Page 44 of Rome: The Ballerina

“You don’t even know what you mean, baby.”

“Chem–”

“I can stay.”

“But you won’t. I won’t allow you to.”

Silence.

“I’ve built a home for you,” Chemistry informed me, deflecting completely. “Much more grand than any of us let on. It is a home for you to grow in. Raise a family. Garden. Dance. Love. live. Explore. Make mistakes. Mature. And, retire in. I have one request, baby. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“What is that, Teddy?”

“Call me,” he explained. “Call me when you need me. Call me when you’re in a jam. Call me when you’re feeling low. Call me when you’re overwhelmed. I am not here, baby. I am what feels like a million miles away and the only way to feel centered is if you…call me. Any hour, Rome. Do you understand?”

I nodded as I swiped the fallen tear from my cheek. I hadn’t experienced much heartbreak in my life but Chemistry was breaking me to pieces with each word he spoke. He wasn’t a talker. He wasn’t one to sit on the phone and talk for even a few minutes.

Seconds were all you’d ever get from Chem on any device. So, it wasn’t only the fact that he was interested in conversing with me on a cellular device, it was the fact that he was willing to risk it all to do so. Because, while my family’s name was cleared in the database, he remained a fugitive who’d escaped from custody.

Though authorities swore he was somewhere lost at sea and waiting for his body to turn up one day, if he ever crossed theirradar they wouldn’t hesitate to put him back in a cage where they thought he belonged. He didn’t. He belonged in Clarke. Yet, he remained in St. Catana for the safety, security, and betterment of his family.

“Yes. I understand.”

“Good.”

“I love you.”

“In this lifetime and the next, baby.”

NOTE.

Between the covers of this book ismyart piece —beautifully paired words structured formycreative satisfaction and later consumed by others for enjoyment.

It’sleisure for you, it’slife for me.

This is just a book to most.It’s art for me.

Myart. I’ve hadmytime. Haveyours.

happy reading

THE BALLERINA

she’s warm, but she was born cold-blooded

ONE

“Yeah, aight. I hear you. Have that same energy on the court or lose that Rollie on your wrist.”

DJ held his arm in the sky, allowing the diamonds on his wrist a bit of air time.

“This motherfucker here to stay. Might as well keep looking at that cracked ass phone screen for the time.”

Chuckling, I slammed my car door and rolled down the window.

“That cracked ass screen came from putting in work,” I reminded him.

The shattered glass was a result of a dominated scoreboard and lazy limbs shortly after. My phone slipped from my sweatypalm as I tried returning my sister’s call. The concrete kissed it and the rest was history.

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