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It's been a few weeks since the kiss. I was drunk as hell when I pulled up to her house that night. No plan, no excuses. Just a mess looking for comfort. Dumb as hell, but here I am again.
Her bed feels too soft, like it's trying to lull me into forgetting all the reasons I shouldn't be here. We've been tangled up in this fake-ass peace for days, like none of the mess we made even matters. Like we're not a car crash waiting to happen.
I glance at her, lying next to me, her back rising and falling steady with her breath. She looks calm—too calm. She always does. Meanwhile, my head is spinning, thoughts loud as hell.
I don't even know why I came here. I left my dad's house a couple of nights ago after one of his little holier-than-thou speeches. Said I was "going down the wrong path." Told me I needed to "repent and find God." Like I wasn't sitting in church every damn Sunday hearing the same tired sermon.
So, I left. Packed a bag, climbed out my window, and didn't look back.
Now I'm here, stuck in this bed, in this house, with Amare.
I shift, trying not to disturb her, but when I glance over again, her eyes are open. She's watching me, propped up on her elbow, lips pressed into a smirk.
"Can't sleep?" she asks, her voice low and teasing.
I shake my head, staring at the ceiling. "Nah, just thinking."
"Thinking 'bout me?" Her tone is playful, but her gaze lingers, heavy like she's daring me to say yes.
"No," I lie.
She lets out a soft laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Liar."
She rolls over, leaning closer, her face inches from mine. The air shifts, thick and tense. I don't move. Don't breathe.
"Why you so quiet, Lani?" she presses.
"Why you care?" I snap back, the words harsher than I mean them to be.
Her smirk fades, replaced by something colder. "Because you're in my bed. If you got a problem, say it. Otherwise, get the fuck out."
The words hit harder than they should. She's always been blunt, but damn.
"I'm good," I say, sitting up. My voice sounds fake even to me.
"Doesn't look like it," she shoots back, her eyes narrowing.
I grab my hoodie off the chair, pulling it over my head. "I said I'm good."
"Nalani," she says, her tone softer now. She reaches for me, her fingers brushing my arm. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I mutter, yanking away. "Leave it alone."
She sits up fully, crossing her arms. "Nah, I'm not leaving it alone. You've been acting off all night. What's going on?"
"Why do you care, Amare?" I snap, turning to face her. "You only care when it's convenient for you. The rest of the time, you don't give a fuck."
"That's not true," she says, her voice rising. "Don't act like I don't care about you."
I laugh, bitter and sharp. "You care about me? Really? Is that why you're with Khalil? Is that why you keep stringing me along like I'm some fucking side option?"
Her face hardens, and for a second, I think she's about to argue, but she doesn't. She just stares at me, her jaw tight.
"You're deflecting," she says finally, her voice low and steady. "This ain't about me. This is about you. So, what's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" I repeat, laughing again. "What's wrong is my whole damn life, Amare. My dad hates who I am. I feel like im just existing. And you—you're just here when it's convenient for you. So, yeah, I'm fucked up. Happy now?"
The room falls silent, her gaze heavy on me. I can feel the tears stinging my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
"Lani," she starts, her voice soft again.
I shake my head, grabbing my bag off the floor. "Don't. Just don't."
"Nalani, wait—"
But I'm already out the door, moving fast down the stairs. The air outside hits me like a slap, cold and biting. I climb into my car and start the engine, gripping the wheel tight.
It's almost 3 AM. The streets are dead quiet, not a single soul out. I sit there for a moment, staring at the empty road ahead. I should go back to my dad's house, but the thought makes my stomach turn. I can't. Not tonight.
I take a deep breath, pulling out my phone. My mom's house is across town, and I know she's asleep, but I need her.
The drive is long, the kind of long that makes you think too much. I keep hearing Amare's voice in my head, the way she said my name like she actually gave a damn. But it's too late for that.
When I pull up to my mom's house, everything feels heavy—my chest, my limbs, my head. The porch light is off, but her car's in the driveway. I grab my bag and walk up to the door, using the spare key under the mat.
The house is dark, except for the faint glow of the fish tank in the corner. I drop my bag by the couch and head to her room.
She's asleep, curled up on her side with the TV still on. I hesitate in the doorway, my heart pounding.
"Ma," I whisper, my voice cracking.
She stirs, her eyes fluttering open. For a second, she looks confused. Then she sees me, and her face softens.
"Nalani?" she says, sitting up. "Baby, what's wrong?"
I shake my head, my throat tightening. "I just... I couldn't stay there."
She doesn't ask questions. She just opens her arms, and I fall into them, burying my face in her shoulder.
"It's okay," she whispers, stroking my hair. "You're here now."
Her words break something in me, and I start to cry. Quiet, shaking sobs I didn't even know I had in me.
