9. Skye Washington
CHAPTER NINE
SKYE WASHINGTON
“ M onte! Oh, my God!” I shrilled and rambled in horror after he entered the house wearing a bloody shirt. “What happened to you?! Are you okay?!” I panicked while searching him for any sign of injury.
“What are you still doing up?” he asked as he seemingly ignored the question I had just posed.
“I was just grabbing a glass of water. But is that really what’s important right now? Look at you!” I reached out, wanting to check on him once more, but he shrugged off my touch.
“Listen, I’m good, aight?” he said, his tone both dismissive and weary. “Just get your water and head back to bed. I’ll be there in a lil’ bit.”
It was clear that not only had Monte been involved in something dangerous, but he was also high and not off weed. The slight slur in his speech and the hazy look in his eyes revealed that he was lost in a much darker intoxication. I had always preferred to look the other way when it came to his reckless antics, even when they crossed the line into heavy drug use. That night, however, I felt an urgent need to confront the reality of the situation.
“Monte, I can’t keep dealing with this!” I exclaimed, my voice shaking with frustration.
“What do you mean ‘this,’ Skye?!” He swayed slightly, bracing himself against the kitchen counter as if it might save him from toppling over.
“This!” I threw my hands up in exasperation, the gesture laden with all the pent-up worry and anger that had been building inside me. My heart raced as I looked at him, unsure what was more unsettling—the disarray of his life or the reckless abandon with which he seemed to embrace it.
Monte ran his hand down his face in irritation.
“I’m starting to think you purposely stayed up to have this conversation. Damn, Skye, it’s too late for this shit!”
“It feels like it’s always too late to discuss anything meaningful when it comes to you!” I burst out, my voice tinged with a mix of frustration and desperation. The raw emotion behind my words caused my voice to tremble, cracking slightly as I struggled to keep my feelings in check. “Do you even realize why we seem to find ourselves arguing at this time?” I continued, my heart racing. “It’s because lately, this is when you casually walk back into the house every other night, as if nothing has happened, after disappearing before noon! It’s like you’ve been living a different life out there while I’m left wondering about your whereabouts.”
As I spoke, my voice cracked slightly, revealing the depth of my emotions threatening to spill over.
Monte wearily raked his hand through his thinning hair, a gesture that spoke volumes about his exhaustion. The lines etched on his forehead deepened as he took a long, unsteady breath, his tired eyes fluttering shut momentarily. It almost seemed as if he were trying to corner his thoughts, to organize the chaos swirling in his mind, or perhaps to block out my words. In that brief silence, the atmosphere around us grew thick and charged, thick with unexpressed emotions and unsaid words.
“Beloved,” Monte murmured, his voice gentle but laced with weariness as he used the endearing nickname he had chosen for me, “can we please talk about this in the morning, baby? I’m tired as fuck. All I want to do is get out of these clothes, shower, and lay next to my girl.” Monte's voice was soft and carried the weight of long days and sleepless nights, making my heart ache for him… a little.
“You can save your words for yourself in the morning because I won’t be here!”
The bitterness in my tone was fueled by the pain of realizing just how much had changed between us.
Monte let out a soft chuckle that felt strangely empty, attempting to lighten the mood but missing the mark. “Yeah, aight, Skye.”
His laughter seemed to echo in the silence that followed, a stark reminder of the distance growing between us, leaving an uncomfortable void that neither of us knew how to fill.
“I’m serious, Monte! I want out of this relationship! I can’t keep dealing with this!”
“What exactly are you dealing with, Skye?!” he gritted. “You pay no bills! You’re rocking name-brand shit every day, driving the finest whips, and staying in a fuckin’ mansion! I also make sure your hair and nails stay on point, all while paying for your schooling. So, tell me, what worries could you possibly have, Skye?”
“Monte, I don’t give a damn about none of that materialistic shit!” I stepped closer, my finger jabbing firmly against his chest to emphasize my point. “What truly concerns me is you, Monte! You!” My heart raced as emotions swelled within me. “I can’t shake the fear that one day you won’t come home to me! Whether it’s from some senseless violence or you slipping further into that dark abyss of drugs, you’ve been drowning in!” As I spoke, tears threatened to spill over. The thought of losing him was unbearable.
“Beloved, you don’t have to worry about any of that shit. This shit here,” he pointed at his blood-stained shirt, “is part of the game. Niggas die every day. It’s just something that comes with the territory.” He shrugged insensitively. His voice was unnervingly flat, echoing the kind of indifference one might expect while recounting yesterday's weather.
To Monte, it seemed like the loss of a person’s life was just another piece of news, easily brushed aside. Yet, the reality was that each life lost carried countless stories, dreams, and connections—a truth that Monte's callous words ignored entirely. I couldn’t help but feel a deep discomfort at his apparent lack of empathy.
“Yeah, well, one day, that might just be your blood and not someone else’s, and I’m not sticking around to watch it happen!”
I turned on my heel and headed toward the bedroom. I could hear him stumbling behind me, the sound of his uneven gait breaking the tense silence.
Once I stepped into our bedroom, I headed straight for the closet and pulled out a black duffle bag.
“Really, Beloved? You’re about to leave? This late at night? All because I don’t feel like talking?” Monte's voice sounded incredulous as if he couldn’t fathom why I would choose to walk away at that moment.
“This is more than just you refusing to talk to me, Monte,” I replied, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside me. I halted packing and turned to him. “I have one question for you, Monte, and it’s important. Are you willing to give up the drugs and the street life to live a normal life with me?”
I was offering him a final chance at redemption, hoping he might see the light.
Monte leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed and an air of defiance surrounding him.
“These drugs are just something I do for the hell of it, mainly because it’s at my disposal, and it helps a nigga unwind after a long day. I ain’t addicted to that shit like you may think I am, so I can easily let that go. But the street life? Nah, baby. I can’t do that. Not for you, not for anybody.” Monte’s words were exact and sharp, cutting through me like glass.
The realization struck hard. I wasn’t important enough for him to even consider change for my sake. The heaviness of that knowledge felt like a stone in my chest.
“Then, yes, I’m leaving!” I declared, then resumed packing.
“Shid, aight,” he replied casually, shrugging as if my departure didn’t matter at all.
I had expected more compassion, perhaps a plea for me to stay, but his indifference stung deeply.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I hurriedly tossed clothes into the duffle bag, each item a piece of my past, a memory I was trying to pack away. When I caught sight of Monte just standing in the doorway, his expression blank and unyielding, I knew I was making the right decision. Once I finished packing, I took a deep breath and grabbed the bag, my phone, and my purse, then brushed past him, determined to make my escape.
“Skye,” he called after me in a soft tone.
“What, Monte?!” I snapped, my voice wavering as my face crumpled with tears—tears he seemingly failed to notice.
“You know, maybe I should’ve never introduced you to this life. I’m seeing now that maybe it just wasn’t meant for you. A woman like you needs a white-collar nigga with a company job. Then, there’s me. I need a tough, ride-or-die bitch who can handle all this shit that comes with being with a street nigga like me. So, maybe you leaving is a good thing… for both of us.”
I scoffed incredulously. “Really, Monte? After all the bitches you’ve cheated on me with me, and I stayed… like a dummy! Not to mention the countless nights I’ve stayed up late, helping you count money, bathing you when you’ve vomited all over yourself from getting too damn drunk, or burning your clothes for evidence because you were out doing God knows what while you were high out of your mind, and that’s how you view me? As a soft bitch! Nigga, I was ready to walk away from this relationship a long time ago! It was my loyalty and love for you that kept me by your side!”
“So, I’m guessing that the love and loyalty are gone now since you’re leaving.”
“You’re damn right it is, nigga! Fuck you, Monte! And you can give the rest of my clothes to whatever bitch you plan on replacing me with because I won’t be back! But let’s be real; no other bitch could ever replace me! Oh, and I’m a rider ’til the end! It’s obvious that I’ve just been in the wrong car for too damn long! Just know I’ll do a lot for a man I love, but I’ll do even more for a man I know loves me!”
With that, I stormed out of the house. Monte called out to me multiple times, but I wasn’t trying to hear shit he had to say. I figured once Monte sobered up, he’d come to his senses about how royally he fucked up, but by then, it would be too late.
I gasped loudly as I was abruptly jolted out of that dream—though it felt more like a nightmare. I realized it all stemmed from Savvy's visit earlier that day, asking me if I would consider becoming Monte’s nurse, a proposition that sent my thoughts spiraling. I couldn't deny that I still had feelings for Monte, deep-rooted and persistent, even after two long years since our relationship ended.
The final night we were together was etched into my memory. It was a night filled with heated words and unresolved emotions that ultimately marked the end of us. Despite my heart’s desires, the na?ve girl who once yearned to return to him was less present now. Something had changed inside me that night; it felt as if a light had flickered on, revealing a renewed sense of self-worth. Perhaps I was simply exhausted from enduring his incessant nonsense. After our argument, I went outside and sat in my car for what felt like an eternity while tears pooled down my face as I cried for a solid thirty minutes.
In that moment of vulnerability, I made a pact with myself. I would never allow another man to make me feel so small and helpless again. It was a painful realization, particularly because I had previously escaped an abusive relationship, and Monte was fully aware of that part of my past. While he never resorted to any kind of abuse with me, Monte was unwilling to shift his reckless lifestyle for someone he professed to love—me. That realization caused me to wonder if I had been too accommodating or hadn't valued myself enough. There I was, two years later, contemplating bending my life around someone’s needs who wouldn’t even adjust their life for me.
As I turned onto my side in bed, my mind drifted aimlessly from one thought to another, wrestling with the decision at hand. I could feel the cool sheets against my skin, and I tried to center myself, hoping for clarity as I slowly embraced the night.