ʜᴇʀ ᴀꜱꜱɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ | ᴛᴀʀᴀꜱɪᴀ

ꜰᴏʀᴛʏ ᴏɴᴇ

ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀꜱɪᴀ ʙᴀʀʀɪɴᴏ
ꜱᴇᴘᴛᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 9, 2020

i glanced over at tab while laila colored, and finally found the courage to speak. i stood, quietly motioning for her to follow me just outside the door.

when it was just the two of us, i didn't waste time.

"i messed up, tab." my voice cracked a little, "i betrayed someone i adore, and i hurt you in the process too. but please believe me when i say i never meant to let that secret slip, and i hate that it was our friends– whom we trusted used that to humiliate her"

she stayed quiet, arms folded.

"i didn't call you a snake because i hated you– i said it because i hated myself for what i caused. i'm not trying to make excuses, but i need you to understand that i never wanted this. i never been in a situation like that before– where i hurt someone that i care about the most in one breath." i looked down at the floor, then back to her, "you didn't deserve the blame i threw at you. and even if you never wanna talk to me again, i needed to say that. i'm sorry. for everything."

tab looked at me for a long time, her expression unreadable. i could see her trying to decided between walking away again or finally saying something. when she did, her voice was calm but heavy.

"you hurt me, tasia. and not just by what you said. it was how fast you turned on me when things when left. like... all the stuff we've been through meant nothing. you said things i never thought you'd say to me." she paused, looking down the hall like she was trying to keep herself from crying, "and yeah, i was wrong too. i should've never said what i said about taraji. it wasn't mine to repeat. i owned that the second you called me out. but instead of us sitting down and figuring it out, we tore each other apart. that's not us, tasia."

she finally looked me in the eye, "you're right– it was a snake move. from both of us. you shouldn't have told me, and i damn sure shouldn't have said it out loud, but i still love you. i still see you as my sister and bestie. i just need time. that kind of trust? it doesn't rebuild over night."

she took a step closer, voice softer now, "im not saying i'm gone forever. im just saying... i need to breathe before i decide if we can go back to what we were."

i nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in my throat, "i get it" i whispered, "you needing space, i get that, and honestly, if i were you, i'd probably need it too. i didn't mean to throw everything away in one night.. but i know that's what it felt like." i looked away, trying to blink the tears back, "i just... i miss you. not even just as my best friend, but as the person who knew me better than anyone. the one person i could sit in silence with and still feel safe" i looked back at her. "so whenever you ready– whenever it feels right, ill be here. not just to pick up where we left off, but to earn back everything i damaged."

there was a long pause before tab gave a small, almost reluctant nod, "ill let you know when im ready" she said, "and tasia.... thank you. for not pretending like none of it mattered."

i gave her the smallest smile i could manage. it wasn't victory.

but it was a start.

|||

ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀꜱɪᴀ ʙᴀʀʀɪɴᴏ
ꜱᴇᴘᴛᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 10, 2020

the house was too quiet.

laila was finally home, resting in our bed with her stuffed cat tucked under one arm and a juice stain still faint on her pajama sleeve. after everything, just hearing her breathing steady in her sleep made my chest ache with relief. she looked peaceful again—like the hospital hadn't happened. like the seizure hadn't shaken us all down to our bones.

i stood in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at her for a while.

behind me, soft footsteps. then arms slipping around my waist. taraji's presence was always silent before it was strong.

"she's safe," she murmured against my shoulder.

"for now," i whispered. "i still feel like i'm holding my breath."

she held me tighter, resting her chin there.

we hadn't really had time to sit with what happened at the hospital—not just laila, but everything with tab. but it had been sitting inside me all day. the conversation. the apology. the tears we both tried to hide. it wasn't forgiveness, not yet. but it was a crack in the wall we'd built.

"she asked about tab before she knocked out," i said quietly.

"you surprised?"

"no," i breathed. "i think... laila forgives faster than i do."

taraji was quiet for a beat. "are you thinking about letting her back in?"

"i already did, kind of. at least enough to say what needed to be said. she didn't have to listen, but she did. and when she spoke... it wasn't out of pride. it was real. it hurt, but it was honest."

taraji nodded slowly. "sometimes that's how it starts."

i didn't answer. i just leaned back into her arms a little.

then the doorbell rang.

we both looked at each other, wordless. she kissed my temple before stepping away to answer it.

i stayed behind for a second, grounding myself. then i followed her down the hallway into the front room.

when the door opened, it was tab. simple hoodie, box in her hands, no makeup. she looked... calm. tired, but calm. like she hadn't come to make anything harder.

"hey," she said, voice low.

"hey," taraji returned, then stepped aside without a second thought.

tab's eyes found mine.

"i brought laila's stuff," she said, lifting the box a little. "she left it at mine a while ago."

i walked over slowly and took it from her. glitter glue, some old coloring pages, a few crumpled stickers. it felt heavier than it was.

"thank you," i said.

she nodded. "i wasn't gonna stay. i just... didn't wanna let it sit in my car. and i wanted to see her. if that's okay."

"she's sleeping. but she'll be happy you came."

tab smiled, faint but real.

we stood there for a second in a kind of quiet that didn't feel hostile anymore. just cautious.

"stay for dinner," i offered softly. "nothing big. just... us."

she blinked. "you serious?"

"yeah," i nodded. "we're not fixed. but we're not broken in the same way anymore."

she looked at taraji, who gave the smallest nod—still guarded, but not shutting the door.

tab stepped inside and for the first time in a long time, it felt like we were all choosing softness instead of silence.