“Black? That’s not like a real color,” Charlie said, laughing. “That’s the color people pick when they don’t have a favorite color. It’s like a default answer.”
“Says you,” Demi said. “That’s my answer, though.”
Charlie’s heart fluttered as they rode down the highway, pushing 90 in the 70 zone, but neither cared. He drove like he did everything— fast... it was just the pace of their relationship.
“Black is so sad, though. Like it lacks life. They bury you in black, Demi!” she argued.
“My skin is black, Bird. My mama is black. A nigga heart was black too. It’s a little gray now, though, since you,” he admitted. “You coming in adding too much color in my space.”
“Good,” she answered. He heard the satisfaction in her tone.
“Favorite food?” she quizzed.
Demi slouched in his seat, thinking, always overthinking, even at the simplest question.
“I can’t answer that yet,” he said.
“What? How can you not know your favorite food?” she asked, frowning.
“I ain’t had you on my plate yet.”
Charlie had to turn her eyes out the window.
“Soon, though. I’ma taste it real soon,” he added. The bite to his lip told her he could not wait, and Charlie blushed. He made her feel like she was 16 and this was her first crush. She didn’t know if it was their age difference or if he was just out of her league, but Demi made Charlie feel like the prettiest girl in the world. “I bet it’s good too.” he added.
Her cheeks might as well had gone up in flames.
“You’re so mannish,” she whispered.
A deep laugh filled the car and her heart at the same time.
“What’s the thing in your life that hurt you the most?” she asked.
The entire mood in the car changed.
Demi didn’t answer this time. He turned up the music, her choice because Charlie just liked touching shit, his body, his buttons, mental and the ones in the car.
She didn’t push because she knew she would also have to share her greatest pain. It was a bad question for someone to answer so soon. She backed off as her playlist filled the car.
She hummed, petting Bails’ head which rested between her thighs, as Demi drove. Even his silence felt divine. It was like she had been his girl since forever. This was comfortable.
He lowered the music and she stopped singing.
“Nah, you keep going. I want to hear you sing, Bird,” he said.
And so, she did. Humming lazily, as they sped south on I-75.
“If you can show me loveee somehow, we don’t need to have a label,” she half sang, half hummed. Demi wondered how she did it, how she mastered his emotion every time she sang. How lyrics to random songs fit what he was hiding inside his chest forher. Love with no labels. That’s what they were. She didn’t want them. He had expected her to.
What kind of bitch don’t want to put a label on it?He thought.
It was then he knew Charlie had the upper hand. He cared. She didn’t seem to. He was bothered.
They arrived at a high-rise Chrysler building in the middle of Downtown Detroit.
“What’s in here?” she asked.
“Birds fly baby. Come on,” he said. They exited and Charlie leaned her head against his arm, lacing her arm through his as she dragged Bails to the elevator. They ascended and her ears popped as the open-air elevator gave her a view of the entire city and the Detroit River.
