My Toxin

Chapter 16

I woke surrounded by warmth and smiled down at the goddess in my arms. Her steady breathing, the warmth of her body against mine, brought me a rare sense of peace. Neither of us spoke, and we didn't need to. This was one of those moments where silence said more than words ever could. But even as we basked in the quiet, I could feel a shift in her energy—like she was bracing herself for something.

Friday had arrived, the day Marjorie had been dreading. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Okeke, along with her twin brothers, Tyrese and Tyrell, were due to arrive for the university's debate club celebration ceremony. I knew how much this meant to her, and I also knew how her parents could be. Their visits always came with a barrage of critiques, and I could already sense the weight of their expectations pressing down on her.

Later that morning, the Okeke family and my parents, the Cavendishes, arrived on campus. The Oke kes made an immediate impression, their presence sharp and commanding. Mr. Okeke carried himself with the gravity of a man who demanded excellence, while Mrs. Okeke's piercing gaze seemed to find fault in every corner of Marjorie's apartment. Tyrese and Tyrell, meanwhile, bounded in with their usual high-energy antics, buzzing around me like excited puppies vying for attention.

As we all settled in, it didn't take long for the familiar critiques to begin.

"Marjorie, this award is good, but you need to aim higher," Mr. Okeke said sternly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He sat rigidly on the sofa, his suit perfectly pressed, radiating an air of authority. "Winning a debate championship is just a stepping stone. As a Black woman, you need to work twice as hard to get respected."

Mrs. Okeke chimed in, her voice cool and sharp as she inspected a spotless shelf with an expression of mild disdain. "Have you considered your future properly? I know all you young people think university is about having fun. It's not. It's about making important connections."

Marjorie, dressed in a simple yet elegant sundress that she'd paired with her natural hair styled into a beautiful afro, took a deep breath. I knew she loved wearing her hair like this, but I also knew she did it as a subtle form of rebellion. Her mother hated seeing her hair out like this—she called it "unkempt," especially for important occasions. But Marjorie wore it like a crown, a silent statement of defiance.

She smiled at her parents, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress. I hated seeing her like this, struggling to hold it together under the weight of their constant disapproval. It wasn't fair.

By the time the evening ceremony rolled around, the atmosphere was lighter, though I could tell Marjorie was still carrying the sting of her parents' earlier remarks. The hall was buzzing with excitement, filled with proud parents, students, and faculty. I stood by Marjorie's side as we received our accolades, holding her hand and squeezing it gently for reassurance. She was stunning in her blue gown, a graceful dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Her natural hair framed her face like a halo, and I couldn't take my eyes off her.

When the ceremony ended, Marjorie excused herself and returned to her apartment. I could tell she needed space, especially after enduring more comparisons from her parents during the event. Alone in her room, she must've felt the pressure of the evening come crashing down because when I glanced at the live feed from her apartment, my heart stopped.

She was sitting on her bed, clutching her chest, her breathing rapid and shallow. Her panic attack hit me like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, I grabbed my spare key and sprinted to her apartment.

"Marjorie, breathe with me, baby," I said as I reached her, lifting her into my lap and holding her close. Her body trembled against mine, and I could feel her gasping for air. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. You're okay. I'm here."

Gradually, her breathing steadied, and the tension in her body began to ease. She looked up at me, her tear-streaked face breaking my heart into a thousand pieces. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I just feel so stupid. I still hold out hope that if I work hard enough, maybe, they'll be proud of me."

I brushed her tears away, my voice firm but gentle. "Don't apologize, Marjorie. You're perfect, and I'm proud of you."

She didn't say anything after that, just buried her face in my chest and cried until she fell asleep. I held her for hours, watching her peaceful face as she slept. My mind raced with thoughts of how to shield her from her family's relentless criticism. How could I protect her from something so ingrained in her life?

The next evening, we joined our families for dinner at an upscale restaurant my parents had reserved. Tyrese and Tyrell kept trying to sit next to me, their matching suits and playful antics lightening the mood. But my attention was fixed on Marjorie. She walked in wearing a black silk dress that hugged her body like a second skin. The low front rippled elegantly, but it was the open back that drove me insane. Her curves demanded attention, and I had to fight to keep my composure.

During dinner, Mr. Okeke cleared his throat, fixing his stern gaze on Marjorie. "A video of you has come to my attention," he began, his voice heavy with disapproval. "Your open mic performance. This sort of behavior is unacceptable and can tarnish your reputation."

Marjorie's cheeks flushed, and I could see the fire ignite in her eyes. She reached for her glass of white wine and downed the rest in one swift motion, clearly gathering the courage to speak. Before she could, I stepped in.

"With all due respect, Mr. Okeke," I said, my voice steady and firm, "Marjorie worked hard on that performance, and it was a powerful expression of her thoughts and feelings. Artistic self-expression is crucial in understanding and addressing social issues."

His eyes narrowed, his tone icy. "And what do you know about these social issues, young man?"

I met his gaze without flinching. "I've been educating myself. Marjorie's performance was a brave step in contributing to change."

His expression hardened, but I didn't back down. "Marjorie's future should be defined by her courage to speak out and her dedication to making a difference, not by outdated notions of reputation."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marjorie's lips part slightly, her gaze softening as she looked at me. Her pride was palpable, and I could feel her gratitude without her saying a word.

After dinner, as we walked back to my apartment, she held my hand tightly. "Thank you, Alex," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "That meant a lot to me."

I smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I meant every word."

Once inside, she turned to me with a sly smile. "You know what?" she teased, her voice light and playful. "You deserve a reward."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh, really? What kind of reward?"

She leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear. "You'll see," she whispered, taking my hand and leading me to the bedroom, her smile full of mischief.