Collection of story ideas I may or may not make into a full book.
This book contains sexual content and explicit language. Reader discretion is advised.
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Beyonce Knowles
The drive home was tense as hell. We didn't say a word, but the silence was thick, like we were both just waiting for the other to snap.
My hands gripped the steering wheel tight, while Nicki sat next to me, arms crossed, clearly pissed.
As soon as we parked in the driveway, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "What the hell was that, Nicki?" I snapped. "You were all over my coworkers-laughing, flirting-it was fucking embarrassing."
Nicki shot me a look. "I was just being friendly, Beyoncé. Isn't that what you wanted? To make a good impression?"
"Friendly?" I fired back. "You were practically throwing yourself at them! I could barely get a word in!"
Nicki's frustration was all over her face. "So now I'm not allowed to talk to people? Damn it, Beyoncé, it feels like you're always mad at me. I can't do anything right!"
"I'm not always mad," I said, my voice rising. "But you were more focused on them than on me. It's like I wasn't even there."
We got out of the car, slamming the doors, and the argument spilled into the house.
"You're blowing this out of proportion!" Nicki yelled. "I can't believe you're this insecure! You're Beyoncé, CEO of a million dollar company, and you're jealous over some small talk?"
"It's not just small talk, Nicki!" I shouted back, my voice echoing through the room.
"It's the way you always find a way to be the fucking center of attention, no matter what the situation is. It's like you can't stand not being in the spotlight, even when it's supposed to be about me!"
Nicki's shoulders slumped, and for a moment, I saw the defeat in her eyes. She shook her head, letting out a bitter laugh. "You know what, Beyoncé? I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of always feeling like I'm walking on eggshells around you, like I can't do anything right. You're always fucking angry, always looking for something to be pissed about."
I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off, her voice lower now, almost weary.
"I'm done, B. I can't fucking do this anymore."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and final. I felt my stomach drop, the fight draining out of me. "Nicki, what the hell are you saying?"
She looked at me, her expression a mix of sadness and resignation.
"I want a divorce,"
"What?" I asked, I couldn't believe what she was saying.
Nicki sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I'll start packing tomorrow," she said, her voice flat. "We can figure out the details later."
And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the middle of the living room, alone with the silence and the weight of everything that had just been fucking shattered between us.
Omniscient
A week later, Beyoncé found herself at a dimly lit bar, practically drowning in drinks. The place was low-key, with the lights turned down and the smell of whiskey hanging in the air.
She was hunched over the bar, feeling the alcohol through her, but no matter how many shots she downed, it wasn't doing much to numb the pain.
She waved at the bartender, her hand a bit unsteady. "Another round," she muttered, her words slurred from all the booze.
The bartender gave her a quick look but didn't say anything as he poured her another shot.
In the background, some lady was singing "I'm Goin' Down" by Mary J. Blige, her voice full of soul and heartbreak. The lyrics filled the room, hitting Beyoncé right where it hurt.
She picked up the shot glass, her body swaying a little, and tossed it back, feeling the burn mix with the ache in her chest.
But instead of dulling the pain, the alcohol seemed to make everything hit harder. The fight with Nicki, the harsh words, the way she'd pushed her away-all of it came rushing back, clearer now than ever.
"I'm goin' down, 'cause you ain't around, baby..."
Those words cut deep, and before she knew it, tears started streaming down her face. She tried to brush them away, but they kept coming.
It hit her like a ton of bricks-she'd seriously messed up. Her marriage, the one thing she thought was solid, was falling apart, and she knew it was her fault.
Drunk and sitting alone in that bar, the regret was overwhelming. The lady kept singing, and all Beyoncé could do was sit there, tears pouring down her face, realizing she might have lost the one person she truly loved.
She wished she could go back and fix it all, but deep down, she knew it might be too late.
Onika Maraj-Knowles
It was late, way past closing time, when the bartender called me, saying Beyoncé was still at the bar, drunk and passed out.
Even though I was still pissed at her, I couldn't just leave her there, so I headed over.
When I walked in, there she was, slumped over the counter with an empty shot glass in her hand. The bartender gave me a sympathetic look, but I barely acknowledged it.
I was too focused on the mess in front of me. "Beyoncé," I said, shaking her shoulder gently. "Come on, babe, it's time to go home."
She lifted her head slowly, her eyes bleary and red. "Nicki?" she slurred, blinking at me like she couldn't quite believe I was there.
"What're you doin' here?"
"The bartender called me," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "Let's get you home."
But instead of moving, she started mumbling, tears filling her eyes. "I'm sorry," she kept saying, her voice cracking. "I fucked up... I miss you, Nicki..."
Hearing her like that, so broken, hit me harder than I expected. I was still mad, but seeing her like this made it hard to hold onto that anger. I pulled her into a hug, trying to calm her down.
"It's okay," I whispered, even though I wasn't sure it really was. "Let's just get you home."
I helped her to her feet, and we made it to the car. She was leaning on me heavily, barely able to walk on her own. The drive back was quiet, and when we got home.
I helped her into bed, and just as I was about to leave, she grabbed my hand.
"Please don't leave," she begged, her voice desperate and shaky.
I hesitated, standing there for a moment, torn between the anger that was still simmering inside me and the love I still felt for her.
Part of me wanted to walk away, to let her deal with the mess she'd made, but the look in her eyes-so full of fear and regret-made it impossible.
"Please, Nicki," she whispered again, tears starting to fall. "Don't leave me."
