"You look like shit," I noted.
"Am I 'posed to look like a nigga off the runway?" he shot back, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"That's not what I mean." I shrugged. "But if you wanna act dumb 'bout the shit when all I'm trying to do is check in with you, then cool. What you need help with?"
"Follow me."
Honor turned and took a couple of steps, expecting me to move, but I didn't.
"Nigga, you coming?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Nah, we gotta talk first."
He stopped. "Didn't you just ask what I need help with? Bring your ass on so I can show you. I don't got time for your shit, Crown."
"Make time," I responded evenly, "'cause I'm not helping you with shit 'til we clear the air."
He turned back to me, his jaw tight. "I ain't got shit to say," he muttered, dragging a hand through his short curls.
"From where I stand," I said, not raising my voice, "you got a lot to fucking say."
He scoffed, lips curling. "You start going to therapy, and now you think you know some shit."
I didn't react, flinch, or give him the fight he was looking for.
"This don't got shit to do with therapy."
Honor exhaled hard through his nose, fingers flexing at his sides. "Then what? 'Cause I got two bodies I need your help getting rid of!"
"You," I growled, finally stepping forward. "Nigga, you're the fuckin' reason?—"
"I'm the fuckin' reason you get to sit at home with your pregnant fiancée, every fucking day. And you know what's crazy… you haven't put in work since you dipped for those two months, and deposits still hit your account." Honor's chest puffed out after saying that shit like he had something to prove.
A tight grin settled on my face 'cause I wasn't the nigga he had to prove himself to.
"So yeah, Cortez, I'm the muthafuckin' reason."
I laughed, slow and controlled, nodding at his arrogance. My jaw locked, molars grinding as I dragged my tongue across my teeth, wondering if this nigga could hear himself.
Staring at the man I called my brother, the man I'd follow to the edge of the earth, eyeing me like I was an enemy instead of blood, fucked my head up. We were never ‘posed to let shit get this far, but we've been dodging the elephant in the room since I got back. What happened in my basement started off as Honor playing victim and me needing him to acknowledge that I was my own man. Words got tossed, egos bruised, but understanding never found its way into the room. I didn't want to believe Honor was the type to take his own life, but the way he mumbled under his breath, the far-gone look in his eyes, said otherwise. This back and forth between us was doing more than fucking up our family. It had Honor teetering on the edge and had me forgetting the importance of listening, because not every cry for help was vocal.
"You want your cookie now, nigga?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. "'Cause niggas who gotta say they the reason the next nigga can feed his family usually wants some type of applause."
"No applause needed, but I'd appreciate some fucking respect or acknowledgment. Hell, a fucking thank you. Some other than you bitching."
"Acknowledgment is me trading my last name for a made-up one. A thank you is—" Chuckling, I cut myself off. "Nah. See, I'm not about to do this shit with you. Real power, real respect doesn't need a list of shit I've done for you or with you. I've been nothing but loyal to you and your muthafuckin' name, and you wanna talk to me about acknowledgment? Appreciation?"
I scoffed, letting my eyes fall for a second before lifting back to his.
"But you don't get that shit, do you? You don't understand that loyalty ain't submission. I stand beside you, not beneath you. What you say don't move me unless I choose for it to."
My voice stayed calm, but the warning sat heavy.
"You can't son me. The sooner you understand that the better off we'll be."
Honor laughed, sharp and humorless.
"See, that's the problem right there," he said, stepping closer. "You think I'm trying to son you, when that's the furthest thing from my mind."
