Basquiat.

chapter sixteen.

A/N: Since I've been MIA for a min, here's a super long chapter for my babies. 💕

•••

Masika

I want a real love,
Dark skinned aunt Viv love,
That Jada and that Will love.

I yawned and rubbed the sleep from my eyes as the rays of sun kissed my skin from the hotel window.

Last night was a blur, and I couldn't recall any of the events that took place after the night club.

I rose from what I assumed to be my pillow, only to be met with August fast asleep under me.

"Shit," I mumbled.

I shuffled around the bed a bit and removed the sheets from on top of me to piece together what happened.

"Mornin' lovely," he grinned.

We didn't.

Did we?

"Hey, uh- what happened last night?"

"Shit, we got mad drunk and got back to the hotel slumped," he giggled obviously still hungover.

I looked down to see I wasn't wearing my dress anymore. Just my boy shorts and a tang top.

"Chill, we ain't did nothin' we wasn't supposed to last night. I'm not that kind of guy," he said clearly disappointed.

"I know you wouldn't, it's myself I'm worried about honestly," I admitted sluggishly.

He rose his head in confusion.

"What ya' mean?"

"We both know we have a 'thing' for each other, August. And I know we both want to do something about it. I wouldn't have invited you on this trip if I didn't have my own agenda." I confessed.

"Ah, you tryna' see Mr. Classy?" He grinned.

"Who?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough," he chuckled to himself.
"But I hea' you though. We're both adults, so there shouldn't be nothin' against us being together. As long as we keep our relationship outta school, we straight."

I cheesed at his remarks.

"You had a real nigga trippin' mad hard for these past couple of weeks. I ain't never fell so hard fa' a lady before," he chuckled to himself.
"You bring out the best in me, Sika."

"I could say the same about you, August. You've allowed me to express myself in ways I never deemed possible."
"You see me."

"What you think I'm here fa?" He grinned.
"God chose me to continue to put a smile on that pretty la' face of yours."

I laid on his chest and listened to his heart while tracing his tattoos with my index finger.

"Why me?"

"Whatcha' mean, love?" He asked concerned.

"What do you see in me? Most men belittle me before I even get the chance to introduce myself. All they see is my dark skin and nothing beyond it."