Synthia became quiet for a moment, her finger became still too. Followed by a slow pause, she sighed, long and heavy, like she was carrying dead weight.
“It means I’m in trouble and I’m scared,” she spoke softly.
“What kind of trouble?”
“The kind where I start feeling things I want to feel, but I’m not supposed to feel. The kind where I want things I can’t have. The kind where I can see myself tossing and turning at night, losing sleep, afraid that one day I’ll wake up and this will all feel like a dream. The kind that makes me fear losing you,” she uttered.
My hand on her back went cold and stiff. “And I’ll be right there wit’ you. Tossin’ and turnin’ too. You ain’t alone inthis. Stop replacin’ the we’s with I’s, Synthia,” I spat, irritation slipping through.
“Romelo…” she scoffed, sitting up. The sheet was clenched tight in her hand over her breasts. “Is it not clear to you that this will start a war?”
I scrunched my face in annoyance. “I don’t give a fuck ‘bout startin’ a war with a bitch who ain’t got shit for me. Fuck I look like to you? Don’t start pissin’ me off—talkin’ out the side of yo fuckin’ neck, sayin’ dumb ass shit that’s gon’ make me slap the shit out’chu,” I snapped.
“Nigga, I wish the fuck you would put your hands on me. I’ll rumble with a nigga. I’m with whatever you wit’, Romelo. Don’t write a check yo ass can’t cash.”
“If I black your eye, then what?” I taunted, clearly joking.
I don’t hit women unless I’m pushed to a limit I don’t ever wanna reach—but I’ll walk off long before that.
“Then we’ll both be lookin’ like some pandas, ‘cause I’m blackin’ your eye too.”
I gave her a sadistic side-eye, and she mirrored it—nostrils flaring before a smile tugged her lips. Then she burst out laughing, breaking her own face.
When her laughter finally faded, I spoke. “I know what I want. Not just while we’re here. Not until I’m bored. I want you. I don’t know what else to do or say to convince you otherwise.”
“I don’t want you to feed me lies or bullshit?—”
“Ain’t nobody doin’ that,” I cut in. “I thought we got past this part?” My voice sounded drained even to me.
“We have,” she protested softly. “At least that’s what I tell myself. Romelo… I don’t want to mistake my feelings for you because I’m trapped here. When it’s time?—”
My head started throbbing at the thought. “I don’t wanna think about that shit right now,” I hissed.
Synthia clicked her teeth. “It’s reality.”
“If what you feel for me is real, then why you keep tryna twist it? You safer here wit’ me anyway. I can bring the world to you.”
Silence settled heavy between us, both of us trying to process everything.
“You scare me, Romelo,” she admitted, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
My eyebrows shot up. “I scare you?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “You make me feel things I don’t know how to process. You make me feel wanted. You look at me different—unlike other niggas.”
“What do you want?” I asked her.
We stared at each other for a long moment, breathing steady, our chests rising in sync.
“I want to wake up to you every morning,” she finally said. “I want to cook you breakfast, iron your clothes, bathe you… run your bath water. Run my fingers through your hair. I want us to have cook-offs to see who can make the best steaks. I want to go places I’ve never been—with you.”
She paused, her eyes tracing over my face.
“I want to build something real with you. Not some fake ass relationship where we goin’ through the motions and testin’ the waters.”
Her breath hitched, eyes glossing with tears. I removed my arm from behind my head and gently caressed her back, up and down.
“Why you cryin’, Synthia?” I asked.
