Chapter 12 Zahara
ZAHARA
Once Yusef was knocked out again, I asked Prime what happened. “So? How’d it go?”
“He was more fixated on seeing you than he was Yusef,” he replied with his voice booming with malice.
“Oh, who’s jealous now?” I teased.
“That nigga ain’t shit to be jealous about. What the fuck did you even see in that nigga to have a whole baby with him,” he asked. I could feel the detest in his voice.
“There you go with that judgmental shit again. Did your mama choose the wrong daddy for you? That’s why you so upset about my choices.
I’m about sick and tired of you projecting your bullshit on me.
You niggas need to heal your mommy issues before you go around terrorizing the world with your anger,” I spat with venom.
He was aggravating and he didn’t know shit about me or my choices. Yusef was born to a teen mom. No one makes the best decisions when they are teens, but they eventually grow out of them. Everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves.
I must’ve struck a nerve because he was quiet and staring at the road with intensity.
“I ain’t tryna terrorize you. That nigga is just… beneath you, Goddess. I can’t imagine a timeline when he’s ever deserved you,” he replied, his jaw softening.
“You really don’t know me.”
“I know enough. I know he spent the entire visit asking about you instead of getting to know his son. I know he called Yusef’s interests ‘soft shit.’ I know he made that boy feel like he wasn’t good enough.” Prime’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
My jaw clenched. “That sounds like him. And I still have to testify at his parole hearing?” The words tasted bitter.
Prime nodded. “Yeah. Rashid is serious about that.”
“Of course he is.” I crossed my arms, staring out the window.
“Has he ever hurt you?” Prime’s voice was quiet but firm. “Be real with me.”
I wanted to lie. God, I wanted to say yes. Wanted to tell him that Meech had done something terrible, so Prime would make sure he stayed locked up forever. But I couldn’t.
“No,” I admitted. “Not physically.”
“But he hurt you some other way.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable. I needed to change the subject before he kept digging.
“Is Prime your real name?” I asked.
He glanced at me, clearly recognizing the deflection but allowing it. “Nah. It’s Prentice. My brothers nicknamed me Prime when we were kids.”
“Why?”
A bitter smile crossed his face. “They joked that I was my father’s first son. Because I’m the only one who looked exactly like him. That’s until we discovered another brother who also shares his looks.” He paused. “My mother hates that, that I look like him.”
“Damn. Your mother really is a piece of work.”
“You have no fuckin’ idea. She’s terrible and the bitch runs the city.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She’s the mayor. Mayor Vivica Banks.”
My jaw dropped. “Wait. Your mother is Mayor Banks?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Oh, shit. Your mother is a bitch.”
Prime actually laughed. “Tell me about it.”
“No, I’m serious. She comes into Grits sometimes. Always has this fake-ass smile, taking pictures with the staff, talking about supporting small Black businesses. Then she tips like shit and treats the servers like they’re beneath her.”
“That sounds exactly like her. All performance, no substance.”
We shared a look, something passing between us. Understanding. Recognition of shared pain.
“What about your mother?” he asked. “She like that?”
The question hit me like a punch to the chest. “I never knew my mother.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.”
“She died giving birth to me and my twin sister. At home.” The words came out flat, emotionless. I’d told this story so many times it had lost its weight. Almost.
“At home? Why?”
“My father didn’t trust hospitals. He was one of those Hotep niggas who thought Western medicine was poison. Demanded she give birth at home without a midwife, without any medical help.” My voice cracked slightly. “She bled out. We lived, she didn’t.”
“That’s fucked up.” Prime’s voice was hard. “That’s really fucked up.”
“I know.” I felt the tears building before I could stop them.
“And the worst part is he had three other wives. Three. And not one of them took care of us properly. They resented us. They had their other kids to watch out for. So me and Zainab…” My voice broke completely.
“We raised each other. We were all we had.”
The tears came then, hot and fast, years of grief and anger and loneliness pouring out. I covered my face with my hands, embarrassed, trying to hold it together.
I heard the turn signal. Felt the car slow down and pull over onto the shoulder of the highway.
“What are you—”
Prime killed the engine and got out. Before I could process what was happening, he’d opened my door and was pulling me out of the car.
“Come here,” he said, and then his arms were around me.
I should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve told him I was fine. But I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t been fine in years. So I let myself break down against his chest, sobbing into his shirt, feeling his arms tighten around me.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped between sobs. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why—”
“Don’t apologize.” His voice was low, soothing. One hand rubbed circles on my back while the other cradled the back of my head. “You’re allowed to feel this.”
I cried harder, my hands clutching his shirt, months—years—of holding everything together finally crashing down. He didn’t say anything else. Just held me. Let me fall apart.
“Where are we?”
We both froze. I pulled back to see Yusef sitting up in the backseat, his face pressed against the window, eyes wide with confusion and worry.
I quickly wiped my face, trying to pull myself together. “Just needed some air.”
Prime squeezed my shoulder once before stepping back, giving me space. “She’s good, lil man.”
Yusef didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly.
I climbed back into the car, avoiding eye contact with both of them. Prime got back in the driver’s seat, started the engine, and merged back onto the highway.
The rest of the drive was quiet. I kept my eyes on the window, feeling raw and exposed. Prime didn’t try to talk. Just drove, occasionally glancing at me in a way that felt protective rather than intrusive.
When we finally pulled up to my building, I was exhausted. Emotionally wrung out.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For today. For… everything.”
Prime nodded. “I’ll walk you up.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m walking you up.”
Too tired to argue, I got out. Yusef climbed out slowly, still looking between us with that worried expression.
We rode the elevator in silence. When we reached my floor, I unlocked my door and Yusef went straight to his room without a word.
I turned to face Prime. “Thank you. Really.”
“You gonna be okay?”
“I always am.”
He studied my face for a long moment. “That’s not what I asked.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
He reached out, his thumb brushing away a tear I’d missed on my cheek. The touch was gentle, almost reverent.
“Get some rest, Goddess,” he said softly. “I’ll check on you later.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know. But I’m going to anyway.”
And then he was gone, leaving me standing in my doorway, my heart doing things I absolutely could not afford it to do.