Drive You Mad (Megan + Normani)

Drive You Mad

A sudden loud thud disturbs the stark silence of the 15th floor penthouse suite accompanied by a sharp gasp, two sets of brown eyes in a competitive staring match surrounded by tension that crescendoed between them with every passing second.

"Did we or did we not agree to stop doing shit like this, Normani?"

Standing around five-foot-four, body clad in nothing but an untied black & gold Versace robe, Normani has to lean her head back against the wall in order to meet the other woman's eyes, her own full of defiance, but mostly stomach clenching desire.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea to entice Megan to come over, but finally seeing her now after almost two years—and not just through pictures, videos and livestreams on Instagram—has Normani practically yearning for way more than just the hand that's currently wrapped around her throat.

Normani opens her mouth to speak but all that escapes is a croak when Megan slightly tightens her hold, her five-foot-ten stature seeming to scream dominance as she leans herself over Normani's shorter frame. She's dressed in business casual attire, a few buttons of her top undone and her hair a bit tousled in thanks to her momentarily losing herself in Normani's advances.

Eventually, Megan alleviates some of the pressure on the other woman's neck, heavily resisting the sudden urge to just give Normani what she wants.

What they both want.

"I can't, I shouldn't," Megan's voice wavers with emotion as she speaks, attempting to ground herself as if she's in physical pain, her eyes momentarily closing as she inhales then exhales heavily to control herself. When she opens her eyes again, the anguish is even more clear in her eyes, the need to close the distance between their mouths so heavy that she has to look away from Normani's face as she releases her hold on her.

Normani feels the frustration building up inside her as she quickly ties the robe back around herself, ignoring the tears that burn at the back of her eyes. Megan's gaze meets her own when she looks back up, and Normani's jaw clenches, her festering emotions begging to be released, but the only words that come out as she shoves Megan several steps away from her are:

"Fuck you."

"Listen, I just wanna talk—"

"I don't give two shits about your husband, if that's the topic you're about to bring up."

"Ex-husband." Megan replies with a huff as she deftly buttons up her shirt, "We've been separated for months. Now will you let me fucking speak?"

"You still have the ring on, I saw you hiding it before I let you in." Normani deadpans, tilting her head to the side as she blinks. "Now make that make sense to me."

"The divorce isn't finalized yet. Don't be quick to judge on something you don't understand." Megan's voice hardens, almost completely emotionless.

"Why are you here, Megan?" Normani questions with exasperation, her breathing stuttering due to the tears she's held in this entire time threatening to spill from her eyes as she vaguely gestures around her apartment. The walls she built between her and the dark haired woman across from her were crumbling quickly, no matter how much Normani wanted to keep it together. "We've managed not to speak all this time, so why now, if you don't want me?"

"That's not wha—I...Normani," Megan's entire demeanor changes the second she hears Normani sob, her arms dropping and eyes widening in alarm. Habitually, she moves forward, and Normani internally curses herself for allowing Megan to caress her, for allowing herself to lean into her touch, for her hitched breathing as Megan tenderly wipes her tear stained cheeks, palms soft and warm against Normani's neck, thumbs tilting up her chin.