Page 18 of The Spirit Of My Savage
“Youcan,” he said softly. “You might not ever love the same, but you can love again. And baby… I want that for you. That’s what real love is. Wantin’ somebody to be happy, even if it ain’t with you.”
My whole body trembled as I glanced over at Rome’s still body, and King placed a finger under my chin to turn me back. “I’m scared I’ll lose you for good if I move on.”
“You’ll never lose me,” he promised, standing back up, voice strong again. “I’m in your heart. On your body. In every beat. In every breath. But you gotta live, baby. For me. For you. You still got time to have it all.”
I looked at him, eyes swollen. “You really want me to try?”
He nodded, the faintest smile curling at his lips. “I want you to live. Try. Laugh again. Love again. I’m dead ass. Fuck with a real nigga who earns your heart and don’t just wanna hold it ‘cause I used to.”
We stared at each other for what felt like forever. “I love you, Kamari Harris,” I whispered.
He stepped back, fading into the shadows. “I love you more, Skylah Harris. Always. But now… It’s time to let go, Sky Pie.”
The lights steadied, and suddenly, people were banging on the door.
“Ma’am! What’s going on in there?”
Voices stacked on top of each other—hotel staff, guests, somebody shouting for help down the hall. My body wouldn’t move.
King’s voice came first. “Breathe,” he said lowly. “In through your nose, out your mouth. You hear me?”
More pounding came at the door. “Ma’am, we’re calling the police!”
“King,” I whispered, voice cracking. “What the fuck do I do?”
His voice dropped even lower, that mix of command and comfort only he had. “Listen to me. You gon’ be straight. When they come in here, you tell ‘em he came at you. You was scared. You defended yourself. Don’t fold, don’t stutter. You keep your head up.”
Tears kept sliding down my face. “He’s hurt, King. He’s probably…”
“I know,” he said. “But so are you. You been hurt. He did this to himself. Just breathe, baby. You gon make it outta this shit.”
The door burst open. Two hotel attendants froze in the doorway, one covering her mouth. Someone yelled for an ambulance. The hallway filled with noise—radios, footsteps, voices, panic. I just stood there, arms wrapped around myself, shaking. Everything moved fast—hands pulling me aside, people crowding around Rome, someone shouting instructions. I couldn’t hear a word of it.
King’s voice cut through all of it. “Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
So I did. Even when they brought in a stretcher, even when blue lights flashed outside the window, I just kept my eyes on him. He moved closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, solid like he used to be.
“Remember what I said,” he murmured near my ear. “Self-defense. You was protectin’ yourself. That’s the truth, you hear me?”
I nodded, tears still running. “I hear you.”
They were asking if I was hurt. King’s hand stayed on the back of my neck, thumb rubbing slow circles like he used towhen I couldn’t stop crying. The rain started outside, hard and cold, beating against the glass. One of the cops walked over to the window, talking on his radio. I barely saw him. All I could feel was the storm moving in.
King looked out at it, then back at me. “That rain? That’s a cleanse. Let it fall. Let it wash it all off you.”
When they finally led me outside, wrapped in a blanket, the sirens and flashing lights turned the parking lot into chaos. People were pointing, whispering, phones out. I didn’t say a word. I just looked up, face wet with rain and tears, and felt King beside me.
He leaned in, voice smooth and certain. “You did what you had to do. Hold your head high. They gon’ spin the story, but you gon’ tell the truth. That’s all that matters.”
I looked at him through the blur of rain, and for the first time since everything went wrong, I felt still. He pressed his forehead to mine.
“You gon’ be okay, baby,” he whispered. “I promise you that. I love you.”
And as they guided me toward the police car, I felt King let go of my hand, and I knew it was for good this time.
One Year Later
The wind wassharp and cold enough to make the trees whistle. The cemetery lights cast long shadows across the grass, and the smell of rain mixed with smoke from the candle I lit at King’s grave. It was Halloween night.
