“Was he there?”
“No, sir. He was not.”
“How did you handle that situation?”
Tink looked down briefly before answering. “I ain’t wanna embarrass her.”
The prosecutor nodded. “What did you do?”
“I just played along.”
The memory made me lower my eyes.
I had been sitting on the couch laughing while Booda argued with Tink about basketball. At one point, I remembered getting irritated because Tink kept looking confused whenever Booda spoke to him, and I had to relay the message because Tink would never answer him.
Now I realized Tink wasn’t confused by Booda.
He was confused by me.
Everyone had been. The people at the diner, watching me argue with empty space. The girl I yanked by her hair at the club as I fussed at the air. The people at the furniture store, pretending not to notice. The mall. Our soldiers, who'd lookedat me with something between pity and fear, and humored me until I was taken off the streets.
The prosecutor continued his questioning, but the words became white noise in my ears. All I could focus on was the crushing weight of a single, undeniable truth.
Booda had never been there with me.
Not at the diner. Not on the couch. Not in my bed at night when I felt his hand on my hip and heard him breathing beside me. Not in the shower, and not in the house when I kidnapped Rich’s wife and kid.
All of it had been in my head.
I had built an entire life around somebody who wasn’t there. I loved him. Fought over him. Slept beside him. Grieved him all over again every single day while my mind replayed a ghost nobody else could see.
My hands clenched in my lap, and the chains rattled against the table again, and I didn't try to stop them. I couldn't have if I'd wanted to. I was too busy falling through the floor of my own mind, tumbling past every moment I'd been sure of, every feeling I'd trusted, and every version of myself I'd believed was real.
The courtroom fell silent.
“Koko.” Ms. Franklin’s voice was barely a whisper, a warning.
The prosecutor glanced down at his notes before looking back toward Tink. “Martavious, were you aware that Giani Porter had a relationship with a man named Richard Lewis?”
Ms. Franklin stood immediately. “Objection.”
“Basis?” the judge asked.
“Relevance.”
The prosecutor adjusted his tie. “Your Honor, the state is establishing motive.”
The judge considered it briefly before nodding. “I’ll allow it. Proceed.”
Tink’s jaw tightened instantly at the mention of Rich’s name.
“Yeah,” he answered stiffly.
“Did the defendant ever express concern regarding their relationship?”
Tink laughed under his breath, but there wasn’t anything funny in it. “Concern?”
The prosecutor waited.
