way he tilted his head when he smiled. The way he was listening.
She forced a smile. Turned back to her conversation. Pretended like it didn’t sting.
Effie’s eyes flicked briefly toward Alix, then back at Royce. “She seems cool.”
“She is,” he said, too fast.
Effie nodded slowly. “You ever wonder what she sees in you?”
“Sometimes.”
“And?”
Royce shrugged. “Still trying to figure that out.”
Effie gave him a long look. Not flirty. Not cold. Just... honest.
“Well,” she said, “hope you do. Before someone else figures it out first.”
She turned and walked off, disappearing into a cluster of students near the refreshment table.
Royce stood there for a beat, then exhaled.
He made his way back across the room, back to where Alix had her prints set up—portraits of abandoned spaces: a rusted church gate, a flooded backyard, the outline of a child’s bicycle underwater.
She glanced up when he arrived.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, slipping back into place beside her. “You?”
She nodded, smiling slightly. “Better now.”
Royce smiled back.
But his eyes flicked to the hallway where Effie had gone, and for a second, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
…
The car was quiet except for the hum of the AC and the occasional low thud of tires rolling over uneven pavement. Royce drove one-handed, the other resting on the gear shift selector, his thumb moving in slow circles against the seam between the leather. A playlist played low through the speakers—something chill and wordless, chosen more for mood than meaning.
Alix sat curled near the passenger-side door, legs pulled up, cheek against the window. Her makeup was still on, but her eyes had dulled, like the weight of the evening had finally caught up to her.
She hadn’t said much since they left the gallery. No complaints, no snide remarks. Just that practiced kind of quiet people used when they didn’t want to start something but weren’t ready to let it go.
Royce glanced over once. Then again.
“You good?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He didn’t buy it.
A few more seconds passed before she said, “How do you know Effie?”
Royce blinked, then shifted slightly in his seat. “Her boyfriend—ex, I guess—used to live down the hall from me at Nicholson. I talked to her a few times when I was over there. That’s all.”
Alix gave a small nod, eyes still on the passing streetlights. “Okay.”
He waited for her to say more. She didn’t.
She just sat with it.
Then: “You can take me to my place.”
Royce looked over. “I thought you were staying over?”
“I got some stuff I need to handle in the morning.”
He didn’t push it. Just hit his signal and made the turn.
The new silence was heavier than the old one.
After a minute, he asked, “You mad or some shit?”
“No.”
He turned the volume down to nothing. “You sure because you seem pissed off?”
“Yeah,” she said, quieter this time.
The silence returned. Stretching this time.
Royce tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “I ain’t do nothing wrong.”
“I know.”
He looked at her again. “So why you acting like I did?”
Alix didn’t answer.
She didn’t sigh. Didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t even shift in her seat.
She just kept looking out the window, like maybe the answer was written in the shadows of the trees flashing past.
Royce didn’t say anything else.
The car rolled to a stop in front of her apartment complex. The same streetlight as always flickered overhead, strobing the sidewalk in a slow, untrustworthy rhythm.
Alix unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle.
“You want me to walk you in?”
She hesitated for just a moment, then shook her head. “I’m good.”
Royce gave her a nod, lips pressed together. “Aight.”
She got out, closed the door gently, and walked up the steps without looking back.
Royce watched her until the door clicked shut behind her.
He stayed in the car a while longer. No music, no engine, no movement—just him, sitting in the dark, surrounded by the kind of quiet you only noticed once someone had walked away.
The lights in the gallery buzzed overhead—soft, warm, and entirely too still. Royce shifted on his feet, the concrete floor cold even through the soles of his sneakers. The walls were lined with prints in thin black frames, spaced carefully apart. Each photo had a white card pinned beneath it: title, artist, medium, a short note if the student was feeling ambitious.
Royce didn’t read any of them.
He stood near the corner of the room where Alix’s setup was stationed, hands buried in the front pocket of his hoodie. He’d dressed down for the occasion—black cargo pants, clean white tee, a gold rope chain tucked just enough to suggest casual effort. But the longer he stood there, the more he felt like he was in a place that didn’t make space for him. The whole vibe smelled like incense and academic ambition.
Still, he stayed. Because he said he would.
Alix was glowing, half-talking and half-floating around the room. She’d dressed in all black—high-waisted slacks, a cropped blouse that showed just enough midriff to make him feel slightly possessive. Her hair was pulled up into a soft bun, earrings dangling just above her jawline. Every time she caught his eye, she smiled.
And every time, Royce smiled back. Or at least tried to.
He didn’t hate it here. Not exactly. But he hated not knowing what to do. There was no script for these kinds of events. No playbook. Just a bunch of soft-spoken students with cameras slung around their necks talking about contrast and truth like it was a language Royce had never been taught.
Still, he stayed near her corner, nodding when appropriate, hugging her once when someone complimented her work and she beamed up at him. “You came,” she whispered, wrapping both arms around his waist for a second before pulling away. “Thank you.”
“I told you I would.”
“I know,” she said, like it still surprised her. “It means a lot.”
When she stepped away to go to the bathroom, Royce let out a breath and took the moment to wander.
He moved past a trio of classmates talking about aperture like it was politics. One wall had shots of rusted cars and cracked sidewalks. Another showcased portraits of old men who looked like they hadn't spoken in decades.
He turned the corner—and stopped.
The photos on this wall were... different.
Crisp. Colorful, but restrained. A child’s hands covered in red clay. A window reflection bisecting a woman’s face with the setting sun behind her. A low-angle shot of someone running uphill, legs blurred, frame tilted just enough to suggest speed.
They felt like something real. Like something you didn’t have to explain to feel.
“Those are mine,” a voice said behind him.
Royce turned.
Effie stood with one hand in her coat pocket, the other holding a plastic cup of something vaguely wine-colored. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, one long tendril escaping to frame her cheek. She wore a dark green button-up half-tucked into her jeans and black boots that looked worn but clean.
Royce smiled. “So you’re the one making everybody else look like motherfuckers with a Barbie Polaroid.”
Effie raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
“That’s supposed to be the truth.”
She laughed, not shy. “I’ll take it then.”
He nodded at the portrait with the hands. “That one’s fire. What’s the story?”
Effie glanced at it, then back at him. “My friend’s niece. She was making something for a school project. I asked her what it was, and she said ‘power.’ That’s all. Just—‘power.’ So I took the shot.”
Royce blinked. “You make that sound deep as hell.”
Effie smirked. “It kind of is.”
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the photo.
Royce finally asked, “Where’s Chris?”
Effie took a sip from her cup. “Not here.”
Royce gave her a sideways look. “He seems like the art type to me.”
She smiled again, smaller this time. “We broke up.”
“Damn. My bad.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “We saw things differently.”
Royce tilted his head. “That sound like a political statement.”
“It kind of was.”
He chuckled. “So no plus-one tonight?”
She gave him a glance. “You offering?”
Royce smirked. “That depends. You asking?”
Effie didn’t look away. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
He shrugged, casual. “Around here somewhere.”
Across the room, Alix was standing with one of her professors, laughing a little too loudly at something said, even though her eyes were locked on Royce. She saw the way his shoulders were relaxed now. The way he tilted his head when he smiled. The way he was listening.
She forced a smile. Turned back to her conversation. Pretended like it didn’t sting.
Effie’s eyes flicked briefly toward Alix, then back at Royce. “She seems cool.”
“She is,” he said, too fast.
Effie nodded slowly. “You ever wonder what she sees in you?”
“Sometimes.”
“And?”
Royce shrugged. “Still trying to figure that out.”
Effie gave him a long look. Not flirty. Not cold. Just... honest.
“Well,” she said, “hope you do. Before someone else figures it out first.”
She turned and walked off, disappearing into a cluster of students near the refreshment table.
Royce stood there for a beat, then exhaled.
He made his way back across the room, back to where Alix had her prints set up—portraits of abandoned spaces: a rusted church gate, a flooded backyard, the outline of a child’s bicycle underwater.
She glanced up when he arrived.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, slipping back into place beside her. “You?”
She nodded, smiling slightly. “Better now.”
Royce smiled back.
But his eyes flicked to the hallway where Effie had gone, and for a second, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
…
The car was quiet except for the hum of the AC and the occasional low thud of tires rolling over uneven pavement. Royce drove one-handed, the other resting on the gear shift selector, his thumb moving in slow circles against the seam between the leather. A playlist played low through the speakers—something chill and wordless, chosen more for mood than meaning.
Alix sat curled near the passenger-side door, legs pulled up, cheek against the window. Her makeup was still on, but her eyes had dulled, like the weight of the evening had finally caught up to her.
She hadn’t said much since they left the gallery. No complaints, no snide remarks. Just that practiced kind of quiet people used when they didn’t want to start something but weren’t ready to let it go.
Royce glanced over once. Then again.
“You good?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He didn’t buy it.
A few more seconds passed before she said, “How do you know Effie?”
Royce blinked, then shifted slightly in his seat. “Her boyfriend—ex, I guess—used to live down the hall from me at Nicholson. I talked to her a few times when I was over there. That’s all.”
Alix gave a small nod, eyes still on the passing streetlights. “Okay.”
He waited for her to say more. She didn’t.
She just sat with it.
Then: “You can take me to my place.”
Royce looked over. “I thought you were staying over?”
“I got some stuff I need to handle in the morning.”
He didn’t push it. Just hit his signal and made the turn.
The new silence was heavier than the old one.
After a minute, he asked, “You mad or some shit?”
“No.”
He turned the volume down to nothing. “You sure because you seem pissed off?”
“Yeah,” she said, quieter this time.
The silence returned. Stretching this time.
Royce tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “I ain’t do nothing wrong.”
“I know.”
He looked at her again. “So why you acting like I did?”
Alix didn’t answer.
She didn’t sigh. Didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t even shift in her seat.
She just kept looking out the window, like maybe the answer was written in the shadows of the trees flashing past.
Royce didn’t say anything else.
The car rolled to a stop in front of her apartment complex. The same streetlight as always flickered overhead, strobing the sidewalk in a slow, untrustworthy rhythm.
Alix unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle.
“You want me to walk you in?”
She hesitated for just a moment, then shook her head. “I’m good.”
Royce gave her a nod, lips pressed together. “Aight.”
She got out, closed the door gently, and walked up the steps without looking back.
Royce watched her until the door clicked shut behind her.
He stayed in the car a while longer. No music, no engine, no movement—just him, sitting in the dark, surrounded by the kind of quiet you only noticed once someone had walked away.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16774
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
Every dog gotta have its day, now live in your purpose
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16960
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16960
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
who said he by himself?! Man got Alix back right before didn’t he?
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7957
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
This boy gotta pick a lane
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16960
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
He acknowledged they were together! #RoyceDidNothingWrong