Okay this might be niche idk but does anyone else who plays bts island get so fucking enraged sometimes???

Like Namjoon I KNOW on my MOTHER you are not shaking your head and telling me what to do when ‼️YOU‼️are the reason we all stuck here in the first place😒

Forty One.

My family aren’t happy, they didn’t expect me to say next month is the wedding. I mean I don’t expect many people to be happy with my decision, I just want it over with. Not in a bad way either but there is no reason to have a long engagement, what are we waiting for. I feel like my family are panicking but I am not, I feel so calm about it all, I don’t see a reason to panic. I am very calm about things, I have Vera Wang flying out to me, I mean she is very shocked and not ready but whatever, we will do this “mommy is saying how she needs to lose weight for your day” looking behind me at Rorrey “she is being so stupid, she doesn’t need to do anything but turn up. You want anything, I am making Chris’ breakfast” drying my hands off “no, I am good. I want cereal” Rorrey sat down at the dining table “Chris told me last night he is going back to America, you do know that right?” rolling my eyes “yeah I do, he has things to do there. We went back and forth on it but he has to go, he needs to tell his family about it but he will be back. I didn’t really want him too so we can go back and forth on ideas, but I will have to facetime I guess” Rorrey chuckled “you said he will be back like he isn’t going to runaway now he is seeing bridezilla” Rorrey could be right “well if it doesn’t go right y’all niggas are going to get it in the neck, nah. I am fine, just didn’t want him to go but he has too. Did he mention anything else? Do tell” I wonder if he does “not really, oh and he’s cracked his phone screen by the way, it wasn’t letting him make calls or anything so he broke it I guess. He fell over the chair in the living room, he did hurt his leg too. I helped him up the stairs too, I promise you I didn’t make him drunk. Maybe I did, but who knows” I scoffed “I didn’t even notice, Rorrey you know he is recovering. I swear if he can’t walk again I am coming for you” now I need to check on him, I didn’t know this at all. He could be stuck upstairs because of this “I am coming for you” I pointed at Rorrey as I walked off to check on him, he was in bed just fine when I woke up.

Chris is awake, he is sat up on the edge of the bed “morning, are you ok?” closing the bedroom door behind me “honestly no” I breathed out, not happy to know that “what exactly happened?” this is not good “I had my phone in my hand, I finished my blunt outside with the boys. We had a few drinks, I was tipsy, but the pain sure did knock that out of me. Someone shouted, the last one to the couch has to pour drinks. I ran too but like being tipsy and then running, I just lost when I didn’t see the chair there, it was right there. So yeah, I banged into it. Rorrey carried me up the stairs, and now I am struggling to get up. My phone doesn’t work, marble flooring is no good” I hate this for him, walking over to him “it’s pulling, a shooting pain when I walk on it. I think I need to rest it but it’s a little better, I can stand on it. But I need help to get there, maybe too soon” holding my hands out “clearly Chris, you need to be careful still. I am going to murder everyone, and you. Put you out, now what about sex” Chris chuckled as he held my hands “on three, one, two, three” pulling him up from the bed “you thinking about it like you can’t just ride me” placing Chris’ arm around my shoulder “true, are you going to be ok to get down the stairs?” walking slowly with him to the bathroom “just need you there, I can do it” I hope he gets better.

That was so long, the whole coming down the stairs was long. He has really hurt his leg being stupid with my brothers, I swear these boys do not know how to play nice “you got pain killers here? I just need some of that after breakfast and then I just want to rest, it will get better” Chris cringed, he is placing most of his weight on me but it’s not all bad, I just want him to eat and then rest “see what your stupidity gets” walking into the kitchen “mine!?” Rorrey spat “yes yours, I am blaming you. I feel like it was your fault in this. Kick the chair back” Rorrey chuckled “oh, you really hurt?” helping Chris to sit down “no shit, he said you carried him upstairs” Rorrey laughing is annoying me “man, I am sorry. You want a leg massage” he offered “nigga get the fuck outta here” Chris laughed, boys are just so silly, they play rough. I just think Chris was comfortable and he let loose and now this happened “I am just finishing off your breakfast” let me finish it off, I am glad he told me actually because imagine if Chris was there all that time just waiting “you ready to go back to America? My cousin TeeJay is going back, go with him. Depending where?” I wonder if he is going Cali, the rental home is gone now because nobody is living in it, so I told Tina to get rid of it “Houston, see my boys and then VA. I haven’t been in Houston for so long, I still have a lot of things there and I don’t exactly have a home to put stuff in so for now I will be in Houston” that was shade towards me “I said we will find a home” I had say something “you’re going London? Or you forgot your schedule now, you said I am going London for Fenty Puma, you didn’t say about looking at no homes before then” I guess that is something we need to discuss, for now I will remain silent. Chris is leaving tomorrow, he is practically just up and leaving me tomorrow but now he is in this state so we shall see, I wish he just kept his ass in one place.

My brother left us alone, I am glad he did because I want to speak to him “I feel like you got really annoyed with me earlier, about the home thing” watching him devour my breakfast, least I know he enjoys my cooking “but was I lying? I live in Houston, that is my home now. We get married here and then what?” he said that with a mouthful “right, I will say it to you once and for all. Once we got married, we are going to Cali together and finding a home together. Somewhere gated, this time I will be looking carefully because I want it to be our home like you said so I think gated is best, it’s protected with security and only the people that live there can access, I know you’re safe and you can rest easy. So after Barbados I do want a honeymoon though so you can pick that but after that, you and I are doing that. We move in, and then I will be going to London” maybe I needed to explain that “so I got to pick the honeymoon?” nodding my head “erm, Barbados then?” hitting his arm laughing “shut up, better be somewhere nice ok. But is that better?” I need to know he thinks it is “I like that, just you made it seem like you were leaving for London from here” shaking my head “no way, I want my honeymoon. I was thinking, maybe you’re not ready to go back? With your leg” I just want him to stay “it will get better, I will have to walk slow again, that is all” he shrugged it off, I tried because I would like him to support me and be here when I give my mother her gift “you thought about that father thing?” Chris said in a whisper “I want you to stay” I said it “I told you why I can’t, it doesn’t give me or my family enough time. I need to plan myself” putting my head down, I feel all teary eyed “but I just need you as support” I managed to say before I cried, wiping my tears “why are you crying? You have always been independent Robyn” I sniffled shaking my head “it’s fine, I don’t want you here” I don’t need him.

Chris is more annoyed I cried, now he is annoyed that I cried “like I asked before, did you think about the dad thing?” nodding my head, I just don’t want to talk to him in a way, he has annoyed me “and?” trying to make me speak on it “I am going to do it” staring at him “you do as you please but he don’t deserve shit from you, what will it be next? Pay his bills?” which I kind of do “I do for my mom” I mumbled “that’s your mother Robyn, I want you to listen to me when I speak. You are becoming my wife; you have your own life. You have your own family; your priority is not your father. It’s me, I don’t know what hold you got with him. Because he was there for you that one time for daddy and daughter dance, get over it. You get him that home, we’re not married yet, but you do anything for that man while married to me we going to have problems” he is being so sharp with me today “there is better way of saying it to me” Chris laughed “how? You don’t listen, he beat your mom in front of you, what else you want. He spent the money you were supposed to live on in America. You had nothing, you cried Robyn! You called him and he was drunk, your family had nothing because of him. I know, I listen to you. He picked the wrong nigga to piss off, so tell me what else you want from him. He wants to know you now because you got money? Don’t say it ain’t because it is. Collectively including y’all brothers, beat his fucking ass” getting up from the seat, I don’t want to hear this.

I just can’t stand to hear it; my past is already a horrible thing to think about and I don’t need him to be in my face about it. Sitting down on the steps of my back yard “oh what you doing here?” didn’t think my dad was here “I came here earlier, I was just doing some of the garden for your mom” smiling lightly “that is fine” watching my dad walk over to me slowly “you seem a little sad, well I saw you come out here in a huff, why is that?” my dad sat next to me on the step “just needed some air” I sighed out “dad, why do you sell stories about me? Well why did you?” looking over at him “I guess that boy is making you think these things, I never sold anything negative. The people love hearing about you Robyn, when have I ever said anything bad about you? You’re my daughter, I have spoken on positive things” he defended himself “but you made money off me, that is not good. Not like I don’t give you money dad” I don’t understand “and I appreciate that you do, I want to make my own money Robyn that is all. And I am sorry if you feel I am making money off you, but your name sells” I swallowed hard “I don’t want you to sell stories on my name dad, I am being serious with you. Please stop this, it upsets me that you are saying these things to my future, I am marrying Chris and now you both don’t like each other, he is a good man. He took care of me when you didn’t” my dad didn’t like what I said “just because he took care of you then doesn’t mean a thing, Robyn I took care of you as a child. I was there for you; it was me that let you go to America. He has come back into your life and now everything is perfect, why come back to your life now? After you are famous, oh he’s rolled out of jail and he needs somewhere to rest his head” frowning at my dad “don’t say that about him dad, it’s not that way. He never took money from me dad, you were the first one to jump on that. I had to beg him to let me buy things for him, if you can’t respect him then I will have to consider a lot, I don’t want to do that dad. Please don’t make me do it” I pleaded “you would choose a man over your own dad” clenching my jaw staring into my dad’ eyes “don’t make me do it” I am so hurt right now “if he can respect me, then I will respect him. He has a big mouth on him, I won’t make you do anything, maybe he will” he got up from the step “don’t worry yourself too much, and selling stories is behind me” my dad walked off.

Everything is just so shit for me, like why can’t I just have a normal life “Robyn, can we talk” looking behind me “I can’t come there, if you can come here” I guess he can’t, nodding my head looking away from Chris. He took his time, probably struggled to get up, I guess it gave me time to think. Getting up from the step, I guess I will go in. Chris is still stood there watching me, but he made his way back in, struggled I would say but he did it. Closing the door behind me “I will get you the pain killers you need, you need to rest” I am sure my mother has them close by “wait, just let me speak to you for a moment, I am sorry I lost my temper” I rolled my eyes and clearly Chris caught me “you are saying sorry a lot recently, you do be losing your temper a lot, it’s becoming a lot Chris. You think I want to hear that from your mouth, all I asked was for you to stay and support me, instead you telling me we going to have problems. He is my dad Chris!” I shouted “parents can be wack too Robyn, I just want the best for you, maybe my bad and I will stay out of your business” crossing my arms across my chest “there is way of saying it to me, I will be getting a home for my dad and my mother and I would like you to stay and support me and be here for me but if you don’t, then so be it. He is my dad, and he will stay around” Chris groaned out in annoyance “you win, do it. I don’t want no pain killers, fuck it” Chris limped away, he is not happy clearly.

Robyn just angers me with her father, I don’t get the hold he has on her. I don’t want to argue with her, but she angers me and then clearly it turns into one, I need to step back from this father shit. I can’t even deal “pops, you there? Damn, the line ain’t that bad” my dad said one second let me connect the wifi and the line will be better, this nigga done took a whole five minutes “hello son, can you hear me?” he is dumb “I can, damn. Are you done?” he is just doing the most “so you was saying, about Ronald, if he is saying things that aren’t kind to you son, tell me. I will deal with it” that really made me cackle laughing “thanks dad but yeah, just like he is a bad dad to her, and she doesn’t see it. I feel like I have inserted myself in her family issues, we had a disagreement and now we ain’t even speaking because of it. I told her that she needs to let him go, I didn’t want her to buy him a home, for what? He doesn’t deserve it but she does, he’s literally in her life for what” I needed someone to rant too “I get it son, and I think speaking to Robyn alone. She craves that father love, I see it in her eyes and not you or even me, or her mother can change that, only he can break her heart, and it’s a shame that her heart hasn’t been broken by him yet but she has hope, she has a good heart son, so stop getting involved, make your point and drop it. You can’t push someone to do something if they don’t want too, just be there for her. Her eyes will open when they are ready too, but besides that, are you having a good time there?” he asked “you know what, I am. I love it here just this bullshit, I will be back though soon. I have some news, all I am going to say is be ready” they are not going to be ready for the fact wedding will be next month.

I didn’t even attempt to go upstairs because I knew I wouldn’t have made so I went into the spare room that just has random chairs in here, I think this was where I fell, I don’t really remember, maybe it was the living room. I cringed as I made it to the living room “awww no, Christopher. Are you ok?” Monica asked “ah” I said as I went down the step, who has a step in their living room “mommy he fell on the chair and broke his phone” I fell onto the couch “oh yeah, thank Rorrey” I lifted his phone up “throw it” throwing the phone to him, he caught it luckily “yeah I fell, it just hurts. It will get better, where is Robyn?” waving at Majesty in her little bouncer just looking at me “she and Ronald went out” of course she did “oh ok, don’t know when she will be back or?” I mean she just went “no, she will be back soon” I didn’t know that nigga was here “Ronald was here when?” did she call him or some shit “he has been here since morning Chris” I didn’t know “ok” resting my head back on the couch “put your legs up, rest” Monica said “I am out Chris, leave you with the ladies” Rorrey patted my shoulder as he left “yeah, yeah whatever” I could have gone but clearly not, how annoying. More annoying that Robyn went out with the nigga we argued about, she could have said but I need to just leave it I guess.

Affairs

part 6

10 months earlier

You couldn't describe the power you had at that moment. You could do whatever you wanted in that moment and what you wanted to do was blow erik's brains out.

You straddled his chest. He was tied up. His mistake was training you to be good enough to beat him. And you could.

He looked at you nostrils flaring. He was probably mad because he thought you had forgiven him. He thought you'd forgotten everything. But you couldn't. He lied to you, got into your pants and expected you to let him save you. And what pissed you off even more was that you were letting him.

You held the gun to his temple. “I should blow your fucking brains out.” you said. “You think you can play with my heart like this? You think I can ever trust you again?.”

Your rambling went on and on. You were barely making sense of everything going through your head and out of your mouth.

“if i can't trust you I might as well put a bullet in your head.” You said. He looked into your eyes a calm taking over his face. “Go ahead. If you feel that way.” He smirked. He was testing you. You cocked it back; but the look in his eye didn't change. “You gonna pull the trigger or nah?” he pressed. “Untie me, give me some neck and I'll forget this shit went down.”

You whipped him with your pistol. Blood ran from the side of his mouth. “Shut the fuck up you lying asshole.” You hit him again.

“I was falling for you!”

Smack

“I was going to leave Randy for you!”

Smack

“I trusted you.”

You cocked the gun and pressed the barrel to his temple. “now tell me one reason I shouldn't blow your brains out Erik! Give me one reason!” you yelled at him tears running down your face.

He looked up at you blood leaking from his mouth, cheeks swollen.

“Because I love you. I don't know why. I just do. I lied because I didn't want you to leave me. I didn't want shit to go down like this!.” He sighed.

You got up and walked out of the room. You locked yourself in another bedroom and turned off the lights, hiding under the thick blankets. You didn't sleep so you could hear when erik finally broke out of the restraints a few hours later and of course you heard the banging on the door for 20 mins; before hearing the front door slam. He probably was going for some air.

And you stayed in that for two days. Until you were ripped from your sleep. Erik pulled you from your bed by your ankle. You screamed and attempted to kick him in the face; but you were already on the ground. Pinned under his body. “Get off of me!” you struggled. He scoffed, putting a gun to your head.

You froze, catching his eye. The smirk on his face. The shit eating grin.

“Now it's my turn. Give me a reason not to blow your brains all over this floor.” He said.

You couldn't form words.

You just looked into his big brown eyes.

Those eyes were why you didn't kill him. You didn't believe the words he had said; but the look in those eyes. The way tears filled them, even though his words were harsh. The creese in his forehead made him look like a puppy sometimes.

“Because you love me.” You said softly. “I believe that.”

“You think that means I won't kill you.” He asked. “I know you won't.” you answered immediately.

He looked at you. “You're not scared?”

You shook your head. “didn't you tell me not to be afraid to have a gun to my head? To assess the person holding it?”

“And what did you figure out about me?” he asked

“if you were gonna kill me there would be no chance to change your mind.” You said.

You heard the gun slide across the floor before his lips connected with yours. One of your hands wrapped around his neck and the other grabbed the gun that was nearby. You cocked it and put it to his head. He kissed down your neck softly. “you can pull that trigger ma. You believing I love you is all I care about at this point. All I got is you.” He said into your ear.

And it seemed like that was all you needed to hear. You laid the gun down and slid it across the room.

Tears shed down your face.

“if you lie to me again I'll blow your brains out.” You said between sobs.

That’s how he made you feel. Crazy. Like you wanted to kill him but you knew you could never. He was maybe the only weakness you had left.

10 months later

You looked at the panic on Cindy’s face. The thought of seeing her children die in front of her, scared her so much it was enough satisfaction for you; but that didn’t mean you were done with your revenge.

“I want you to chose which one of your children live.” You held a gun to her head. Her eyes widened as two of your men turned the screaming children around. You handed her the gun you had tucked into your waistband holster. “There’s only one bullet. If you even think of shooting me you all will die. Or one of your kids can live and you and the other one will get to live.” You smirked.

Erik sat back in his chair, awe struck. He’d never seen this cruel side of you and if he was honest it scared even him a bit.

“Chose,” you chocked your gun to her head, “or I’ll just have you all killed.”

Her hand shook As she gripped the gun. But even so she pointed at her daughter. You watched, as she pulled the trigger.

There was a click. She screamed. “You heartless bitch. You didn’t even think about it for a minute.”

You were about to pistol whip her when Erik grabbed your wrist. “We gotta go Ma. We can let the guys take care of her.”

You wanted to argue. This was your revenge. And now you didn’t even get to take what you worked so hard for. You couldn’t just leave like this.

You screamed throwing the gun down. Then you looked over at the two blindfolded children. “bring them!” You demanded. Cindy panicked. “What are you gonna do with my babies?!” She screamed. You scoffed. “They’ll live until I’m sick of them. I hope you can be with Randy in Hell.” You said walking away. The children were swiftly taken away. As you left the door you heard a single gun shot that made you knees weak.

You held onto Erik’s hand title as he lead you away.

“Come on baby the cops are coming! We gotta disappear!” He said shoving you into his car.

You looked forward, and as the door closed you looked at him.

“I shouldn’t feel guilty huh?” You asked him. He put a comforting hand on your thigh.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked you in a soft tone.

“When I killed her husband...the look on her face flashed me back to Randy.”

“What you miss that nigga?” He asked, his tone hardening with jealously. “I’m saying no matter how he treated me he wasn’t supposed to die. And maybe I wasn’t meant to be with him forever but I never thought it would all end like this. I want those kids taken care of Erik! Well taken care of! With counseling. We destroyed their life enough.”

“We did what we had to do.” He said, glancing over at you. You rolled your eyes.

“What do we do next?” You said.

Erik smirked widely. “I say we disappear to Africa for a few years, get married, and let me put a baby in you.”

You scoffed grinning widely. “Nigga what makes you think I’d marry you with that half assed proposal? And a baby?? With no ring? You just saying shit without thi-“

“Shut yo loud ass up and look” he moved the middle armrest and pulled out a little black box, pushing it into your hand.

You looked at it for a moment then slowly opened it. It was a beautiful ring with a gold band and a rock so big you knew it would look tacky on your finger.

“If I put this ring on we partners. You don’t own me nigga I don’t report to you either. And if you ever EVER cheat on me I’ll kill you.”

“Yo is this how you say yes??” He interrupted you. You laughed and put on the ring.

“I love you Stevens” you said kissing him.

Hi I know it’s been so long since part 5 came out. I’ve had a hell of a writers block. I’m sorry if this isn’t that good. I really needed to start writing something to help get out of this rut I’m in so I really went with it. Let me know your opinions on it and if it’s not good enough I’ll re-write it. Thank you for reading -Jazzi🥔

“Birkin Bag” (7)

|Part Six|

Summary: Erik finds out he might’ve rubbed off on his best friend a tad too much and that she’s really with the shits

Warning: Language, Angst, Blood Mention(s), Violence

A/N: This shit gets a little gory at the end so *BEWARE*

~~~~

“I bought my bitch a Birkin Bag so she could hold my fucking strap..”

____

Even from the entryway, you could see Trey’s body begin to tremble at the sound of your voice. Stepping into what was now your evil lair, you signaled for Erik to follow, silently mouthing for him to follow your lead as the plan was set into motion.

“What up, pussy! Miss me?” You twisted your hips going further into the room as your voiced gradually darkened, “Or at least pretend to? Because, you know, that’s what you seem to do best, apparently.”

His eyes practically gouged out of his head, speaking a mix of fury and panic that his gagged mouth currently couldn’t. Still though, Trey loudly muffled out something incoherent through the white rag against his lips. “Mmphmfm!”

“What?” You snatched the cloth away from his mouth. “Don’t nobody know what you saying, speak English.”

“-AID LET ME GO, YOU STUPID ASS BITCH ‘FORE I K-”

But the empty threat was cut short when your left backhand thwacked across the side of Trey’s face.

“Wrong answer, bitch.” You immediately tied the bandana back around while Erik blatantly snickered under his breath in the background. Peering deviously over your shoulder at the source of the laughter you asked, “Oh you think that’s funny? You shoulda been here for the beat down me, Rodney, and Ray Ray gave this nigga. Ain’t that right?”

Trey did nothing but blink at you furiously, beads of sweat making his forehead glisten.

“I mean, then again, it was only fair. What, with all the trouble you put me and my friend Mr. Stevens over here through.” At this point you had begun circling around your victim like a vulture painstakingly slow. “But seeing as to how you made me spend weeks searching for yo’ ass, some of those injuries were thrown in as...compound interest.”

And plenty of contusions there were. It was only right you gave back every scrape, cut, and bruise that horrible trio had given to Erik when they had him tied up here a month ago. The swollen eye, busted lip, and endless trails of blood falling from various places were evident of that.

“You didn’t make it easy for me, though, Stokely, I’ll give you that.” The false praise fell from your lips in a chuckle, half sarcastic, half genuine.

“Wait,” Erik interjected, being pulled from the trance of watching you playing with your food. “Stokely...why does that name sound so familiar?”

The wicked grin that’d been playing at your lips, per waving one of your knives dangerously close to your captive’s face, officially broke free at the ex mercenary’s speculation.

“Probably because it’s the name attached to the warehouse where this urchin and his cronies held you, i.e. the one we’re currently standing in.”

Erik nodded in acknowledgement, but his furrowed brow gave away that wasn’t the lightbulb he was looking for.

“Or maybe because it was part of the signature on the baby’s death certificate, when it supposedly should’ve been ‘Stevens’.”

Ah, there it was.

“Come again?” Though Erik had managed to keep his relatively cool demeanor, it was still evident that the piece of news had thrown him for a loop. He continued blinking repeatedly at you as if it would change what he heard. “What do you mean ‘supposedly’?”

“You were right about Lynda being pregnant when you shot her; the ultrasound they showed you was proof of that,” you remarked. “But that didn’t necessarily mean she was carrying your baby. Isn’t that right, Trey?” Both Erik and Trey’s head perked up simultaneously, and when the latter began shaking like a stripper, Erik’s wild eyes bore straight into him while speaking directly to you. “Go on.”

You knew the royal to be no dummy, at least when it mattered that is, but you could also tell he wanted to be sure of what you were getting at as well.

“It seems as though Lynda was trying to have her cake and eat it, too. She wanted herself a piece of the legendary ‘Erik Stevens’ just like every other girl at MIT, but once she got it, she just couldn’t seem to let go of her high school sweetheart over there.”

“So what you’re saying is that-”

“Trey was really the one who got the girl pregnant and not you?” You picked up the rest of his sentence, sparing him of having to finish it. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Why else do you think Little Miss Lynda was holding out on you all that time and then magically wanted to jump your bones? She wasn’t about miss out on securing that bag for her family,” you disclosed, whipping your gaze back to Trey trembling in his chair. You were confused when his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Until you felt Erik remove the pistol from your hand while breezing past you.

“Erik, wait, I wasn’t done ex-”

“Hold that thought.”

The former shell of Killmonger marched straight up to Trey and planted a bullet right in his left kneecap, forcing the loudest stifled shriek in all existence to sound through the room.

“That’s for making me think I murdered my unborn child.”

The combination of his act and words sent a tremble down your own spine, regardless of you both being on the same team, but it also put a twinkle of admiration in your eye, and strangely a spark of desire below your stomach. Luckily, Erik had only discovered one of the two as he went back to address you.

“What? Auntie said no more ‘murderous rampages’ so better to put a bullet there than through his brain,” Erik shrugged, followed by a right hook to Trey’s jaw to shut him up. “Now,” he breathed, dimple chasing the dark aura away quickly as it’d come. “You were saying?”

“I was saying,” you deadpanned, pinching the bridge of your nose at his block-headed ass. “That my head was spinning a million miles a minute after all the shit went down that night, so I started breaking it all down, play by play. And that’s when it hit me.”

Erik only blinked in anticipation.

“Remember everything I told you on the drive over? And what Tracee said about Trey not really ‘loving me’? Well she was right.”

Trey’s cries cut through the room, once again, just as fast as your knife landed deep in his bicep.

“Not that I wanted that weak ass shit from you anyway,” you spit, squinting at him in fury. You wanted to do much more than that, but your best friend’s pulled you back into focus.

“Relax, baby girl,” Erik cooed, sensing the flare of your bloodlust. “I’m still in need of some clarification here.”

You inhaled a deep breath upon realizing that he was right. Killing Trey could wait just a few more moments so you dove back in, picking up where you left off.

“Right. It made sense as to why Tracee and Jay wanted revenge against you; they were Lynda’s older sister and best friend. But recalling Tracee’s little slip up, it was only a matter of time before I put two and two together about those conniving little love birds. Though I don’t really think that’s my secret to tell, now is it?”

Creeping back over to the prisoner, you twisted the blade buried in his muscle while stooping to stare him in the eye.

“You listen here and listen good,” you threatened Trey. “It’s already been decided that you’re definitely not going to leave out of this room alive so unless you want to make dying any more pain than I planned for it to be, I suggest the words spoken in your final hour be nothing but the truth. Got me?”

You snatched the cloth from his mouth a second time once the groans of pain subsided, but kept your grip on the weapon in case the memo hadn’t been fully received.

“Alright, fine,” Trey panted out at last. “Lynda was my ol’ lady, so what?! Had been since we was fourteen. We grew up together-all of us did. Me, her, Tee, and Jay; couldn’t nobody come between us. Until yo pretty boy ass decided you just couldn’t stay away from my girl.”

“Aye, ain’t my fault she wanted to upgrade,” Erik bit back. “She came onto me.”

“Yeah, but the grass ain’t always greener, is it?. Sure she was feeling you for a quick lil’ minute, but ‘breaks’ don’t always mean ‘break-ups’.”

A grimey smirk formed at Trey’s mouth, beginning to feel himself courtesy of the sense of pride budding in his chest. “Me and her was going at it cause all she wanted to do was be on her Tomb Raider shit, but it wasn’t long before she was back to calling me ‘Daddy’-AGHHH!”

His spiel was interrupted by the curve of your wrist, bringing about more pain and blood from the wound.

“I don’t think I said anything about adding your irrelevant and grotesque commentary,” you sneered from behind him. “Keep going, and be sure to stick to script, please and thanks.”

Trey scowled and sighed in frustration, but did as he was told and continued telling on himself.

“It had been some months since me and Lynn had spoken since that particular falling out, so I suppose that’s when she starting kicking in with you in the meantime,” Trey concluded, the disgust evident in his voice. “But then I hit her up one weekend, told her I was coming that way to work shit out and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. We talked about a lot that night, and needless to say some shit went down when we met up.”

With every new piece of information Trey dished out, you stole a glance at your homeboy to see how he was processing it all. He was simply shaking his head and casting an ironic grin that flashed his gold fronts. “Breezy always said these hoes ain’t loyal,” he recited, quoting the well known R&B hit.

“Anyway,” the deviant mocha man went on, rolling his eyes. “Lynda and I kept in touch on the low after that, but a few weeks later she sent me a text saying she was positive she was pregnant. At first she was panicking, worrying about your reaction and how it might throw a wrench in the scheme y’all had going with that Klaue dude, especially y’all hadn’t slept together yet.”

“And lemme guess,” Erik cut it. “That’s when you told her to try and start hopping all on my dick?”

Trey clapped back harshly, trying to establish his dominance for whatever reason. “You damn skippy I did! She told me about your master plan for heading to Wakanda, so I told her to stick it out, act like everything was still normal. The second you took over she was gonna tell you about the pregnancy; play the whole ‘heir to the throne’ card. Wasn’t no point in missing out all the wealth one measly little job had to offer.”

It was your turn to finally speak up now. “Yeah, and how well did that work out for y’all Jokey and Harley wannabe headasses?”

Obviously Trey didn’t take a liking whatsoever to your taunting, so he began to go off when you rounded out to face him again. “REAL FUCKING WELL UNTIL YOUR BITCH ASS BOYFRIEND PUT A BULLET IN MY GIRL’S CHEST!!! Me and Lynn coulda had it all made, but HE took it away when he murdered her. So when that king announced the start of all their outreach shit with him overseeing it all,” his voice growing colder, tears in the brim of his eyes, “I knew that was my chance. It took months of plotting, and waiting, but once Stevens was back in town, it was only a matter of time till he learned who I was.”

The hurt that was apparent in his face almost made you feel sorry for him. Though you didn’t find his actions anywhere near justifiable, this was the first time you realized how big of a loss it was for him to lose the love of his life, and child, so tragically.

“And now that Lynda’s gone, and this whole thing caved in on your head, you don’t have anything left to show for it. Do you?”

Trey drew in a sharp breath attempting to draw back the water beading in his eyes, erasing the agony that had threatened to break free. “Maybe not,” he begun maniacally. “But at least I got to dig in them guts for a while to keep you away from golden boy over there, hm sweet cheeks?”

“Excuse you??”

When those words hit your ears, you felt that familiar snap pop off somewhere deep inside your psyche. How dare this nigga have the audacity to even utter something so ignorant and crude, like you needed a reminder that you’d given him access to such a vulnerable part of yourself. Not knowing if it hit a nerve because you dared to sympathize for him a few seconds ago, or because it was brought to your attention yet again how stupid you felt for being used, it had been the final nail in Trey’s coffin either way.

Erik had been silently watching the exchange all the while, and though highly tempted to yank all of Trey’s teeth out due to the disrespectful comment, he could see he had to reign you in quick, fast, and in a hurry.

“Aniya-”

“Nah, E,” you declared chillingly calm, smiling as your tongue ran along the space between teeth and gums. “It’s all good.”

Your fingers flexed tightly around the grip of your gun, and with one lighting fast motion, you were knocking directly into the middle of Trey’s face before any of you really knew it.

“BECAUSE THAT’S FOR THE RUDE ASS SHIT THAT JUST CAME OUT YOUR MOUTH!”

“THAT’S FOR USING ME AND MAKING ME LOOK DUMB!”

“THIS ONE WAS FOR PIMPING OUT YOUR OWN GIRLFRIEND LIKE SHE WASN’T WORTH A DAMN!

“THAT ONE WAS FOR PLOTTING AGAINST MY BEST FUCKING FRIEND!”

“AND THAT WAS FOR TRYING TO TAKE HIM AWAY FOR ME AFTER I ALMOST LOST HIM ONCE ALREADY!”

The hits just came rolling in, one after another and another, driven by all the rage and pent up emotion you had been harboring for entirely too long. Truth be told if it wasn’t for Erik overpowering the now bloody weapon from your hand, you probably would’ve kept at it until who knows when. Fortunately though, he restrained you from behind, stopping you in the midst of your last swing.

“Hey-look, hey, shh. I gotchu now, hey, it’s all good, I’m here.” He steadily swayed the two of you back and forth until he felt you drift somewhat back to reality. It took a minute, your eyes glued Trey’s now disfigured, and lifeless, head that was bashed in and bludgeoned in all sorts of places. You took a moment or two more to calm yourself, feeling the warmth of fresh blood splattered across your face and clothes.

Erik let go once he felt you beginning to uncurl from underneath him. He knew for a fact that you didn’t mind getting your hands dirty, but still awaited your next direction, aware you were still reeling from the deed you’d just committed. Back erect once more and shoulders squared evenly, you instructed your sidekick of the next move without turning around one inch.

“Help me get him and the rest of this junk down to the basement,” you enunciated with a robotic like tone. “There’s an incinerator we passed on the way in.”

~~~~

~Taglist~

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Antique the Vamp Geek Pt1 Ep11

CW: The usual stress, anxiety and anger and crying, add a little complicated family dynamic and fear of starvation.

A/N: Tique’s family makes an uncomfortable appearance and she takes it the best she can...by panicking. But also coming up with a plan of what to do about it.

W/C: 1661

Hey y’all. I know it’s been a while since you heard from me. Life has been somewhat of whirlwind. I left off with all that crazy shit happening with my bitch ass roommate snitching on me. Thankfully, my other roommate is a saint sent directly from heaven. But anyway, back to the story……….

I woke up at some point the next day, showered and all that shit. 

I am lucky enough to have my own private bathroom.

Anyways, I sat on my bed, and got stuck in my thoughts for a while. I eventually realized that something was bothering me about the day before, but I couldn’t remember what it was. So much of it was still a fog. Then, it hits me. MY FUCKING DAD CALLED ME. HE NEVER FUCKING CALLS ME!!!

I went scrambling to get my phone. And sure enough, there were 5 missed calls and voicemails. All of my panic from yesterday started bubbling up in my stomach. Had something happened to my little brother and sister? Did my mom finally decide to speak to me again? Did my father stop being a little…? Anyway, I started hyperventilating because I couldn’t figure out why he would call me, for any reason, at all. 

I really can’t overstate how odd it is that my father would call me EVER. 

At some point the night before, my roommate had passed out in her own room. I could hear her snoring a little through the wall. She doesn't snore loud, I can just hear extremely well. I focused on that sound for a moment. I wanted to wake her up and ask her to help me figure out what to do, but it wouldn't be a fair thing to ask. 

I had to get my head together. I wouldn't know why he was calling until I listened to the voicemails. So that's what I did.

Vm1: “Antique, answer your phone. It's your dad. We need to talk.”

Vm2: “Antique I know you see these calls. You always on your phone. I know you see it so call me back.”

Vm3: “Antique, it's your mother. I know you hate me and think I'm a terrible person, but honestly you need to grow up and move on. We need to talk to you. It's important.”

Vm4: “Tique? It's me...Mom and Dad made me call. Um...are you ok? They said something is wrong with you. Are you sick?”

The bastards got my younger siblings involved with this. They have my baby sister scared, calling me about me being “sick”. I swear…

Smh. But that's not what hit me hardest.

Vm5: “Ummmm. Tique. I'm...so...sorry. I think this is all my fault. I heard your voice. One of my friends from school listens to your show. I'm so sorry.”

Well there it is. I was right about my brother knowing what I was. I know I mentioned it before during a q and a. Let me explain, I always text my brother and sister “ Night y'all.” But a few weeks ago, my brother's number started sending back the texts telling me that “block” feature was in use. And then, I couldn't see his social media anymore. The sudden isolation threw me off, so I called my little sister and she said that she was scared. She is 10 years old, so sudden changes in her life make her panic really bad. My brother (14) told her I had turned into a monster and I was going to eat her. 

Let it sink in how fucked up that is…..

This little nigga has made my baby sister terrified of me. But she's a real one so she let me talk to her and calm her down. She was clearly uncomfortable with the growing conflict, but she was cool about it. I told her to put him on the phone. 

This was our conversation:

“Hey, bro. What's going on? Why aren't you talking to me? Can I make things better between us?”

“No.”

“I'm sorry, man. I would like to hear from you. Are you sure I can't make it up to you. Just tell me what I did. I promise I'll try to explain.”

“I don't want to talk to you Tique. You aren't my sister anymore.”

And then he hung up. So yeah… The fucked up level is reaching critical for me. 

So, back to the present moment. I already know that I am not going back to my family’s home. They could have me arrested or institutionalized. It's better to try to get this situation under my control. Or at least, deal with it on my terms. 

I call them back.

Don't ask what came over me. I truly have no clue. 

The phone barely had time to ring before my mom picks up.

“Antique, baby, is that you?” 

Now I feel the need to emphasize the fact that my mother has never called me “baby.” She never showed affection. She seemed determined to be my enemy since I hit puberty.

“Um. Hey ma. Y'all called me?”

“Is that all you have to say? ‘''Um hey’ is the best you can do?”

“I don't want to fight Ma. Let's not. You said you wanted to talk to me?”

“I want you to come home.”

“I am home.”

“You know what I meant. Don't be disrespectful!”

“Ma I'm on the phone with you right now. Just tell me what you need to speak to me about, please.”

“I didn't raise this thing you've become, Ms. Grown-Ass. You never used to talk to me like this.”

“I lived with you back then. Listen, I don't want to do this right now.”

“No I decide what you're about to do!”

“......”

“Oh what you don't have anything to say now?”

“I'm going to hang up. I can't do this right now.”

“Don't you dare-”

I hung up. I wasn't interested in the bullshit anymore.

She called back, but I didn't answer. I needed to make sure I was as safe as possible. She still had access to my credit card and savings account, but when I found out I had been turned, I opened a checking account. I had been slowly putting my money there. I had to accept that a few hundred dollars were going to be a loss. Oh well. 

I already had everything of value from my old room. My great grandmother had left a bracelet and ring to me. I took them when I left for college. Most of the shit in my room was bought for me by people that didn’t know me that well. I didn’t care about it at all. 

I sat in the middle of my bed for a minute, trying to remember what else I needed to do. I already knew that the chance of me getting my birth certificate and social security card were slim now. My infection status changed everything. Suddenly, I wasn’t a separate person anymore. The government required that someone else manage all of my business. I needed to name someone. Fortunately, that someone didn’t have to be a family member.

The main issue was figuring out who would have my power of attorney? Bae or my roommate? But, I really didn’t want to have to choose anyone. Experience had taught me that trusting people was a bad thing, but the government didn’t care about my experiences. 

I did the only logical thing: I googled “PoA Vamp Form,” printed it, and walked it into my roommates room. Since time was an issue, I didn’t have the opportunity to call Bae up and ask for them to show up after work. I needed this taken care of now. And, yeah I know online PoA’s are bullshit, but time was was running out, and I couldn’t afford an attorney.

After some nagging, and begging, and promises of food, I managed to get my roommate up and dressed. Using my phone’s GPS we found notary nearby and paid the fee to get a seal on our form. 

Now, in the midst of all this, I ignored several more calls from my parents. They even tried my younger siblings numbers. But, as guilty as I felt, I needed to find a way to protect myself. I couldn’t do a damn thing for them until I had all my shit in order. 

I needed to figure out a way to get the originals of my birth certificate and my social. I needed to close down my one credit card. Open up another in my name that my mother wouldn’t know about. Thankfully, I was over 18 so there was only so much my parents could do. It worked out in my favor that I was renting, and didn’t own anything worth going to court over. 

The last issue was that they knew my address. They didn’t really help me move anything, but obviously I had to tell them where I was going. My mother showed up a few times to criticize how my place looked. No one else ever visited. 

Outside of that, I couldn’t think of what else I could do. I knew that I needed to come up with a plan to get my documents. My mother had all our documents in a safe deposit box, and I knew where she kept the key. The only chance I had of getting that key was going home. And home was the last place I wanted to go. 

There had to be a way for me to get in there. I knew my younger siblings’ schedules well enough. They always would be in the house before our parents would. I felt incredibly guilty about it, but I had to use my siblings to get access to what I needed.  

So yeah, my life’s fucked up level is over 9,000 these days.

I’m tired. 

Anyways, stay moisturized and hydrated. 

Love Tique.

#XD30 FIFTEEN | DOUBLE TROUBLE

[Ride or die - Jada]

I’m back in New York to attend a fashion show. Since the tour began I had been gaining a lot of attention in the fashion world. It was fact that I really did keep my shit together and I always offered a bomb look everywhere I went. The fashion show wasn’t until tomorrow so I had a day to play in the city. The tour would be in Chicago in a couple of days and the crew were already there setting up including Jace, Adrienne and Mona. The record label sent me 2 assistants to accompany me the day of the show and of course security went everywhere else with me.

Since I had a day to do nothing and I was basically there alone, Q decided to come to NYC to spend the two days there with me. I was excited because he wouldn’t have to do any work and we were going to try to stay at the same hotel to avoid people catching us meeting up in public. Finally I get to get a piece of that TRAPPERS life. Little did I know, I would get more than a piece.

We planned to meet up at an Italian restaurant called Syvlan in Brooklyn before we went to our rooms in Manhattan. We had separate rooms booked so the hotel staff wouldn’t figure out that we were there together and leak rumors, or the truth, to the media. What had my little life become? I waited in the backseat of a black Town Car until he texted me that it was cool to come inside. For once I was happy to be completely alone. My security company signed his security on to my protection plan for tonight to lessen the amount of people that would be moving around with us. Q had 3-5 security officers with him at all times. My 1 security deserved a break. Besides the pool party incident, I had not been directly in harms way.

I waited outside for about 15 minutes touching up my make up and making sure I was looking like a piece of perfection. I decided to wear my hair down in a straight style and pulled to the back. I wore a short black Givenchy dress that stopped mid-thigh and mid breast, exposing my long legs and smooth shoulders. My 6 inch stilettos made me appear taller and stripper-like. My diamond studded Brahmin clutch completed my look. I was smelling good, looking good and feeling good. If Q had any uncertainties about making me his lady they would all go away tonight.

I finally received a text that it was safe to come in.

The text read: ‘You can come in and eat or I can come out there and eat’

I replied: ’*Blushing Emoji*…I’m walking in’

I get out of the car and I walk towards the front door. I see him walking onto the restaurants veranda to meet me. I tried to contain my smile. Suddenly I hear gunshots ring out and they were close. Literally a few feet away. Q runs to me and grabs my hand pulling me into the restaurant. I was freaked out but I was skiing through that restaurants in my 6 inch heels like a bad bitch. He pulled me into an employees only area and told me to wait there. He took off the sports coat he was wearing and handed it to me. He then ran back towards the front of the restaurant. By this time the entire restaurant was in panic. I was the only one standing still while everyone either ran for cover or out of the restaurant. This never happened at Olive Garden back home. This was definitely some New York type shit that you see in movies.

Q returned back safely with his dress shirt opened. If I didn’t know any better I would have thought he had been in a fight. That’s when I became concerned. Why was he acting as if he was involved with what was going on and where was his security? No sooner than I had those questions, one of his security guards picked me up, and following his lead, we ran through the loud, busy kitchen where the workers continued cooking as if nothing was going on. The food looked good and I was tempted to grab a breadstick while I was being carried, a true to go snack, but I was on my James Bond, Charlie’s Angel, Mr. And Mrs. Smith shit right now. For some reason I was so shocked that I wasn’t panicking yet. Before we opened the back door Q turned to ask me, “Baby are you ok?”

“Yea I’m good,” I replied like a confused child. “I’ll explain later,” he said and then opened the door.

“Q CLOSE THE DOOR!” I screamed. No sooner than he was able to close the door bullets ricocheted off of the metal door. I saw a guy in a silver 4 door Mercedes Benz roll down his window with a mask on. I knew it wasn’t Halloween so I followed my fear instinct.

By this time the kitchen was in a panic. Security rushed us into the cooler and there we waited until the coast was clear. I could hear police sirens get closer and people screaming. At that point my eyes began to water. I was afraid. I had come that close to seeing someone get shot or even worse, me getting shot. All I could think about was my brother and how scared he would be if he knew what I was witnessing. Security put me down on the ground. I didn’t even notice how cold I was until Q put his jacket over me and pulled me into his chest. He planted kisses on my forehead and held me. That’s when I begin to sob silently. It was too much. This was the third incident since I had been on tour that I was close to a shooting. This time I actually saw a shooter. Growing up in church we were taught to believe in signs. I couldn’t figure out what these shootings meant but hopefully sooner or later it would make sense.

In the meantime I was soaking up the attention I was getting from Q. I could tell by the way he was rubbing his fingers through my hair, and refusing to let me go, that he knew that he had some explaining to do. After waiting in the cooler for about 10 minutes, we were escorted outside into a black SUV. Once inside I didn’t say anything. I saw news trucks, crowds of people and police cars everywhere. I looked out of the window in silence for half of the ride. Q reached over and grabbed my hand. He noticed that my eyes were red and he rubbed the side of my face. When we got to the hotel he asked if he could stay over in my room. I was hesitant but also I was afraid to be alone. We walked into my room and without say anything I went in the bathroom to take a shower. I was relieved to not be alone but I also needed a moment for myself.

I let warm water rush over my body. I stood there for what felt like eternity before I even began washing my body with lavender soap and oils. I turned off the shower and I didn’t hear any noise or movement coming from the room. Maybe he decided to go to his room. To relieve myself I began singing to myself. I heard a tap on the door. Still wet, I reached for a towel to cover myself and I opened the door enough to see Q standing there looking pitiful.

“Thank you,” he said.

I wasn’t quite sure why I deserved thanks.

“You saved my life,” he continued saying. “Look ma. Long story short, it’s a lot of people not happy that me and the other guys made it out of the hood and we will still rep it. They think we are trying to market off of them. Then you have another group from the hood that we still deal with that feel like we owe them more than we already funnel back through there. It’s a lot more details but that’s why I was hesitant on whether or not I wanted me and you to take this anywhere besides fun. You’re too good for the world I’m from. I may be dressed in designer clothes but I’m still a hood boy at heart,” he finished.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him in the restroom. My older cousin told me if you can get a bad boy to share his feelings, then you have him whipped. I haven’t even given him any of my 'good-good’, besides oral, and he was already bowing down to me. I wanted him now. He can explain more later. Still holding my towel I sat on the counter pulling him in between my legs.

“Q, I’m here because I want you. Let’s work out the other stuff later,” I said.

“Damn ma. You rode for a nigga today. You scare me. You’re too perfect,” he said.

I crossed my arms behind his neck, pulled him towards me and placed my tongue in his mouth. I couldn’t wait any longer. I was wet and ready. Literally. Although what just happened scared the hell out of me, it also turned me on. He protected me and I protected him. I already knew the sex would be bomb just because of that.

I let my towel drop and he grabbed my breast. They were still wet from the shower. He begin sucking on them, going back and forth between each one. I unbuttoned his shirt and exposed his slim fit, tattooed body. I then unbuckled his pants to let him know that I wanted all of him. He took his finger and reached between my legs to rub my center. I heard him whisper “damn” in response to my wetness. He took the fingers and stuck them in his mouth. He then begin kissing me all over my body. This is what I had been waiting for. He was so passionate in a thug boy type way. He got on his knees and begin serving my center in a way that said 'I’m so sorry’. I pulled him up because I felt like he was teasing me. I grabbed his dick and begin stroking it while I looked him in the eye. “I want you,” I said softly. He kissed me deep and while I was lost in his kiss he entered me pushing my back against the mirror. He started off really slow so that I could adjust to taking his dick. It touched every nerve in me and it felt like he was in my stomach. I moaned louder than I had ever moaned. I could tell it was turning him on even more. He started picking up pace and I grabbed on to him tighter. He picked me up and put me on the ground turning me around so that I could face the mirror. He pushed me down so that my breast were touching the counter. He then gently grabbed my neck and started kissing on my neck and sucking my ear. Next thing I knew, he entered me from behind. He was clever. He wanted me to see him send me to euphoria. I knew that was the case because he had the sexiest, most mischievous grin on his face. I almost couldn’t take it. Before I knew it I had climaxed and he would not let up. He kept going and I felt another release coming on. I had never had two consecutive orgasms. I understood then the full meaning of the song 'Trap Queen’ and why a girl became a 'Trap Queen’. If the dick was that good I’ll be kitchen cooking dope with my baby too. It was that good. I was about to catch my breath and say I couldn’t take anymore but I heard him let out a growl that let me knew he had climaxed. He dropped to his knees and kissed my ass and then laid right there on the bathroom floor pulling me on top of him. I was done. Before I realized it I had dozed off….butt naked on the bathroom floor. My damn head was in between the tub and the toilet and I didn’t even care.

I woke up, in my bed under covers. I looked over and Q was next to me watching tv. I tried to reach for him but noticed that a tray of food was between us. He ordered room service and I’m glad he did because I was beyond hungry. He looked over at me and smiled. I never knew him to be a smiler from the fan point of view, so to see him smile made me want him and another round.

He was so thoughtful. He ordered an Italian dinner for us to enjoy in bed since we didn’t eat any at the restaurant. He was watching a basketball game and offered to turn the channel but I didn’t mind. We ate in silence. Once we were finished he moved all of the dinnerware to the table on the other side of the room.

“And now for dessert,” he said.

He went under the covers and put his head between my legs quicker than I could look around to see if there was actual dessert somewhere. I didn’t see anything so I knew he had energy for another round. He came up, laid on his back and licked his lips. I got on top of him and kissed him before sliding down and taking him inside of mouth. I gave that meat my all. I knew that he was about to pull me into his world and I knew he would be the source of my headaches but this sex and his charm was worth it …..not to mention whatever else he had to offer.

“Ma, I’m about to cum,” he moaned. I wasn’t done. I jumped on top of him and started to ride him. I went up and down possibly 4 times and then I said, “now.”

He started convulsing and shaking, latching onto my hips. I couldn’t move because he held me down tight, releasing himself inside of me. Once he released I laid on his chest. I heard my phone vibrating but it would have to wait. I wanted this man’s everything. Right now I had his time, attention and dick. Nothing was going to distract me.

“You’re a ride or die chick for real ma,” he said laughing at the way I just gave him the ride of his life. That night I laid there knowing I was the queen and as far as I was concerned, he was my king.

Do you remember those Cathy comic strips your mom used to have tacked to her cubicle wall or office board? The one’s her and her co-workers would share and cackle and point at while nodding their heads in agreement and uttering ‘Yup, so true’? You’d look at those comics as a little girl with a blank stare, confused as to why so many of your mom’s female co-workers related to this neurotic, cat owning, chubby white lady who spent the majority of the comic complaining about dieting,exercising, yogurt, work and dating. Now I ask you, do you remember the day you realized you BECAME Cathy? For me it was when I was around 30, I was on the phone in the grocery store with my friend discussing this new wellness challenge I saw on IG, where you cut out all refined sugars for 30 days, and there was some hashtag involved. I looked in my basket and saw one bottle of white wine, a container of sugar free Greek yogurt, and cat food. Somehow, I had morphed into the Millennial (am I a Millennial? I was born in 85’ idk) Colored Cathy. This wasn’t a moment of panic, but definitely a random moment of self realization. This was 30, and I was doing the things black women in their 30s do. Maybe its an American thing, but a large part of adulthood in our culture heralds “self-improvement.” We must always be striving to be fitter, richer, healthier, better educated, more skilled, glow-upier versions of ourselves. This is especially true for women and hell, I was, I am no different. To be content with who you are in the present is seen as resigning oneself to mediocrity. It’s lethargic, and un-ambitious. Cardinal sins in our current “Rise and Grind”–everyone’s a personal brand-social media reach quantifying ass world. Fast forward several months where I’m 31, and miraculously still had not managed to 30 Day Challenge myself into a better me. I had hit a wall. Well, a couple of walls and I hadn’t the faintest idea why. I couldn’t concentrate on this “great” new job I just got, I was more reclusive than usual and couldn’t even find enjoyment in the little pleasures I’d typically turn to during my more gloomy spells. Sure I’ve always struggled with self-discipline but that’s always a part of myself that I attributed to being ‘artsy’ kind of. However, the list of goals I wished to accomplish but never followed through on grew exponentially. My personal life was about as uneventful as a Chris Christie’s political future, my friendships were suffering, I was more irritable than usual and I was even becoming withdrawn with my son at home. It wasn’t until I had a late night discussion with a close friend where he tearfully revealed he’d seen a therapist and had been diagnosed with depression, that I entertained perhaps seeking professional help for my mental well being. Of course I didn’t think that I was as sick as my friend, when he asked if his diagnosis surprised me I responded in typical “Of course I knew, nigga I’m glad you caught up” Danielle fashion. “Oh yeah, of course not, I had always said you would benefit from therapy, with what you’ve been through? Of course a diagnosis of depression makes sense. I’m proud of you for finally taking care of yourself”. After hanging up the phone, my own words I used to reassure my panicked best friend echoed in my head. “With what you’ve been through..of course it makes sense. I’m proud of you for finally taking care of yourself.” My friend, like a lot of Black men who grew up in Chicago ,has experienced a lot of trauma, especially in his childhood, but damn so did I. I soon realized that I was guilty of the same mental health neglect I audaciously and frequently lectured him about when we’d discuss his failed relationships and stalled professional life. I had a lot of Black ass nerve, here I had pretty much spent the latter half of my life having gone through the mental trauma equivalent of several car accidents and not once thought to cart my ass to a physician to see if there was any internal bruising. So soon thereafter, I started researching therapists in my local area and booked my appointment. My therapist is a Black woman in her early 60s. She looks young for her age, she has a short ceasar hair cut, and wears Uggs. She’s short and busty, and her face always looks as if she’s empathizing with you. Her office is very small and quiet. She has one of those faux waterfall things meant to provide calming serenity. It’s kind of annoying and looks really cheesy but I try to ignore it. Our first session, she told me that I was at the age where most women seek therapy. “You’re…31. Yeah this is where most women hit a wall, your jar is full and you can’t keep putting your head down and pushing forward, now you’re having problems functioning and have to compensate for years of self-neglect, this is normal, it’s what women in their 30’s do.” During our one hour session she asked me the questions I suppose all therapists ask, about my current life, my childhood, my love life, my past, and what I want for my future. I was pretty candid, and had no problems going into full detail about everything. I casually rattled off the instances of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse I’d experienced from childhood into adulthood that I was sure was norm for women my age. My divorce, my son, the death of my father, my close, but dramatic and at times confrontational relationship with my mother, my job hopping (four in one year I think), my chronic insomnia, etc. And even when I casually looked up to her slightly raised brows while she scribbled notes on her notepad, I wasn’t sure how serious I was taking it, but it was cathartic to talk to someone unfamiliar with my story. It wasn’t until the end when she said she needed to tell me something that she usually waits some time to disclose to her patients that I knew what was at stake. “Danielle…you’re sick. I don’t think you realize how sick you are because this is the only way you’ve known how to function for the majority of your life..but honey…now you need meds and you need help, I hope you’ll let me help you.” This was actually unexpected, I was so sure she would have praised me for my perseverance, my resilience in having withstood what I had gone through while somehow still managing to become an arguably productive and functioning adult. It hadn’t dawned on me that maybe all this time, I really wasn’t “functioning” at as high a level I thought I was, that my “normal” was abnormal that my “fine” wasn’t fine. Maybe I had been giving myself entirely too much credit? I left her office that day with a couple of diagnosis: Clinical depression, anxiety, PTSD, and some other acronym that I always forget. Ultimately she told me that before we could even hope to engage in successful therapy sessions, I needed to discuss anti-depressant meds with my doctor. “You mean I’m so fucked up I need medication to be eligible for therapy?” I laughed. The laughter was not returned. Shit got real. I promised to contact my PCP right away to discuss my options and gingerly paid for my session. When I got home, I laid on my couch and catatonically stared at the ceiling till sunrise. I don’t even remember blinking. For the first time in my life, I was the one with the diagnosis. This wasn’t about my friend’s depression, my ex-husbands sickle cell, my mom’s heart condition, or my son’s autism. It was me. For the first time I was the patient that I needed to take care of. I was used to being the calm, analytical, reassuring caretaker, who helped my loved ones research therapies, and medication options. But now, I was the one who was sick, and for the first time in a long time; I didn’t have the answers, and I was scared. Currently I’m still scared but I’m discussing med options with my physician. I’ve since had a few more sessions with my therapist and I’m getting more and more comfortable with the idea of both needing and accepting help, and my needing therapy and help not being an admission of my own inadequacy. I like my therapist a lot, and my friends and family are supportive. I accidentally sent her a dirty text message meant for some dude once but she laughed it off-she cool as hell. I still do my little challenges, in fact I signed up for some 28 Day fitness jumpstart just the other day. Like a lot of black women in their 30s I’m also starting to find myself entertained by things like numerology and astrology. Especially ironic coming from me of all people a consummate cynic, but I get the appeal. People like being told who they are, it’s less legwork. To think there’s a universe out there as invested in my self actualization as I am is an attractive ideal. I’m scheduling myself a tarot card reading as we speak. I’m even looking into life coaches, because shit, why the hell not? There’s a Sartre quote where he says: “As far as men go, it’s not who they are that interests me – but what they can become.” It speaks to the notion that the “self” is constant and ever changing and it’s something I think about when I fall into this possibly futile albeit earnest cycle of self improvement. Humans are tasked with the burdensome freedom of deciding who we are, and then embarking on the journey in becoming that actualized person. When I told my mom I had decided to start going to therapy, she cheered. She said it was long overdue, and exclaimed relief that I finally decided it was time. She had been in therapy over the past three years and found it helpful. My mom, like a lot of black women her age unfortunately, has experienced a lot of trauma, but she’s seeking help and scaling her own walls — and damn so am I. Maybe that’s enough. 30 day challenges, black women, cathy, comic strips, turning 30 Danielle Butler