𝙼𝚒𝚕𝚔 & 𝙷𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢 | (Austin!Elvis x Black!OC)

Ch. 10

Summary: In which Honey makes her decision

Warning: NSFW 18+, fingering, oral (f. receiving), racial issues, physical abuse, violence, brief mentions of a panic/anxiety attack

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"So, you're coming with?"

I pause, throat tightening with reluctance to answer. "I'm still thinking."

I don't speak for the rest of the car ride, not a word said between us. Am I going? I don't have much time left to think about it.

Michael stops the car, putting it into park across the street from the club. He leans back into his seat with a sigh, a sudden grim look on his face. "Honey, what's going on between you and I?"

My heart stops. Shit. "What do you mean?"

He throws his head back against the leather cushion. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am. I know you don't wanna be with me. My band told me what happened the other night. I tried acting like everything was fine, cause I didn't wanna believe my own best friend would do all that behind my back, but after seein' you tonight, I know they were tellin' the truth."

Oh my god. How much did he actually see?

I can't think of any valid excuse, my mouth going dry and my heart breaking at his saddened face. "Michael, I'm so sorry. Everything became so complicated and I never meant to hurt you in the process. You don't deserve to go through all this."

He bites his cheek, shaking his head in disappointment. "I trusted you, Honey. I thought you were better than this."

I reach my hand out for his. "I swear I never meant for things to get so out of hand. I just wanted to have everything figured out, but I didn't know what I wanted and I kept telling myself to want you, but- I just- I never really saw you as my type, I guess." I cringe immediately as the words leave my mouth. Way to be brutally honest, Honey.

Now his whole facial expression changes. He sits up, glaring over to me sternly with a new found anger flaring up in his eyes. "Oh? And just what is your type, huh? White boys?"

My brows furrow together, taken aback by his response. His words are overstepping multiple line no matter how long I've known him and I definitely don't like his tone either. "And what does it matter to you?" I ask, voice dripping in irritation.

He scoffs loudly. "What's it matter to me?! You think I ain't noticed how you colored girls act around Elvis? He ain't even half the man I am, but y'all don't give a damn. He gets on stage, sings out songs, does our dances, and y'all cream in your seats." I gasp, disgusted at his sudden vulgarness, but he only continues. "It matters that these string bean white boys are taking away our finest women like they own them."

I sneer at his last comment. "You don't own us either!" I step out of his car in a fit of rage. "And what us 'colored women' find pleasure in is not my fault and clearly nothing you're able to provide for us!" I slam the door to put all the more attitude into my last statement, then stomp my way down the sidewalk. I can't even stand to look at him anymore.

"God dammit," he mumbles from behind me, jumping out of the car as well. "Somethin' gotta be wrong when your own kind starts defending whites like that. I knew you weren't enough of a sister!"

I stop dead in my tracks. There it is. He's using my biggest insecurity against me and he knows it. He knows it! That sentence alone is enough to trigger my fight mentality instantly.

I spin around, marching right up to him. "You are the last person I need permission to be black from. You think the color of my daddy makes me any less black to these cops out here? Hmm? They don't care how dark, as long as it's darker than them, so quit actin' like I don't understand real struggle. I have my own set of problems that you could never comprehend, because at the end of the day, under all that black skin, you're still a man. And I defend him because I love him!"