𝗕𝗮𝗱 𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗼𝗻

𝖳𝖶𝖮

𝗲𝘅𝗰𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿𝘀.

𝗘𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 '𝗘𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗲' 𝗖𝘂𝗯𝗮𝗻
𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗢𝗿𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘀, 𝗟𝗔

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft streaks across the bedroom floor.

I woke up before Bleu, lying still beside him, staring at the ceiling and feeling the weight of everything.

It was always the same—this feeling of being stuck, caught in an endless loop of hurt, apologies, and empty promises.

I sighed quietly, careful not to wake him.

He always felt bad the next day. He always apologized. And today, I knew it would come with money, gifts, and the call to my best friends.

His way of making it right, even if it never really was.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him, and made my way to the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror looked just as tired as I felt.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to smooth the curls that had gotten tangled overnight. It was always the same routine after nights like these.

Bleu would apologize, shower me with things that didn't matter, and I would pretend, just for a little while, that everything was okay.

Once I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I stepped back into the bedroom.

Bleu was awake now, sitting up in bed, his face drawn with the familiar look of regret.

"Essie," he started, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "About last night..."

I didn't say anything at first, just stared at him as he sat there, waiting for the words I already knew were coming.

I could see the guilt in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped as if the weight of what he'd done finally settled on him.

"I messed up," he continued, rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't know why I act like that. I swear, I'm trying to do better."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The apologies felt hollow now, like a script we both knew too well.

He stood up and walked over to me, pulling me into his arms. "I love you, Essie. You know that, right? I'm gonna fix this. I'll make it right."

I stayed still in his embrace, not returning the gesture. "How?" I whispered, my voice small, tired. "How are you going to fix it, Bleu? This keeps happening. You keep hurting me."

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on my arms. "I know, I know," he said quickly, his voice pleading.

"But I'll show you. I'll make it better." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stack of cash. "Here, take this.

Do something nice for yourself today. I'll call Sage and Jude.

They'll come by and spend time with you. You deserve a good day."

I frowned, the money feeling heavy in his hands as he pressed it toward me.

This was his routine. He would throw money at me, trying to patch up the cracks he had created, thinking it would make everything better.