A lot of things in life didn't come with explanations.
To this day, nobody knows what triggers a baby to start crawling, to start walking.
Nobody knows how the universe came into creation, there is a Big Bang theory, but it's just that. A theory. None of it is backed up by anything.
Nobody knows how to describe love. The dictionaries have it all wrong. I can't describe love, never. But I can feel it.
Nobody knows how long the solar system is going to last, how long before the sun expands and wipes out the only home we all knew.
Nobody knows who shot Tupac and Biggie, and I don't think we ever will know.
Nobody knows why I acted on impulse when I saw that spear in T'Challa's hand. Why I moved, for just enough time to get stabbed, and die. Nobody knows.
But I do.
And it's a two word answer.
Maybe to you it's one word. Or three. Or four, but to me, it's two words.
Erik Stephens.
Not Killmonger, not N'Jadaka, and most certainly not 'Erik the Sex God'. I died for Erik Stephens.
And I can't explain why. A lot of things happen, and the best way to explain them is by not explaining them.
And I ask myself, would it all be different if you stayed in that coma, if you didn't wake up? If your body wasn't made of vibranium, If T'Challa's father didn't kill Erik's?
I know the answer. But it's painful to say it.
I love him, and I know it, and people do stupid things for love. People get matching tattoos and four months later things don't work out, people buy apartments and later on one person is telling the other to get out, people become high school sweethearts, and when college rolls around, infidelity does too.
People do stupid things for love, but what I did wasn't stupid.
Do I regret it? Slightly. I wanted to slap his stupid ass face, and kiss him for the last time, and collapse in his arms and push him away. You know you love someone when the line between 'love' and 'hate' is a thin one.
I remember the look on his face. His eyes were as brown as they could get, his smile was fake, and his tears were still flowing down his face. My lip was tingling, that feeling I used to get when we would kiss. The trains passed by, and I remember the familiar feeling of being 'filled up like a balloon,' meaning Shuri had turned off the resistors and all that vibranium was absorbed into my body.
I'd like to think I'm like Lucy, you know, that movie with Scarlett Johansson, I took in vibranium the way she took in that drug, and at the moment she reached 100% of brain power, she turned into nothing and everything at the same time.
And I don't know what happened. Am I alive? Am I dead? It's unclear. All I know is that it's real quiet, and it feels like I'm awake, but my whole body is sleep. I hope it's just sleep paralysis.
But if it was, you would still be able to open your eyes.
I don't know how much time has passed, I don't know if this has all been a dream. I don't know if I died that day Latifah tried to kill me or if I didn't.
I don't want to know anymore.
I am such a drama queen.
"Yeah, you is." I furrow my eyebrows, well at least I can feel myself doing that.
"What?" My voice comes out raw and husky, and I open my eyes. The room is absolutely dark, and it reminds me EXACTLY of Erik and I's first kiss.
"Can someone put on the-" I start coughing and I feel someone squeezing my hand.
