Sweet Nothing | Aaliyah x J. Cole

1

Aaliyah as Liyah | Capricorn

J. Cole as Jay | Cancer

—

Liyah rolls over in the bed and sees someone new. It isn't the Jay she's known and has fallen in love with. There's something different about him. Something she can see now that she hadn't  seen last night. She keeps her eyes on him as he lay shirtless on his back, his chest going up and down with each breath.

She wants to reach over and trace the firmness of one of his pecks, like she normally does when waking up next to him. But her hands stays to her side and she silently watches while sorting through her murky thoughts.

When he stirs awake, he opens an eye to peek at her, then snickers because she always does the staring thing. His chest feels cold where her hand should  be. He grabs her wrist and gently pulls it onto him.

Liyah's breath gets caught in her throat as her heartbeat picks up. For a moment she indulges him, caressing his chest as he closes his eyes again. Then she pulls her arm back and sits up, lifting the comforter to cover her breasts.

He turns his head to her and opens his eyes again.

"Hey," she looks down, unable to bare his hot gaze.

"Good morning," Jay's baritone moans.

She bites her lips and regrets the words before they even leave her mouth. "I, uh, need to get some work done."

He hears her loud and clear. It's time for you to leave. He wonders if she means leave her house or her life. She's never put him out this early.

But he sits up beside her, and watches her for a moment. She doesn't look up at him again, making him suck in a deep, heavy breath.

"Okay. Is everything alright?" His shoulders rise almost to his ears, his long locs draping over them like curtains.

Liyah nods, twirling her thumbs. "I just have a lot to do." She puts both hands on her bonnet, unable to get the thought out of her head that all of this has been a mistake. Every single moment of the last year spent with him.

The late nights. The unanswered texts. The breadcrumbs and condom wrappers and insecurities about other women. Today, it stops.

For a moment, Jay leans back on the headboard and stares ahead, letting the words rinse him clean. He said that exact phrase before to get rid of plenty of overnight booty-calls overstaying their welcome. Never have they been said to him though.

Then he says okay again with a shrug, and jumps out of bed. He finds his boxers on the floor and steps into them. While he dresses, Liyah gets out of bed, too, and covers herself in her orange silk robe. She slides into her fluffy house slippers, grabs her phone to check her texts— all  from clients— then follows Jay to the door as his keys jingle.

She tries to gage by his body language whether he's upset or not. But Jay is cool, like the EcoStyler gel she uses on her hair. He's hard to read. Mad, sad or glad, his face usually stays the same. As does his voice. He never raises it. It's one of the things she loves about him.

Or used to. Now the controlled maturity looks more like nonchalance that guarantees she will never get more out of him than a lay.

When he opens the front door to her condo, he turns towards her, putting both his arms up over the door frame. He stretches over her like a canopy, leaning forward like he might... hug her.

Jay thinks about doing it for a moment. Then he thinks again.

He licks his lips. "Imma see you this weekend, right?"

She folds her arms over the robe that hardly manages to provide coverage, and cocks her head to the side.

"I don't know, Jay. Will you?"

It sings more combative than she'd intended, making her put her hand over her face and look at her slippers.

He says, "What that mean?"

She says, "I don't know. We'll see."

He smacks his lips. This is the part where she's supposed to hug him and beg him to stay for a little while longer. She would put her hands under his shirt to feel his warm skin, and seduce him back into bed for more.

But this time, she doesn't. His chest starts to feel heavy, and a guilt so overwhelming begins to swallow him that he thinks to leave before it starts to show— before any weakness starts to show.

So he leaves without another word, and checks his phone while going down the corridor towards the elevator.

Liyah closes the door behind him, locking every lock before turning on her feet to the kitchen for a glass of filtered water. That was... easier than she'd thought.

A few months ago she couldn't have imagined setting boundaries with him, withholding her affection, being true to her own heart. She doesn't know if it's the fact that one of his hoes came to her salon to ask about him recently, or the fact that it's been a year and they still haven't progressed passed no-strings sex. But something has finally given, and she's glad.

She returns to her bedroom, heading for the en suite where she turns on the shower. Before getting in, she disrobes and looks at her reflection. Most mornings after he left, she'd be glowing. Now she just looks drained, tired, with darker eyes and puffy cheeks. Her appearance makes her heart break as she studies herself, wondering if anyone else has noticed how much this love has been depleting her.

"I can't keep doing this," she says to herself as the mirror begins to fog with steam.