My Toxin

Chapter 13: New Perspectives

The drive back to my university apartment offered ample time for reflection on my recent weekend in Birmingham. I couldn't help but smile as I thought about the laughter and energy that had filled those days. Ayo's infectious enthusiasm, Chanel's candid conversations, and our impromptu drunken dance-off were highlights that left me feeling buoyant. By the time I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building, I felt a lightness that had been absent for days.

As I unlocked the door to my flat, the familiar sight of my living space greeted me with its typical chaotic charm. Books and scattered notes lay strewn across the coffee table, a tangible reminder of the academic pressure that had been relegated to the background during my emotional upheavals. I dropped my bag by the door and inhaled deeply, bracing myself to return to the mundane reality of student life.

Before I could settle into my usual routine, my phone buzzed with an incoming email notification. It was from my father's private investigator. My curiosity piqued, I tapped the screen to open the report. Inside, I found detailed information about Kemi and Jordan. The revelations were a mix of grim satisfaction and disquiet.

The document revealed that Kemi had a criminal record for arson. She had set fire to her foster parents' house, citing racism and child abuse as her motives. The record showed a history of violence, all stemming from her troubled childhood and youthful indiscretions. As I read through the details, I felt a knot of unease. Kemi's past was undeniably troubling, but it was clear that she had endured a lot of hardship.

Jordan's record was less severe but still notable. He had faced detainment for organising a couple of peaceful protests that had inadvertently turned violent. Despite the tension, he had never been formally charged, so the incidents didn't appear on his official record. I felt a fleeting sense of grim satisfaction, though it was quickly overshadowed by the complexity of the situation.

Another buzz on my phone interrupted my thoughts. It was a message from Marjorie, time-stamped from the previous night:

00:25 Princess: Alex, where are you?

00:49 Princess: Alex what the hell? You just disappeared?

I sighed, realising I had missed her messages because I'd been too caught up in the party to check my phone. A pang of guilt flickered within me, but I remained resolute in my decision to take a step back.

I decided to continue distancing myself from Marjorie, not out of spite but to focus on my education and personal growth. Chanel's advice had struck a deep chord within me. I needed to become a better ally and partner, and that required serious self-education. I threw myself into reading about race relations, attending seminars, and engaging in meaningful conversations with classmates. I immersed myself in topics such as systemic racism, civil rights history, microaggressions, redlining, the school-to-prison pipeline, and disparities in the criminal justice system.

My commitment to personal development also led me to the gym more frequently. The physical exertion became a therapeutic outlet for my stress. Each session left me feeling more centred, with the added bonus of increased muscle mass and diminished anxiety. The gym became my sanctuary, a place where I could escape overthinking and simply focus on my physical well-being.

My friendship with Chanel grew stronger during this period. We spoke daily, and she opened up about her own struggles. She admitted to having met up with her ex for closure, which led to an unexpected and emotional rendezvous. I listened without judgment, offering comfort and distraction as she had done for me. I understood the complexities of love and personal struggle, recognising my own failings and unresolved feelings for Marjorie.

Despite keeping my distance from Marjorie, I couldn't help but keep an eye on her. Before she moved into her new apartment, I had installed cameras in her living room and bedroom under the guise of ensuring her safety. Though I hadn't needed to use them until now, the thought of not being around her made me anxious. What if something happened to her? What if she suffered another panic attack? My intentions felt protective, but a persistent guilt tugged at me whenever I accessed the live feed.

One evening, as I was immersed in reviewing lecture notes, my phone buzzed with a notification from the camera app. My finger hovered hesitantly over the screen before I tapped it open. The feed showed Marjorie lounging in her living room, engrossed in a book. She wore a pink pyjama set that contrasted sharply with the sadness in her eyes. She looked peaceful, yet there was a melancholy aura about her. I ached to comfort her, but I knew I had to respect her space.

Closing the app, I returned to my notes, though my focus was fractured. The weight of the knowledge I had about Kemi felt burdensome. I wanted to protect Marjorie, but I also needed to respect her boundaries. Would she even care about Kemi's past? Revealing this information would inevitably expose how I had obtained it—something I wasn't ready to confront.

Before I realised it, a week had slipped by. It had been an incredibly busy time, but I felt proud of the progress I had made. In the gym, in my studies, and in my understanding of racial inequalities, I felt a sense of accomplishment. While I knew I could never fully understand the black experience, the knowledge I had gathered motivated me to keep learning and growing.

Despite my efforts, a gnawing sense of urgency tugged at me. I wondered what I, as a privileged white man, could do to level the playing field. After university, I was set to inherit my father's company, eliminating the need to compete in the job market. I sympathised with Ayo and Chanel, who would have to navigate a competitive labour market, and recognised that Marjorie, too, would have opportunities due to her family's wealth. Her mother was a partner at a law firm, and her father was a successful businessman with an extensive network.

It had been a long week, and my yearning for Marjorie was unbearable. Watching her through the cameras was no longer sufficient. During the week, I had secretly followed her around campus, observing her interactions with Kemi and others. I knew I was being invasive, but my desperation overpowered my sense of propriety.

To cope with my withdrawal from Marjorie, I increased my gym time, but it offered only temporary relief. I was on the brink of losing my resolve and pleading for her attention, my sense of commitment faltering. It seemed I was failing to "stand on business" as well.

On Saturday evening, with my personal trainer having banned me from the gym until our next session, I opted for a home workout. I followed a heavy weight routine, and the physical exertion provided a momentary escape. My mind was blank and at peace, if only for a while.

Halfway through my workout, there was a knock at the door, followed by the unmistakable sound of the electric key. The door swung open, revealing an angry-looking Marjorie standing in the entrance.