1+1 [slow updates]

3: ball out, get bitches

Hey people, thanks for being so patient! Hope you are doing well during these times. And I hope that I can bring at least a little joy to you with this chapter.

WARNING: VERY VULGAR LANGUAGE AND SUBJECTS AND BY THAT I MEAN SEX. DON'T COME FOR ME, BLAME MICHAEL AND BEY. THEY GOT A WHOLE LOTTA PENT UP SEXUAL FRUSTRATION.

***

The kitchen is quiet as I down another shot of tequila before refilling my glass. After meeting my two siblings today, I think it is well deserved. This is exactly what I needed.

There's a sudden shuffling sound next to me. Fuck my life. I watch with an almost permanent frown as Michael not so slickly attempts to slide on the breakfast bar stool to my right. He casually swishes around the wine in his glass but I can feel his stare fucking burning holes into the side of my forehead.

"Go to hell."

"Already been there. You're not gonna get rid of me that easily," he says annoyingly, in a matter a fact way that makes me want to punch him square in the mouth.

"Fuck off, Michael."

"Oh come on, it's been so long. I just wanna know how you've been," he whines, with a childish pout. Clearly, he doesn't remember why we stopped talking.

"I'm sorry..." he apologizes, much more serious now, "Beyoncé, I'm so sorry I wasn't there for all of it." I'm honestly not sure if he's talking about my mother's death or the past 5 years.

Instead of replying, I take another swig of the clear liquid and it burns as it drizzles down my throat. Five years ago, I would have forgiven him on the spot.

Michael's intense stare makes me slightly uncomfortable. He stubbornly always took the time trying to figure me out when any other person would give up.

"That's not going to help, the drinking." I hate when he is right. He's judging, I can tell by the look in his eyes. I dealt with all the shit getting thrown my way by him being there and then he wasn't. Although, I hate how it makes me sound like my mother, I am coping.

"I know."

Overwhelmed would be an understatement for what I've been feeling the past couple of days. I just want to be numb, even if that meant temporarily. I am tired of people walking into my life and stirring shit up and then exiting. I certainly am not going to let him do that.

"God, I swear I had every intention of calling.. I just—" His eyebrows scrunch up in frustration. "I should've been there."

I sigh, shrugging as I take another sip. "Well, you didn't and you weren't so.."

"I-I..."

"You're really trying to sober me up here."

Way to kill my mood. I mean it was already dead but still. He frowns deeply, sweeping a few of his curls to the side which just drop back in place.

"Beyoncé."

"I don't—" I start harshly before taking a breath. "I don't want to talk about it, okay."

"I'm sorry." I can feel my blood boil.

"Stop apologizing," I snap at him. Okay, maybe I'm being immature but everything he says seemingly infuriates me.