Chapter 17
Seventeen
Navy Achebe
Isat in the middle of our bed, but today it felt more like mine. The mattress dipped beneath my weight but still held its shape on his side. The space he chose not to fill last night felt louder than anything I could've yelled at him, so I didn't bother.
Not a single text.
Not a call.
Nothing.
Pictures of us were scattered around me.
Years worth of memories spiraled across the sheets.
Stolen kisses. Graduation photos we each took when the other wasn't watching.
Images that froze the way we used to look at each other, as if love were as simple as stringing three words together.
Every moment that ever meant something to me, I printed and laid out as proof that what we had was real, because if it was real, then how did it end up becoming so fragile?
Szzzt.
The spliff hissed softly as I pulled in slowly. The ember flared, fighting to stay alive as smoke curled and folded in on itself. It blurred my vision until the room looked warmer than it actually was, until the thought of losing him didn't feel possible.
"I'm slipping into a dangerous ways. Looking for a familiar face. Not too far from home."
"Candlelight" played low through the speakers, pulling at something more fragile than heartstrings.
"Do you laugh or do you cry? Do you give up or do you try? Do you live a lie or live a life?"
Zhavia's voice filled the room, haunting and aching with questions I stopped myself from asking. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to feel everything I've been running from.
I love Honor.
That went without question but loving him was starting to make my heart feel swollen, bruised even, like he'd been holding it too tight for far too long.
But you love him.
The question wasn't whether I loved him. It was whether loving him was slowly dimming my light. I'd spent years protecting his flame, shielding it from wind, and excusing the smoke.
But what if loving him meant waking up one day in the dark?
The smoke thickened around me, hazing across the photos.
Our smiles looked distant now. More of a story told than a story lived.
Inhaling slowly, I traced the edge of a picture of Honor and me on the day the boys changed their last name to Gravehart.
Memories of that day flooded my mind, but so did the hurt.
I thought that was the day my last name would change, too.
I got dressed in all white for shits and giggles, but the joke was on me.
Honor never asked me to become a Gravehart.
Instead, a few days later, he took me to a tattoo shop and asked if I wanted to get one.
I was so drunk in love that Honor could've asked me if I wanted to walk off a cliff with him, and my answer would've been yes.
That day I got a tattoo on my wrist. An ethereal angel's wing wrapped around a rose.
In return, he tatted my name along his rib, right where his heart lived.
Staring down at my wrist, a tear spilled onto my tattoo.
The ink wavered underneath my tears, but it didn't move, just like my love for Honor. Both were etched into me.
I brought the spliff to my lips and took a long pull. Smoke clouded the air, hazing everything until Honor's shape cut through it.
"Why you in here smoking, knowing that shit puts you in your feelings?" he asked.
"Well, good morning to you too," I scoffed, tapping my phone screen to check the time. "Actually, afternoon since it's after eleven."
Honor scratched at his beard as he stepped toward the end of the bed. His eyes dragged over every picture I had spread out.
"When you do all this?"
"When you didn't come home," I somberly answered.
"Say what you gotta say, Navy," he grunted.
"It's funny," I said, sliding off the bed and stepping in front of him.
"You were out all night… really all day since I didn't see you after I left for work.
And you have the nerve to walk in here talking to me like I don't have the right to have an attitude.
" I took another pull from my spliff, then ashed it out.
"Nice to know the audacity is as big as the dick you carry. "
"That's my fault. Therapy fucked my head up."
"You've been saying that a lot lately."
"What?"
"That your head's been fucked up. That's the reason Choyce was able to kiss you, right? What else was she able to do?" I asked, my voice steady even though my chest wasn't.
"Navy, we're too grown for the games," he exhaled. "Ask what you wanna know."
I held his gaze and moved closer, subtle enough that he wouldn't notice why.
I knew Honor's scent the way you know your own reflection.
He hadn't changed it in years. Today it was different.
Whatever was threaded into it wasn't strong enough for me to name, but it was there, sitting on his skin as if it belonged there.
The problem wasn't wanting the truth. It was that a part of me already felt it.
Hearing him confirm it would've turned my fear into fact, and I didn't think I'd survive that.
So instead of asking the question that would end everything, I asked the one that might explain why we were slipping off the deep end.
"Why…" My stomach dipped, but I refused to let it show. "Why haven't you asked me to marry you?"
The frustration in his face faltered, confusion settling where irritation used to live.
"Why would you wanna marry a nigga who loves you in a way you hate?" he asked.
My brows pulled together. "What?"
"You said it yourself, you don't wanna feel like my everything. You don't wanna feel like you're the only thing holding me together," he said, stepping back like he needed distance from me to finish. "You wanna feel wanted… not needed."
When I told Honor how I felt, he didn't say much. I figured it was because he didn't want me to feel guilty about being honest. His throwing it in my face now was his chance to get his shit off, and he wasn't wasting it.
"I get I love you in a way that probably feels like pressure instead of a choice, but that's just the type of nigga I am. Love, giving or receiving, never came easy to me, but with you, that shit is instinct. I love you the best way I know how, Navy."
Silence swallowed the room because Honor wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right either.
"I don't hate the way you love me," I told him. "I hate feeling responsible for it."
"You're not, tho'."
"I am," I shot back. "Every time your head gets dark, I feel like I gotta be the light. Every time you spiral, I'm the one who keeps you steady. That's not a partnership, Honor. That's you surviving off my existence."
"So, you only want the healed version of me?" he scoffed.
"No," I shook my head, "I want the version of you that chooses me, not the one that clings to me."
We stared at each other, our hardened glares saying more than our voices allowed.
"Why would you bring that up when it doesn't answer my question?" I pressed.
"Marrying you means letting Lucian deeper into my life than he already is. I don't want that shit and I don't want you paying for my demons."
"I wouldn't have—" I started.
His lip crashed into mine before I could finish.
His fingers dug into my waist, pulling me close like that could fix what words couldn't. His other hand slid up my back, tracing something that wasn't there.
His touch on my back should've been muscle memory.
Instead, it felt practiced, as if he were remembering someone else.
My eyes fluttered open as his tongue moved against mine, trying to make this feel like us.
Everything about it… about us, felt off.
There was no urgency for Honor to reassure me that I belonged to him, only passion he tried to make belong to me.
I was wrapped in the arms of the man I loved for more than half my life and somehow… I felt like a placeholder.