𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐖

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄

KHALIL GRIFFIN'S POV

¡WARNING: HOMOPHOBIA, MURDER, & ABUSIVE CONTENT!

All my energy has been spent up and I really don't like that. Although it's grieving which I'm allowed to do, I just hate it. Tayla wouldn't want that at all and I know my sister. She probably would've wanted me to raise a glass up instead and then take that shit in stride.

So all of it stops today because I won't let her see me down for the rest of my life. I've already been lower than the soil for most of the time she's seen me when she was alive.

Getting out of bed today, I immediately shot a text over to Marquez telling him to pick a place for us to eat at tonight. We're gonna get everything straight between us once and for all. If we can't be in a relationship again then I'm willing to make a friendship out of what we can salvage. And if there's nothing left then we go our separate ways with a good luck.

My anxiety isn't gonna go away but I'm damn sure gonna feel more relieved with that weight off my shoulders.

I cleaned my disgusting house because whatever your environment looks like can essentially reflect you. Making sure my house was nice and clean made me feel a lot better already. Like I could breathe―who knew doing laundry and just wiping down everything could do all that.

I grabbed my keys after making sure everything was orderly to get groceries from the store. Once I came back, I put everything away and then began to just think. I thought about my future, how I'm gonna proceed from now on, and how small things will no longer get to me.

I'm a young, grown man with trauma that makes him break down in corners. I need to learn to let that shit out. So as I checked the time and rushed to make a phone call, I just hoped they wouldn't be closed just yet for the day.

I scheduled an intake session with a therapist I'd already been recommended to far too many times. The fear of having someone tell me I have ten thousand problems although I already know that set in however I just focused on ignoring that with finding an outfit for tonight.

Looking good for myself and looking good for Marquez are two different things. I don't know whether I want to do both, go with loving me, or show out so Marquez can see what he's neglected and missed out on for these past couple of years.

Then the decision came out to all in the form of a cargo pants that accentuated what soft curves I did have along with a top that I made myself in record time of an hour, stitching together multiple shirts I couldn't choose between. I went with forces since that was the simplest and could never do me wrong. Or more so I didn't think on what I was gonna wear when I stitched multiple shirts together but fuck it.

I painted the tips of my nails with white and beige swirls because that was the trend of now. I needed to be in the now since being stuck in the past is always my reality.

Then apparently smelling extra good and cleaning well seemed to be the next thing on my mind. The hell I needed to do more for, I knew the answer was flying right in my face but I'm gonna pretend it flew straight over my head.

A nigga shaved too, you know how much time that takes? I cleaned areas that don't usually get cleaned as frequently unless you tryna' creep up on the dumptrunk―y'know? And for what exactly, a nigga I'm not tryna go there with? Or I'm convincing myself I won't go there with him because I'll feel ashamed and then it's back to old Khalil.