Lust's All Fire, Straight Physical, But It Don't Last. Love? That's Deeper—It's 'Bout Loyalty & Ridin' For Each Other. The Real Drama Hits When One's In It For Love & The Other's Just Chasin' That Thrill. That's When Things Get Real Messy, Fast.
- 𝒥uan Collins
ILLMATIC II.
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𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 II| VOLUME TWO. ❝ YOU IN OR NOT? ❞ [ HARLEM, NY ]
As Cain stepped through the threshold of Yolanda's house, he felt a weight settle in his chest that he hadn't anticipated. The quiet of the house, the warmth of the fading daylight streaming through the windows, all seemed too peaceful—too serene—for the dark truth of who he was and what he'd done. He kept his head low, his eyes fixed on the floor as he walked further inside, acutely aware of every step he took. His gaze flickered upward only briefly, and the first thing he saw were the family photos lining the walls. Happy faces, frozen in time, gazing back at him. His heart clenched as his eyes landed on a photo of Leon—Yolanda's brother. He looked younger in the picture, carefree, standing beside Yolanda with his arm draped over her shoulders, the love between them obvious even in a still image. Cain swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, but the guilt was crushing. It felt like he was defiling their home just by being there, by breathing the same air.
He knew it was a terrible idea to accept her invitation, to step foot in the home of the boy he had killed. But the look in Yolanda's eyes—the loneliness, the quiet plea for companionship—had stirred something deep inside him, something that had been festering since that night. He had never been the type to feel vulnerable, to let emotions creep in. But after killing Leon, a kid who should've had his whole life ahead of him, Cain hadn't been the same. He didn't sleep much anymore. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Leon's face, saw the moment when everything went wrong. It haunted him, gnawing at his conscience. As they walked into the living room, Cain forced himself to keep his head down, not wanting to look at any more photos, not wanting to see the faces of the family he had destroyed. He could feel Yolanda's presence beside him, could hear the rustle of the flowers in her hands as they moved. He hated himself for the thought, but even in her grief, even in her brokenness, she was beautiful to him. But that only made him feel worse. She deserved so much better.
"Here, sit," Yolanda said softly, gesturing to the couch. Cain hesitated, feeling like an intruder, but eventually lowered himself onto the worn leather, careful not to get too comfortable. He had no right to be here. She sat beside him, close but not too close, cradling the bouquet of flowers he had brought as if they were some fragile relic of her past. Her fingers traced the petals absentmindedly, her eyes distant, as though she wasn't fully in the room with him. They sat in silence for a moment, the air between them thick with unsaid words. Cain could feel his palms beginning to sweat, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't know what to say. He wasn't good with words, especially not in situations like this, where every syllable felt like it could unravel everything. But he had to say something.
