• • •

Kensley Parker

Blowing hair out of my face, I turned the instructions to the side as if that'd help, then looked back to the wall mount that didn't seem to want to be mounted.

"I am... a strong independent woman." I encouraged myself while picking up one of the pieces, "Now either you gonna go on this wall, or you going out the window. Choice is yours."

As I put the drill to the wall, I heard my phone. I paused to ensure that I wasn't imagining things, before tossing the drill on the bed and going to answer it.

It was Jailyn. Again.

I wasn't ignoring her, I was just distancing myself.

To my surprise, there actually was a term for it, not really medical, more so psychological. A traumatic experience, even though she hadn't experienced it directly, causes the brain's stress regions to become active.

A healthy reaction would be for them to disengage when the 'threat' is gone, aided by a hormone, oxytocin. That same hormone is stimulated by pleasurable social interactions.

I'm guessing she and Elijah had pleasurable social interactions.

I wasn't sure why I spent so much time looking into it, or why I wanted to understand it, but I did. Gain insight into her thought process, and it still didn't really make sense to me.

Nor did I feel any different about the situation, making it very pointless.

Glancing down at my phone that had started ringing again, I sighed and answered, "Hey."

"You busy?"

"I was tryna' mount a TV but I'm finna throw it out the window instead."

Zi laughed, "Make Eli do it. But, aye, Jai just called me– Say she finna have the baby and nobody answering the phone. I'm onna way to her house, but if you can go to her mama and them house right quick that'll help out a lot."

"Okay." I looked around the room for my shoes, "Yeah, I'll go over there."

• • •

Elijah Baker

"It showed me the wrong way to go about certain situations, which in turn showed me the right way."

"Right and wrong are subjective to the person." Dr. Thomas was writing something on his pad, "Children need role models. Whether it be an actual parent or someone who assumes the parental role. You've explained to me that you didn't have that, so it's understandable why you're struggling."

"I wouldn't say struggling."

"How would you describe it?"

My eyes floated around the room while I tried to think of a description, "You said right and wrong are subjective, and I agree. I know when shit is wrong, but if I wanna do it... I'ma still do it regardless of if it's right."

"And that leads us back to role models. A child has to be taught how to navigate their moral compass– No one showed you how. I'm not placing the blame solely on your parents, as you're a smart man, I'm sure you know the difference now, but we're most impressionable when we're children. You got the wrong impressions."

I thought as soon as I came in here, he'd diagnose me and send me to the crazy house. Zi was the one who recommended him, saying it's the same one he used to see. That was news to me that he had a therapist at all, but I took his word for it and saw the draw.

I was comforted by the fact that I could tell him everything about me, yet if I saw him anywhere else, I didn't have to speak. If I never wanted to come back, I didn't have to.

Cognitive Processing Therapy is what Dr. Thomas called it, describing the premise as a method of getting rid of harmful beliefs that were a result of my childhood trauma.

His words. I didn't think there was any trauma.

I didn't have nightmares about it, I never thought about it unless someone asked me. It happened, I moved on.

We were two weeks into a twelve-week session model, and all we'd talked about was the past.

"Last session, I asked that you write about your most traumatic experience. Did you?"

"Yeah." I looked over at the paper and tried to hand it to him, only he held up a hand in refusal, "What?"

"Read it aloud."

I didn't want to, "Is there a reason why?"

"Everything we do is for a reason, Eli. Our first week together, we talked about how past events shaped the way that you currently think. You always say you don't think about what happened anymore. Why is that?"

"It's no point."

"Or, you're dismissing your thoughts about it because it makes you uncomfortable."

To prove him wrong, I looked at the paper and opened my mouth to read the words, only nothing came out. I felt like a fucking child and glanced up at Dr. Thomas, expecting to see an 'I told you so' expression.

It wasn't there. He just sat patiently until I managed to begin, "My mama left Christian. I wanted to go with her– my brother wanted to stay with him. She ain't wanna force him to leave, so she let him, and told him where we were going in case he decided to come."

I paused, pinpointing the turning point in mine and Marc's relationship, "Marc told Christian, and he came to get us. She was taking a shower, I was watching tv. I don't know how he got a key to the room, but he came in there. He told me to get my stuff, and I was doing that when they started arguing. They ended up coming out of the bathroom, so I walked out."

It wasn't the story that made me not wanna talk about it, or even the fact that I was basically reliving it–Christian had already reminded me of it when he told me to go get Kensley. The problem was the part that I played in what happened.

Nothing.

"Keep going." Dr. Thomas encouraged, "You chose this story for a reason."

My mouth felt dry, "She was still telling him that we weren't coming home, and I guess that made him mad. When I came out of the room, he was beating the hell outta her with a pistol. Eventually, she stopped screaming, he told me to get her shit too, carried her outta the room— we went home."

"How old were you?"

"13."

"Do you remember how you felt when it was happening?"

The obvious answer was scared, but it was more to it, "Weak, I guess? I never tried to help– just stood there and watched. And my mama was mad at me 'cause she thought I opened the door for him."

"How do you feel about it now?"

"They're still married so it must've worked."

His hand had to be hurting from how much writing he was doing, "Do you see the pattern? In every traumatic experience we've talked about, there's an underlying tone of you rationalizing what happened because it got the desired outcome."

"So now what?"

"Another assignment for you: when you leave today, add to your story, but change the ending. Find three alternatives to what Christian did, and explain why they would've worked better."

That was easy. Anything would've worked better.

• • •

Kensley Parker

Rayne was a beautiful baby.

She resembled her dad a lot, making me believe the saying that the child would look like whoever you argued with the most during pregnancy.

It's a wonder she didn't look like me.

"Ken, look at the camera." Erica smiled, waiting for me to turn.

I resisted the urge to lift Rayne over my head like Simba and settled for a smile in Jai's mom's direction.

It wasn't my intent to be at the hospital when Jai gave birth, but her parents were an hour away, shopping, Zi didn't feel comfortable, and it seemed extremely mean to make her go through it alone.

I'd been trying to leave for the past 30 minutes– was on my way out before I was forced to take pictures with Rayne.

"Congrats again." I handed the swaddled baby back to Jai, "She's so pretty."

"Thank you... You don't wanna stay? Let her get to know her aunt?"

I did a half-smile, "She has years to get to know me. You should bond with her first."

Minutes. I should've stayed in the room.

Instead, I waved goodbye to them, walking out of the room and stopping dead in my tracks, "Lauren?"

"Jai called me earlier looking for Eli. I told her I'd stop by."

"Oh. She's in there."

"You're leaving already?"

I nodded, "Had a long day."

"I–" She looked around, "Have you talked to Eli?"

Elijah usually turned his phone off when he went to therapy, so my texts went undelivered. Besides, there wasn't a reason he needed to be at the hospital anyway.

Not knowing if he'd told them that he started seeing someone, I just shrugged, "Nope."

"Okay... Call him when you get a chance, please. Just tell him that Marc knows."

"Marc knows what?"

She wouldn't say, only sighing heavily, "He'll know what it means. It's not my place to explain it."

If it wasn't her place to explain it, then, "Why would you ask me to tell him something but not tell me what's it about?"

"I thought you knew." She defended, "Jai knows, she's your best friend, Eli knows, he's your boyfriend– It seemed like that information would've made it back to you."

Awesomeeee. More secrets.

The sad part was, I was more upset that Jailyn knew whatever it was, and that I didn't.

• • •

Elijah Baker

I should've known better than to think that my mama wanted a muffin in this late at night. It was a setup since Christian wanted to talk to me.

Everybody wanted to talk to me today– texts from Kensley, Lauren, Jai. I only responded to Kensley, telling her I'd be over there after I left from here.

Christian was upstairs waiting for me, standing from his seat when I came in, "Close the door."

"Wassup?"

He approached me, pushing me into the wall, "You think you a smart motherfucka' huh?"

Well, I wasn't the dumbest, "I think I'm somewhere up there with 'em."

"Can't be." He laughed, "Ya' mama believed allat shit you was saying about Marc 'cause she don't care much for him no way. I know better."

"Do you?"

"I know everything that go on. Just like I knew Ken was talking to them people, how I know what you and Zi was doing on Eastside. You not as low as you think."

It shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. I never thought Christian was the type to have people pay attention to me, yet it made sense.

I knew the entirety of his operation, I was the one who could make everything he worked for, disappear. He knew I didn't like him, probably thought I was just waiting for the right time.

"You don't run the show, I do." He resumed talking, "You don't get to make the final decision– I do. It just so happen that I agreed with it. Let him clear his mind, figure out what he want in life, then he'll come home."

That was funny. So, I laughed.

Right before I pushed away from the wall to grab him, and put his back where mine just was, holding my elbow to his neck, "I'm in therapy– Being happy." I put more weight into my hold when he pushed back, "But my nigga, I'll really kill you and not lose no sleep over it. I'll prolly put you inna backyard, so every time I come over here to try to make mama feel better, I can piss on ya' grave."

Christian coughed when I let him go, placing his hand on a bookshelf to steady himself.

The nigga ain't even read.

He looked up at me when caught his breath, smiling, "I always told Tracey you'll be the one to kill me. Come back when ya' nuts drop."

I wanted my mind to stop moving, only it wouldn't.

Just a few minutes, a few seconds of peace. That wasn't much to ask for and I still couldn't get it.

My mama met me on the stairs, "What was all that bumping?"

"Go ask 'em."

"I'm asking you." She tried to touch me, "What's wrong?"

It took a lot out of me to remember who I was talking to, and even then, I didn't think I could talk to her right then. I chose to hug her and kiss her cheek, walking down the rest of the stairs, listening to her ask Christian what happened.

I wanted to go to Kensley's apartment and talk about whatever it was that she wanted to talk about, have her distract me, but I'd told her that I wouldn't burden her with my problems anymore. I decided to call Dr. Thomas instead.

Easily the worst decision I'd ever made in my life.

• • •

Kensley Parker

Walmart had to be the trenches of department stores. Every lane was closed but two, the self-checkout machines were down– I was tempted to just walk out with what I came for and go home.

I eventually got to the front of the line, pulling the box from under my arm and setting it on the belt. The cashier looked down at it, then back up to me, "Are we hoping it's a boy or girl?"

"It's for a friend."

She side-eyed me and giggled like she thought I was lying, "Is your 'friend' hoping for a boy or girl?"

"No preference."

I was hoping she'd catch the hint that I didn't wanna talk about the pregnancy test, but she must've been bored and kept going, "$28? Girl, you could've gone to Dollar Tree. They do the same thing, and you could've had 28 of 'em instead of just two." She shook the box and placed it into a bag.

Who the fuck needs 28 pregnancy tests?

"I'll keep that in mind for next time." I smiled politely, "Have a great day."

Maria planned on coming to get the tests when she got off, so I went home and tried to find the energy to get out and climb the stairs. A few minutes turned into half an hour, my phone keeping me from growing bored of sitting in the car.

A light tap on my windshield made me look up, and I recognized the man from the movies months ago, waving with a friendly smile.

Something told me not to open my door, so I didn't, raising my eyebrows in question.

He never said what he wanted, and he didn't have to.

Starting my car and running him over crossed my mind, but I'd likely be dead before I even put the car in drive.

I looked around for someone, but no one was outside, and even if they were, they took minding their business to the extreme in my complex.

Using a gun is the most preferred method of killing, and one could only assume because it was quick– bullets able to penetrate nearly anything. They were considered impersonal, though, unless you were shot multiple times.

Knives were more personal. They required you to be in close contact with your victim, if you stuck around long enough, you'd probably hear them take their last intake of breath.

The guy tapping on my window had both.

A gun to make me unlock the door.

A knife to kill me.

"It's okay." He whispered in my ear while I felt the knife turning in my stomach. My pleas for help were muffled by a gloved hand, "I'm sorry to do this to you, Kensley."

He sat there with me, either because he really was sorry to do it, or because he wanted to ensure I was dead.

The last thing I remembered was his hand gently squeezing mine.

• • •

Elijah Baker

"How many times we gotta talk about this?" I mumbled to myself as I approached Kensley's car.

I was prepared to tell her, once again, how unsafe it was to sit out here like this, but I didn't get the chance to.

It wasn't like the other times, when she'd be on her phone– her phone wasn't even in sight. She'd never fallen asleep in her car, yet her eyes were closed, and her head was in a resting position.

I knew the door being closed was the only thing keeping her upright, and that when I opened it, she'd fall onto the ground.

Much like my 13-year-old self, I just stood there.

• • •

have y'all ever listened to the song sandcastles by Beyoncé? the first line in the song is the theme of this entire book, "we built sandcastles, that washed away"

.... just saying 🥴

thanks for reading 💕