Butterfly

by Ashley Antoinette

Meek shot her a wink, and she smirked

“The weight is nothing; that’s bitch shit,” Meek stated. “A real nigga gon’ appreciate that shit … he gon’ replace your fucking wardrobe every three months anyway so you ain’t even gon’ stress that shit. A nigga can see from a mile away that you got it. Always had it, never lost it, no lie.”

Morgan’s face warmed, and she placed her stare in her lap because looking at Meek was dangerous. It was like driving around a sharp curve at night at fast speeds. Men like Ahmeek should come with warnings. Proceed with caution. Danger ahead. Slippery when fucking wet.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore, Meek.”

“I’m in a roomful of people every day, and no one hears me. No one gets me, and then I think about him and I want to die.”

“You not on that no more. Fuck that. Whenever you feel fucked up, you hit my line. I don’t care how late it is. I don’t care if you’re halfway around the world with that corny-ass nigga. If you feel like that, you call me first. You call me so I can listen. I won’t judge you. I’ll just listen so you can get it out. Can you do that for me?”