True
The silence in the house doesn’t just sit—it presses. Every room feels bigger, colder, emptier, in a way that doesn’t make sense. I try to sit with it, to shake it off, but I can’t.
“Fuck this…” I mutter, snatching my keys and heading out before I can think twice.
The engine roars louder than my thoughts as I push through the city like I already know where she’d go. Of course I do—the penthouse. Her spot. Her escape.
By the time I pull up, my chest is tight, my heartbeat uneven, like something in me already knows this ain’t finna go the way I want. I ride the elevator up, jaw clenched, fists tight at my sides.
The doors open, and it’s quiet—too damn quiet. I walk up and try the handle.
Locked.
Lights off.
No movement.
“She’s not even here…” I mutter, and that realization hits different. Not just gone—gone-gone. I pull out my phone and dial her number. It rings. No answer. I call again. Straight to voicemail.
“Come on…” I pace, running a hand over my face before I start texting—back-to-back, no breaks. Where are you? Answer the phone. Stop playing with me. Nothing. Then finally—my phone lights up. Her name. I answer quickly.
“What?” she says instantly. “I ain’t got shit else to say—why you keep calling me?” Her tone is cold, detached, like I’m already a stranger.
“I’m at the penthouse,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “Go home, True. We’re done.”
My jaw tightens.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere you ain’t.”
That one hits.
“I’mma wait here,” I say anyway.
“Don’t.” Silence stretches for a second.
“Where are you?” I press again. She lets out a slow breath on the other end, then?—
“I’m debating whether I feel like getting fucked by a real boss-ass nigga.”
Everything in me goes still. “Amirya…” My voice drops, dangerous now. “Don’t do some shit you gon’ regret.”
“I won’t,” she replies, calm as ever—and that calm is worse than yelling.
“If I fuck this nigga, it’s because I want to.
I ain’t cheating, though—I’m single. If I fuck him, it’s my business, not yours.
When you’re single, you can fuck who you want, when you want…
You’re the same nigga who was creeping and fucking bitches.
See, I ain’t creeping with a nigga—I’m back outside, you finna see me with this nigga. ”
My grip tightens around the phone. My chest feels like it’s caving in.
“Aye, Amirya, you don’t really wanna do that,” I say, but it doesn’t even sound convincing.
“I do,” she says simply. No hesitation. No emotion. Just truth. “Checkmate, True.”
Click.
The line goes dead. And I’m standing there—outside a penthouse she ain’t even in, phone still pressed to my ear—realizing I ain’t just lost control of the situation… I lost her completely.