(( i apologize for these anxiety ridden chapters mine is at a HIGH lately and i need to channel it somewhere lol))
On the drive through the city you find you have very little options on N'Jadaka's whereabouts. Often times you have to confront the fact that you still have a small idea on what he actually does on a day-to-day. But you wonder if it's because of his communication skills or the fact that he doesn't really do much. After all, he's spent so much time trying to ruin T'Challa; sometimes you dwell on the fact that he's still seemingly trying to find his place in the world after all that. Royal pardons and ceasefires and you; it's all such a whirlwind.
After a lap of the block you decide to head towards the Outreach Center, finding nothing but cars heading home and a few lingering groups of people enjoying the summer night air on your way. You want to wind the windows down but you can't find it in you to; dating N'Jadaka has done nothing but make you a paranoid mess. You've long since stopped trying to call him, but you're absolutely fuming by the time you pull into the empty visitor's parking lot.
It's not very late yet there's an uncomfortable stillness in the air at the lack of people milling around; such a stark contrast to the kids playing basketball and sitting on cars and just hanging out. It's shocking. He's warned you about coming around here without him, but as usual he's forced your hand, so you make sure the small gun is deep in your purse as you start your brisk walk toward the automatic doors.
Inside, a bored looking receptionist looks up at you, putting you a bit more at ease than you would have been had the lobby been completely empty. She raises an eyebrow at you as you approach.
"Normal visiting hours are over at 6 PM on weekends."
The high-tech digital clock behind her reads 9:39.
"I'm looking for someone," you say impatiently. "Is Erik here? You know, E-"
"I know him, yes," she goes, cutting you off. "Visiting hours are over at 6 PM on weekends."
"Excuse me?" Your anxiety is only rising with her flippant attitude.
She brushes one of her chunky braids out of her face before looking you up and down over the counter. She looks like all of her business professionalism has disappeared with 'normal visiting hours' and you don't have the patience either. However, she speaks first before you can open your mouth and say something mean.
"Listen honey," she says, faking a smile. "I'm sorry but we've had entirely too many random women coming here looking for Mr. Stevens and it's been decided by management not to allow anyone without an appointment after 6 I am sorry but those are the rules."
"I-what do you mean?" Now you're annoyed for another reason. "I'm his girlfriend."
She sighs again. "Heard that one too. Too many coming in here claiming that's their man, their sugar daddy, their whoever whatever and yes I get it he's easy on the eyes but I'm a little sick of calling security on fangirls pretending to know him so they can run around doing all kinds of-"
Rolling your eyes you just say your name; wondering if you're on some list somewhere as a visitor that could possibly get some kind of pass and to your surprise she just sighs and scribbles down something you can't see.
She hands you a huge white sticker that says 'Visitor' on it, before picking up a phone and mumbling something into it.
You watch in complete and utter annoyance, clutching the sticker in your trembling hand before the receptionist sends you to the nearest elevator and tells you the 8th floor.
