True
The music is still beating, hoes are still twerking, and liquor is still pouring—but none of it is registering anymore. Because Amirya walked away from a nigga. And she didn’t fucking yell, didn’t throw a drink, didn’t cause a scene.
Amirya just… removed herself. That’s what’s fucking with me the most. I’ve seen bitches crash out over less—crying, screaming, begging a nigga. Not her. Nah… she looked at me like I was already gone. I drag a hand over my face, jaw tight, replaying that moment over and over.
You hesitated.
Fuck.
I didn’t even realize I did that shit—but she caught it. Of course, she did. Amirya doesn’t miss shit.
“It wasn’t like that…” I mutter under my breath, but even that sounds weak as fuck. The truth? It doesn’t matter what it “was.”
It happened. And she ain’t the type to negotiate with disrespect.
“Damn, nigga…” Coop’s voice cuts in beside me—I ain’t even realized he walked up.
“You good?” I let out a short laugh—ain’t shit funny.
“Do I look good, nigga?” Coop doesn’t answer because he doesn’t lie.
Simmy steps in closer, quiet like always when shit gets real. “You fucked that up, dumb ass,” he says flatly. I cut my eyes at him.
“Appreciate the acknowledgment.”
“I’m serious,” he presses. “That ain’t Tamika. That’s Amirya. She don’t spin back, nigga. I swear, you and Chauncey need to leave these hoes the fuck alone.”
That lands harder than I want it to because I know. Tamika? She spins the block, argues, and pops off. Amirya? She leaves—and don’t look back. I’ve been feeling like she was looking for a way out. I’d be damn if I let Tamika push her out the door.
I glance across the club. She’s back in the section, sitting like nothing touched her, drink in her hand, energy untouched—like I never mattered. That shit hit different.
“Yo,” Coop mutters low, “you better go fix that.”
I don’t move. Because for the first time in a long time… I don’t know how. I’ve always been able to talk my way out of shit—charm, deflect, say just enough to keep things from falling apart. But she already made her decision.
I’m done.
That wasn’t emotion. That was final. And I felt it.
I exhale slowly, grabbing my drink and tossing it back like it’s gonna burn the truth out of my chest.
“Where’s Tamika?” I ask suddenly.
Coop raises a brow. “You serious?”
“Just answer the question.”
“She dipped,” he says. “Soon as shit started getting loud.”
Of course, she did. Convenient. I nod once, jaw tight. Yeah… that’s how this night is going.
Lose one, don’t even get to press the other. I glance back at Amirya again. She laughs at something Rhy says, and that’s when it really hits me. She’s not hurting in public.
She’s not checking for me. She’s not waiting for me to come fix shit. She already moved differently—and that’s fucking dangerous, dealing with a nigga like me. Because now, if I don’t move right… I won’t just lose her tonight—I’ll lose her for good.
“Fuck…” I mutter, dragging my hand down my face again.
Simmy finally speaks, voice low but direct. “You gon’ go talk to her, or you gon’ stand here and watch somebody else do it?”
That hits like a warning. Because in this city… if you hesitate too long, somebody else will step in. I ain’t finna let no nigga step in. Tamika gotta see me—she should’ve never mentioned my fucking name, not about shit we used to do and definitely not about no timeline to Amirya.
The house is quiet when I get there. Too quiet.
Not the quiet that feels like peace—the quiet that feels like something already ended and just hasn’t been said out loud yet.
I drop my keys on the counter and stand there for a second, staring at nothing, replaying the club over and over in my head.
That look she gave me…wasn’t anger. That was the exit.
I run a hand over my face, jaw tight, pacing once, twice, as if I can outrun the feeling that sits heavy in my chest. I ain’t used to this shit. I ain’t used to not knowing how to fix something.
By the time the door finally opens, I’m already waiting. Amirya steps inside, her heels clicking softly on the floor, her energy calm and untouched. She wasn’t expecting me. I see it in the way she pauses for half a second, eyes flicking to me as if I’m out of place in my own house.
“You beat me here?” she says, slipping her bag off her shoulder.
“Yeah. I live here.”
That’s all I give her.
She exhales, already tired. Not emotional. Not loud. Just… done.
“You should leave,” she says, walking past me as if I’m just another piece of furniture.
My head tilts slightly. “For what?”
“Because I don’t feel like doing this tonight,” she replies, disappearing toward the bedroom. “Whatever you have to say, you should’ve said it at the club.”
I follow her more slowly this time. “So that’s it?”
She doesn’t even turn around. “That’s it.”
That word hits harder in here than it did at the club. Maybe because there are no distractions now. No music. No crowd. Just truth bouncing off the walls.
“I’m not leaving,” I say, my voice steady.
She stops. Finally turns. And the look she gives me?
Flat.
Final.
“I didn’t ask you to stay.”
“I’m not walking away from you,” I shoot back.
“You already did,” she says quietly.
That shit lands only for a second; I don’t even have a response.
Because she’s right. And she knows it.
“I said what I had to say,” she continues, brushing past me toward the closet. “I’m not repeating myself, I’m not arguing, and I’m definitely not about to sit here and go back and forth with you like this is just another fight.”
Another fight.
That’s what she thinks this is, but it’s not. I can feel it. This one is different.
“I’m not treating it like that,” I say, stepping closer.
She grabs a bag, starts pulling clothes down—quick, efficient, like she’s done this before.
Like she’s done with me.
“Amirya…”
“No,” she cuts in, not even looking at me. “We’re not doing names, we’re not doing emotions, and we’re not doing any of that shit. You made your choices. I’m making mine.”
“Aye, you really leaving?”
Now she looks at me, and there’s no hesitation.
“Yes.”
That shit hits my chest like a brick.
“You serious?”
“I ain’t fucking bluffing,” she says simply.
I step in front of her, blocking her path. “You really about to walk out like this?”
She tilts her head, studying me like I’m the one who doesn’t understand. “You really thought I wouldn’t?”
She pauses—just long enough for it to sting worse. “That bitch couldn’t wait to let me know she fucked you,” she adds, voice still calm. “And what really did it? Random pictures from an unknown number. Proof. So yeah…”
Her eyes lock on mine.
“Fuck you.”
The silence is killing me. My heart is heavy as hell, and I’m uncomfortable as fuck. Yeah, it’s about to get fucking real.
“I said I don’t do embarrassment,” she continues. “And I meant that.”
“Aye, Amirya, I can fix this,” I say—but even as the words leave my mouth, they don’t sound as strong as they fucking should. She notices. Of course, she does.
“You should’ve fixed it before I had to ask you that question,” she replies.
That’s the fucking one. That’s the line that makes everything feel final. She grabs her bag, brushes past me without force or anger—just… done. And that shit hurts more than anything else she could’ve done.
Because there’s nothing to fight over. Nothing to argue about. Nothing to hold on to. Just distance.
“I’m not doing this shit with you anymore,” she says as she heads toward the door. “Not in this house. Not in this life.”
I stand there for half a second too long—processing, lagging—then it hits me all at once. She’s really leaving a nigga.
“Amirya—”
I move fast, catching her wrist before she can reach the door. Not rough or aggressive, but firm enough to stop her.
“You’re not walking out like this,” I say, voice low, tight.
She looks down at my hand… then back up at me. No fear. No emotion. Just distance.
“You need to let me go.”
“I’m not letting you leave,” I repeat, stepping in front of her now, blocking the door completely. “Not like this. Not over something we can fix.”
That almost makes her laugh. Almost.
“If you weren’t here… I would stay,” she says, calm as ever.
That throws me. My brows pull together.
“But since you are,” she continues, eyes locking on mine, “I can’t stand to be around you.”
That lands hard.
“I might hurt you for playing with me.”
My grip loosens by just a fraction. Not because I’m scared of her, but because I finally hear her.
“Amirya—”
“True,” she cuts in, softer now—but somehow worse. “You can’t fix what just happened.”
Silence stretches between us.
“We need space.”
I shake my head, stepping closer again like proximity might change her mind.
“Space for what? So you can just… walk out and be done with me?”
She doesn’t answer right away. And that’s the answer. This time, she gently pulls her wrist from my hand. No force. No struggle. Just release.
“We can both be single,” she says, adjusting her bag on her shoulder like this is just another night. “And fuck who we want.”
My jaw tightens.
“That’s what you want?” I ask, voice dropping.
“I’m so glad I kept my penthouse,” she continues, as if I didn’t even speak. That one cuts deeper than anything else she’s said.
“We good, True. I promise”
She steps around me. No hesitation. No looking back.
“Some things ain’t meant…” she adds, opening the door. Then she pauses—just long enough to finish it. “And we definitely ain’t.”
The door closes behind her. Soft. Final. And just like that… the house ain’t quiet anymore. It’s empty. Yeah… she didn’t argue. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fight for us. She decided. That’s what makes this hurt different.
“I can’t let you leave,” I say, stepping in front of her again, blocking the door like it’s the only thing holding this together.
She looks at me—really looks at me this time. And there’s nothing soft in her eyes.
“Why do you want me to stay so badly, True?” she asks quietly, her voice steady. “If you can’t be faithful?”
That lands. Straight to my fucking chest.