Beyoncé
I've been physically unable to speak to Megan at all.
I know she called my mother addressing some concerns, and I know my mother has seen the news.
Runaway inmate and stalker from Houston, Texas murdered by businessowner in Atlanta
It's been trending everywhere.
When my mother first got to my penthouse, she came into my room, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me into my living room onto my sofa.
The woman sits in front of me. I can't really read her expression much. But I know she's pissed and disappointed. I don't feel like speaking to anyone. I'm a fucking murderer. I deserve to be fucked up and more.
I'm not proud of anything I've done, but I definitely know it was an attempt to keep my family safe.
"Beyoncé..." is all she says.
I don't know where Megan is and I'm honestly afraid if she is near.
She leans forward and buries her face in her hands. Honestly, it scares me what she's gonna say. Black mama's are brutally honest.
"Beyoncé, Beyoncé, Beyoncé..." she shakes her head then stops and looks up to me. "Tell me EXACTLY what happened that night."
I just spit it out, "Um... I couldn't sleep, Shawn showed up to the house with I'm guessing a relative and I killed them. They wouldn't leave and I killed them."
She lets out a deep sigh.
"Look Beyoncé, I'm not mad. You're a protector. Look at how you were looking after your sister and I. He was just at the wrong place at the right time. Didn't you tell me the other guy was stalking Megan anyways? The protectiveness came in. I understand. But Megan called me because you haven't really spoken. Are you okay after that?"
"No, mama."
I feel the tears threatening to well up. It shocks me how the woman is still backing me up after all of this shit I've gotten into.
Megan too. I don't feel any better than Shawn. I'd be damned to do her the same way. I want the little good in me to amplify and treat her as best I can while she's by my side.
"Talk to me."
I take a deep breath and let it out, "I've been feeling like I don't need to be alive. Not necessarily suicidal, but like I just don't deserve to be alive."
Eventually, the tears spill down my cheeks and I let out sobs like a little girl.
After a few seconds I feel my mother hug me right like a little girl.
"Beyonce, I wanna say I'm sorry for not doing my best to protect you when you were little. I'm sorry. But imma do better and help you as much I can. Imma be here for you, baby."
The tears rush down.
I struggle to muster up a "Thank you".
Eventually I fall asleep close to my mother like a little girl. It kind of calmed me to feel her arms around me, but it didn't necessarily absolve my feelings and emotions.
I just need a comfortable set of arms to keep me safe from myself.
