"I know if I'm haunting you, you must be haunting me."
BEYNIKA ONESHOTS: chapters, scenarios, scenes, and an imagination running wild.
⚠️ DISCLAIMER:
Those were mine to write, yours to read and share.
Some might turn into future books. If you'd...
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Onika.
It's Friday night, and the club is packed— neon lights flickering in sync with the bass thumping through the walls. I'm posted up by the bar, drink in hand as I swirl it around, while watching her. Beyoncé. She's dancing with her lil play thing... fine, I mean... she's dancing with her girlfriend, the one I can't even remember the name of. Because no matter what her name is, mine is the one she moans every night behind her back when she drops her off. She didn't matter. Not to me, and sure as hell not to Beyoncé either. Not when she looks at me like that.
Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp and teasing, a silent challenge hanging between us. Her lips, a dark shade of red, laugh at something that little bitch told her, but it's the most insincere laugh I've ever seen. Her dimples ain't popping up when she laughed, and yes, it was that easy for me to decipher.
I lean against the bar, as I take a sip of my drink, the burn of vodka and lime hitting my throat as my eyes rake over her perfect figure. She wore a fitting denim outfit, and half her necklace was spilling out, but what made me lick my lips as I smirked was her body language. She was bored.
And when Beyoncé is bored, she looks for me.
I ain't stupid, nor dumb. I know this game way too well, we've been playing it for months now. It's toxic, it's messy, but good god if this shit ain't too good. Everything is mind blowing, from the sex, to the dates she ditches her girl on to take me out instead, and fuck me on them instead, to the texts she answers late at night, to the sexting and video calls we have where my name is the only one reaching God's skies. I'm the one who should be there with her, she loves me. She's just too much of a pussy to admit it.
Or maybe she just likes the drama.
I probably should leave, walk outa here without a second thought. But, when I glance down at my phone, and swipe through our messages, I remember exactly why I'm here. The last one from her says, "Don't come tonight." I laugh under my breath because she really thought she could tell me what to do, and where to come and not go to. So cute of her to think that she calls the shots, when I'm the one who lets her do so and think that she's got the upper hand.
I hummed to the beat of a remixed version of "break up with your girlfriend, I'm bored", and smirked at the irony of the situation. That was exactly what I was going to make Beyoncé do, and I could tell by the way she slowly lifted her gaze up to lock it with mine, that she knew, and that we were on the same wavelength. She's bored with her, and I grew bored of watching them. And whenever I grow bored, Beyoncé becomes so much more tempting to me.
"Girl, you're staring too hard." Lauren, the bartender and my bestfriend, said as she slid another drink my way. I smirked and downed it in one go.
"Not anymore, I'm not. I'm going!" I told her as I pushed off the bar, sauntering across the dance floor like I own the damn place. People part for me, the crowd a blur as I get closer, closer, until I'm standing right behind her.
