Girls Love Beyoncé

70

THIRD POINT OF VIEW

It'd been almost a month.

Almost a whole month since Beyoncé last saw Onika.

She wasn't counting, but her heart was.

The days passed slower when her phone stayed dry. When her dreams kept rerouting her to those nights in New York. Not the bad not the good but the fever.

When every love song she recorded somehow ended with her breathless, remembering the way Onika had her moaning. The filthy things she'd say during it. Beyoncé couldn't get it out of her mind.

But she was healing.

Kind of.

Maybe?

She'd been in the studio heavy. The Dream had her on lockdown. If it wasn't vocals, it was writing. If it wasn't writing, it was production talk.

He was so hype off the work they'd done already that he kept teasing label deals and features.

"You got it," he told her last week, shaking his head like he'd seen a ghost. "You got the thing. Whatever that is."

She'd just smiled, sipping her drink. Let him dream.

Beyoncé wasn't chasing fame. She was chasing peace.

Her peace smelled like songwriting, late night Uber Eats, and pages that warmed her fingers.

So when the flowers showed up, she wasn't even ready.

She walked in from school, headphones on, hoodie up, halfway singing the Love On Top bridge to herself when she saw them sitting on the kitchen counter.

Cream and blush roses, arranged tight like a spiral.

She stopped.

"Who are those for?"

Tina, standing by the stove, barely looked up. "Oh—somebody sent them to me. Pretty, right?"

Beyoncé blinked. "Those are my favorite."

Tina raised an eyebrow. "You sure they're your favorite?" Beyoncé tilted her head, unsure what she was really being asked.

Tina smiled. "They're mine too. Maybe we just got good taste."

Beyoncé nodded slow.

But something about the way the ribbon on the vase looked—tied sloppily, like the sender had been nervous—stayed with her.

The card was gone. Her mom never mentioning who sent them. Beyoncé brushed it off and by Friday, she was feeling herself again.

She had three new songs down with The Dream. One of them—"Party"—was a vibe. Full-on feel-good music. The kind that makes you throw on a crop top and hoop earrings and forget your problems.

"We gotta put Dre on this," The Dream said, playing the rough mix in the studio. "I'm talking Andre 3000. I'ma call him tonight."

Beyoncé laughed, "please don't make this a thing."

"Nah. we've got something here bey. You just gotta realize that." She shrugged, didn't say another word after that.

Maybe he wasn't wrong?  The heartbreak songs still hit different. But lately, she wanted joy.
She wanted warmth. Friends. Beats that felt like her hips moving in the mirror.

Love On Top came from that place. So did Schoolin' Life.

She wasn't trying to chase anyone anymore.

She was trying to chase herself. So was allowing others to hear her music worth it?