Black Panther Imagines {CLOSED}

I've Had Enough

Ever since King T'Chaka passed away at the conference bombing, T'Challa hasn't been himself. I mean hey, I get it. Losing a parent is like losing a part of yourself. When my mother died, I fell into a deep depression that only T'Challa could get me out of. It's only fair that I do the same for him.

The only thing that's different between how I grief and how T'Challa grieves is that he drinks. When you first look at him, you peg him as a humble and modest gentleman that rarely drinks. And most of time, he lives up to that title. But when he gets into rough patches, he doesn't hesitate to pop open a nice bottle of bourbon.

Queen Mother has noticed his unusual behavior and came to me. She asked me if there was anything that I know that she needs to.

I don't like lying to Queen Mother, my conscience eats me alive whenever I lie to anyone. But I'm doing it for T'Challa, and that's enough reason for me.

The passed few days, T'Challa has been coming into my room late at night, and he's been drunk off of his ass.

I was just about to finish my cast for my skirt that I am crocheting until I hear a knock on my door.

I already knew who it was, so I opened the door.

"Hello beautiful." T'Challa states.

He clutches his side as he hiccups. His faces scrunches in pain and he doubles over.

"Hey, hey, hey. Not here, come inside." I say.

He shuffle through the door and I close it before anybody could see. I place a hand on his back as I guide him to the bed. I finally get a good look at him as he sits down. I sigh in disappointment as I see his busted lip and bruised eye and cheek. I gently push away his hand and lift up his shirt.

"Now, Maha, you could have at least taken me out to dinner first." He slurs.

I glare at him before I say:

"Would you please shut up and let me address your wound."

I bite my lip as I think of how I could close his nasty gash on his stomach.

"How did this happen anyway?" I ask.

I look up into his dull, dark brown eyes. He has large bags forming under his eyes from loss of sleep. I can practically tastes the vodka in his breath.

"Really, vodka?" I say as I arch my eyebrow.

"Don't knock it until you try it." He states as he sticks up his index finger to emphasize his point.

He hiccups again and yelps out pain.

"Karma is literally biting you in the ass right now, T'Challa. You have to stop drinking." I say.

I walk into my bathroom and pull out my first aid kid. I walk back to T'Challa and place a belt into his mouth to prevent him from screaming.
I dab alcohol on his cut and he immediately bites down on the belt. I pour more alcohol into and he grabs the bed sheets with a white knuckle grip.

I dried the areas around the wound and started sowing. Tears started to escape his eyes as I continued sowing.

"You wouldn't have to come home with nasty gashes, if you would just stop drinking." I say as I cut off the remaining wire.

"It's a lot harder than it looks, Maha." He says in his tired, husky voice.

"Look T'Challa, I know is hurts okay? I know that you feel like you've lost a part of yourself that you can't get back. And honestly, you never do, but you learn to accept that your father has left this plane. His in the land of spirits now." I say as I tape gauze over the stitches.