The first time someone broke into Chevelle Etienne's car, she was 19 years old, very stressed about her rapidly approaching final exams, and very relieved to use her misfortune as an excuse for failing three of them. And I say 'first time' because, yes, her car was broken into more than once—twice, to be exact. Unless you're counting friendly break-ins, in which case, her car was broken into a grand total of three times—but we'll get to all that later.

The second time someone broke into Chevelle's car, she was 23 years old.

The break-in happened while Chevelle was stopped at a highway diner halfway through her 5-hour-long drive home for Christmas. And whoever broke into her car this time must've somehow known she was dreading being home, because unlike when Chevelle was 19 and the thief took most of her belongings yet left the car intact, this time the thief touched none of her belongings and instead, took her car battery.

In the four years since her first break-in, Chevelle had learned many things about herself, but it's safe to say that the most important thing she had learned was that she not only hated stress; she physically couldn't handle it. Like, at all. Her inability to handle stress was what had caused her to fail most of her exams right after that first break-in, and it was also what had caused her to push her ex-boyfriend right into the arms of her sister (but again, we'll get to that later).

Nowadays, Chevelle did a better job of protecting her peace. She did everything she could to avoid stress, removing herself from situations whenever possible, or at the very least, distracting herself with something else until she knew she was capable of fixing the problem. So, naturally, when Chevelle left the diner and discovered her car battery was missing, she did the only thing she could think to do at that moment: she left the car there.

Now, of course Chevelle planned to come back for her car, but it was already getting late and she knew it would be near impossible to find a mechanic that night, so for now, she needed to get creative.

After debating with herself about whether or not a Lyft would be worth it, Chevelle finally decided to call her dad and tell him what had happened. As you've probably already guessed, he was less than thrilled about having to make the four-hour drive to pick her up from the diner and bring her home.

He and Chevelle both.

Chevelle had originally planned on staying sober since she thought she would be driving herself the rest of the way home, but now that the circumstances had changed, she saw no need to spend the next few hours in her car doing nothing. Plus, if she was going to be stuck in a car with her dad for two whole hours, she figured it wouldn't hurt to at least stretch her legs a bit first. And have a drink.

The waitress who had attended to Chevelle frowned when she saw her reenter the diner. "Is everything okay over here?" she asked, joining Chevelle where she was standing by the door.

"Yeah," Chevelle nodded. "I was just wondering if you guys serve drinks here."

The waitress—Kelsey, I think her name was—shook her head and gave Chevelle an apologetic smile. "Sorry, we don't serve alcohol," she said. And Chevelle couldn't say she was particularly surprised since it was a diner, after all, but she had just been hoping that since her car was dead and she was about to spend four miserable days with her family, the universe would at least be kind enough to enable her diet alcoholism.

"There's a bar right down the street though, if you're looking to have a drink," Kelsey said, and that was all Chevelle needed to hear.

Yes, she knew it was a quarter-mile walk down the highway, and yes, she knew how cold it was outside, but what were her alternatives? It was either she huddled up in her car (that was now unable to heat itself) for two hours, or she stayed here ordering bottomless hot chocolates while Kelsey pitied her from the corners of the diner for two hours. Both terrible, and both sober.

And so, Chevelle—very illegally, I'm sure—made her way down the edge of the semi-busy highway, somehow managing not to get hit, and an unknown amount of minutes later, she reached a bar whose parking looked as biker gang cliché as you'd expect, except with an inordinate amount of Vespas.

Chevelle could hear the music playing from the bar before she even entered: Prince.

Maybe it was because her second car break-in reminded her too much of the first, or because she hadn't slept well in almost a year, but this felt like a sign. Prince was Chevelle's absolute favorite performer, musician, icon, and everything else in between. Her favorite overall being. And every time he or his music converged with Chevelle's life in an unexpected way, something big followed. Chevelle didn't know if she believed in fate, but she believed in Prince.

Her first car break-in happened right after she had gotten a miniature record of Prince's self-titled album from an obscure yard sale her friend had brought her to. The record case was signed by Prince himself and the owners hadn't even known. They were an older couple that had clearly had their own Prince phase back in the day, and after seeing Chevelle's excitement about the signed miniature, they decided to give it to her for free. Chevelle hung her Prince miniature up in her car that afternoon, right on the rearview mirror. That same weekend, her car was broken into and (among other things) the thieves took the record. The only plausible reason Chevelle could find for this happening was, of course, Prince. In fact, when Prince died earlier this year, Chevelle had almost died with him, and that's no exaggeration.

She'd of course had her fair share of voluntary interaction with Prince's work throughout her life, but it was when he appeared in a way that seemed sudden or out of place that something big always followed. And hearing "Kiss" play through the doors of a highway bar in the middle of nowhere on Christmas Eve Eve felt pretty out of place, so to Chevelle, it felt like a sign. She just didn't know what for.

It was well after she entered the bar that Chevelle realized she'd forgotten her ID in her car. She ordered a long island and the waiter asked to see some ID, and when Chevelle couldn't find it, she almost let out a scream. Again, Chevelle debated whether the quarter-mile journey back to get her ID was worth it, but this time it wasn't. She tried convincing the bartender that she was actually 23, but he wasn't having it, and so she ended up sipping (very angrily) on a ginger ale at the corner of the bar.

"Kiss" ended and smoothly phased into some punk rock band Chevelle was unfamiliar with. And just as the remnants of Prince's voice faded from the bar, the front doors swung open, and in walked a man who Chevelle would be lying if she said didn't make her choke on her drink a little.

Yes, that good looking.

The man was tall, with dark, tanned skin that seemed to pick up every highlight in the bar's redpinkpurple lighting—so much so that it almost glowed. And atop his head sat a beautiful mess of curly black hair that was pulled back into a lazy bun, all except for the one strand that he allowed to fall over his face and hide part of his left eye. And, speaking of eyes...this man's eyes were a deep brown sky that didn't need to be looking at Chevelle for her to drown in. As the door closed behind him and he looked around the bar, Chevelle drew her gaze down to his sharp jaw and plump lips, watching as he ran his tongue lightly over his lower lip before he pulled it into his mouth and bit down on it.

Can a person's ovaries shake? I'm pretty sure Chevelle's were. It hadn't been too long since she'd been kissed, but by someone with lips that supple and pink? Not since her ex.

No...not even then.

Chevelle knew she wasn't the only one looking, but she was definitely the only one looking this hard. Either way, she was too fascinated to let any potential embarrassment stop her. Even though this man didn't look like he frequented bars like this, he seemed to fit right into place. He exhaled a calm confidence every time he breathed out, and everyone who was near him could feel it. Chevelle could feel it from across the bar.

Pink Lips made his way to the bar and sat down a couple of stools away from Chevelle. She was trying to be more subtle with her ogling now that he was closer, but being able to see him in full detail was making it hard. She couldn't stop noticing things. She noticed the stubble growing from his chin and could see from its shape that if he let it grow a few days more it would be a full, and more importantly, connecting beard. She also noticed that the black hoodie he was wearing somehow seemed to make his eyes look like an even darker shade of brown, and so when they finally snapped up to meet her own, she couldn't remember how to look away.

"I have somewhere to be soon, you know," Pink Lips said. "So if you're trying to talk to me, you should do it faster."

And just like that, the trance was broken.

Chevelle rolled her eyes, returning her gaze to the ginger ale on the counter in front of her. "Sorry. I was just looking," she said, taking a sip of her drink.

I mean, she wasn't blind. When a guy that hot walks into a room, of course she's going to look, but that didn't mean she actually wanted to talk to him. In her experience, once a man opened his mouth, a situation went nowhere but downhill. Example: at Christmas dinner last year, her brother decided to open his mouth and say to Chevelle's then-boyfriend, Jared, that her little sister Farah was exactly like Chevelle except without all the craziness. Now, one year later, Chevelle was waiting for her dad to drive two hours to pick her up and bring her home for a Christmas holiday that Jared would be spending with the Etiennes again, except this time, as Farah's boyfriend. Fucked up, I know.

"I...really can't tell if that's a compliment or not," Pink Lips said, clearly surprised by Chevelle's crassness. Not surprised enough to give up though. "I'm Abel." He held out a hand to her, and since Chevelle was polite, she shook it.

"Chevelle," she said. "And it wasn't an insult, I'm just not really in a talking mood right now."

Abel looked from Chevelle's glass back to her face with a raised brow. "How could you have had that much of your drink and not be in a talking mood?" he asked, scooting down a stool so that the two of them were closer. "Something must be going on."

Chevelle took another big sip before shaking her head as she chuckled under her breath. "It's ginger ale, actually. I forgot my ID in my car a quarter mile away, and the bartender won't believe that I'm twenty-three."

"Are you?"

"Yes!"

Abel held his hands up in surrender as he laughed. "Sorry, had to ask," he said, thanking the bartender as they handed him his drink. "So why'd you park your car a quarter mile away anyway?"

"Believe it or not, I didn't," Chevelle muttered, allowing the sarcasm to lace her voice just a little. "I parked at a diner to get some food, and by the time I came back out, somebody had broken into my car and stolen my battery. I thought I'd at least have a drink while I wait for my dad to come get me, but then I left my freaking ID in the car, hence the ginger ale."

"Oh. Damn. Well, I can't do anything about the car, but if you'd like a drink, I can help with that."

At first, Chevelle thought Abel wanted to give her his drink and told him that that was a surefire way to get them both kicked out of the bar ASAP. It wasn't until he pulled the mini bottle of Hennessy out from his hidden jacket pocket that she realized he meant he could mix her one. And so, she ordered another soda—a Coke this time—and when it came, Abel gave her the Hennessy bottle that she very stealthily poured into her cup. Chevelle tasted the Coke again, and this time it burned a little.

"So, what are you doing out here two days before Christmas?" she asked.

"I'm on my way back home," Abel said. "I came up here for a wedding—my ex-girlfriend's, actually. It was earlier today, and I decided kind of last minute to come."

"Did you end up going?"

Abel nodded and chuckled to himself even though there was clearly nothing he found funny about the situation. Chevelle could see in his eyes that he wished he hadn't gone. However things may have ended, he obviously still cared about his ex.

"Recent breakup?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Not extremely recent, but way too recent for her to be married already, you know?"

"Because you still love her?"

"No..." Abel narrowed his eyes scrutinizingly at Chevelle—and understandably so, considering he didn't know her and she was asking some pretty personal questions. In her defense though, I will say that it was mainly the Hennessy's fault (and not at all because talking about somebody else's problems was distracting her from having to think about her own). "Not because I still love her," Abel muttered. "It's just all happening so fast, and after going to the wedding, I can't stop wondering whether they were involved while we were still together. Although, I don't even know if it matters now."

"I mean, if you're broken up now, it doesn't really matter..." Chevelle shrugged. "Doesn't mean you're not allowed to care though."

"That sounds like it was spoken from experience."

Chevelle shrugged again and took a sip of her drink. "I guess," she sighed. "Since we're apparently just oversharing tonight...my ex is dating my sister now, and my entire family is very supportive of their relationship. Don't really want to get into it though."

"Fair," Abel said with a nod. Chevelle watched as he took another sip of his drink and then licked his lips smooth. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in towards her. "So how much time do you have left before your dad gets here?" he asked.

Chevelle pulled out her phone and saw that it was half-past seven. "Like another hour, why?"

"You smoke?" Abel asked.

Chevelle made a face. "Smoke what?"

Abel tapped the back of his ear and she followed his hand to see that there was a neatly rolled blunt sitting pretty behind his left ear. How had she not noticed it all that time? Chevelle smoked weed pretty regularly, but did she want to smoke with a man she'd just met? She wasn't sure.

"We can go to my car?" he offered, before quickly adding, "And I'm not propositioning you or anything. I actually just want to smoke."

"I thought you had somewhere to be soon?" Chevelle asked, folding her arms across her chest.

Abel shrugged, a sheepish grin playing at his lips. "Okay, so maybe I lied," he said. "Sue me."

With a laugh, Chevelle shook her head. "Thanks for the offer, but no thanks. If I smoke with you, I'm going to smell so much by the time my dad gets here. He used to be a cop, you know." She didn't feel the need to add that her dad hadn't, in fact, been a cop on American soil, but back when her family lived in Haiti. Or that Haitian cops didn't actually give a fuck about people smoking weed since they (quite proudly) did a large portion of the smoking themselves.

"What's he going to do?" Abel asked. "Arrest you?"

Chevelle thought about that for a second—just to mess with Abel, of course. "He might," she finally said, nodding her head. "If I get on his nerves enough, yeah."

"Seriously? Is that even legal?"

Chevelle snickered, shaking her head as she downed the rest of her drink. "No, not seriously," she said, standing up from her stool and making a show of stretching out her legs. "Come on," she placed a hand on Abel's knee, painfully aware of the way his eyes followed her movement and the way his knees tensed up beneath her light touch. She motioned to the door with her head, "Let's go."

And so, Abel finished the remainder of his drink in one large sip and led Chevelle outside to his car—a Honda Accord with a coat of paint that was way too chipped for her to be sure whether or not it was actually navy-blue. The inside of Abel's car was much nicer than the outside though, which Chevelle greatly appreciated because she probably would have just walked back to her car right then if his was nasty on the inside.

They got situated with Abel in the driver's seat and Chevelle in the passenger's, and once the car had warmed up, Abel took the blunt from behind his ear and the lighter from inside his pocket. He held them both out towards Chevelle.

"Would you like to do the honors?"

↠ • ↞

In the hour that Chevelle and Abel hotboxed his car, she learned three very interesting things about him. First, that the two of them had the same birthday: December 28th. He was two years older than her, but she still thought it was pretty cool. They were both Capricorns and Chevelle loved most of the other Caps she'd met (although between you and me, Abel definitely had more Scorpio in him than any other sign). Second, Chevelle learned that Abel currently lived in the same city as her parents—which meant that while she was with her family for the next four days, he'd be in the same city as her. In fact, Abel had even offered to drive her home since they were going to the same place, but Chevelle's dad had already spent over an hour driving out to get her so, sadly, she couldn't say yes. And last but certainly not least, Chevelle learnt that even though he was expertly good at hiding it, Abel Seifu was a bona fide romantic.

"So you're saying you don't believe in closure at all?"

Chevelle nodded. "Yes, Abel, it's such a myth. Literally think about it; you went to your ex's wedding hoping for some sort of closure yet all it did was reopen something you had already moved past. If you hadn't gone, then you wouldn't even be thinking about her right now. Going back for closure is like knifing open a healed wound, and every time you do it, it leaves a bigger scar when it heals. Better to just move on and live your life, you know?"

"Wow, you're such a cynic," Abel said, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

"That may be true," Chevelle replied with a laugh, "but you know I'm right. You're never going to hear the thing you want to when you go back."

Abel sighed, looking up from his lap and meeting Chevelle's gaze. She couldn't quite decipher what the look in his eyes meant, but that didn't change the way it made her feel. The air in the car was still a little smoky and they were both high as shit so she couldn't tell how long they were actually staring at each other for, but finally Abel spoke. "Yeah, you're right," he said. "Nobody ever hears the thing they want to...and yet, we all still keep going back."

"Because of love," Chevelle quipped, not intending for her words to sound nearly as mocking as they did, but ever since Jared, it had all turned into one big joke for her. After all, if your boyfriend of two years leaves you for your little sister, it helps if you're still able to make at least a joke or two.

Abel nodded. "Exactly," he said, ignoring Chevelle's cynicism. "Love."

"Regardless, it doesn't matter how much two people may love each other, if they don't want the same thing then they can't build a life together. It can't work."

"And what do you want, Chevelle?" Abel breathed out the question, unsure if she would answer it. And she wanted to answer it. Believe me, Chevelle wished she had a smart, well-thought-out reply to Abel's question, but the truth was that she had no idea what in the hell she wanted, and she'd been trying to run away from that realization for years. A year ago, she'd almost succeeded, but life got in the way. Quite literally.

"Now would be a good time for my phone to ring or some shit like that," Chevelle muttered, trying unsuccessfully to both joke around and change the subject at the same time. She was looking out the front window of the car at the half moon that shone bright in the sky, very aware of Abel's eyes that still rested on her.

"There's no pressure, Chevelle," he finally said. "If you don't want to answer something, don't." His voice was still as calm and confident as it had been since their introduction an hour-and-a-half ago, and Chevelle liked that. It made her feel like she could let herself relax just a little bit more. He wasn't pretending and he didn't need her to either.

Chevelle smiled, still watching the moon as she reached over and placed a hand on Abel's thigh, exhaling contently as the muscles in his leg tensed up beneath her soft palm. She knew exactly what she was doing and wondered if he could tell. She wasn't exactly being subtle.

Chevelle gave his thigh a light squeeze. "Thanks," she said.

Abel chuckled lightly before taking a breath. "So...am I going to see you again?" he asked.

Now Chevelle turned to face him, a sly grin making its way across her lips. "Well, that depends," she said, cocking her head to the side playfully. "How badly do you want to?"

And it was at that moment that Chevelle's phone actually did ring, which meant that her father had arrived, and that even though she wasn't ready for it in the slightest, her time with Abel was now over.

I'm baaack 😈

I'm really excited to share this story with you guys. I began writing it during a time when I was dealing with a lot of writer's block, so fair warning, it is very experimental. I've always been really interested in Chevelle as a character so I just started freewriting about her, and it turned into this. This story doesn't follow a set structure, and so some chapters are very different from others both in terms of format and content.

I'll probably come up with a real title at some point (or maybe not, idk), but for now, this is Chevelle's Story, because it deserves to be told.

This is not a love story. It's just a small slice of Chevelle's life—about her coming into herself, little by little. The gray space.

I know that wattpad is a very reactionary site where people often say mean things simply for shock value, but one of my hopes is that, within the bounds of this book, we can shed those urges and actually engage with the characters and the story with care.

I don't write my characters to be likeable (as anyone who's met Kimberly can attest) I write them to be themselves. So as you're reading this story, don't read it hoping it will show you what you 'want' to see (because it probably won't). Instead, try and look for what the story itself is trying to say. I guarantee you'll enjoy it more that way.

This book is already up on my Radish Fiction profile, so if you want to read ahead now then download the app! My handle is @deeperplease. New chapters on Radish every Thursday and Sunday.

I will be posting the story on wattpad as well, but there will be a longer wait between updates (~1 week) and the final few chapters will remain on Radish. And as I'm sure everyone who's coming here from Under His Roof is aware, I've had my stories plagiarized a LOT on this site. I'm choosing to trust my wattpad readers with this because I really want to be able to share my work with you, BUT. If I see even a LETTER of this story anywhere else, I'm just going to take it down because it's honestly not worth it. So please, please respect my work, because I do love sharing it.

anyway, thanks for being patient with me my loves<3 and to everyone who has sent me hateful things over the past few years, I just want to say that your mom's a hoe.

<3

-nabi