Samara pulled up outside Kamala's house, her heart thrumming with anticipation. Dressed in the outfit she had carefully picked out, she draped Kamala's dress over her arm and stepped out of the car, smoothing out the fabric as she approached the front door.
She exhaled sharply, shaking off the sudden nerves that gripped her chest. Relax, she told herself, it's just dinner.
Raising her fist, she knocked.
From inside, she heard Kamala's voice call out, "Coming!"
Samara shifted on her feet, waiting as the door swung open.
Kamala stood before her in a robe and slippers, her hair still curled, curlers framing her face. She smiled, amused. "And what exactly are you planning?"
Samara grinned, holding up the dress. "I planned us a nice dinner. And I got you a nice dress, I think you might like it. You don't have to wear it if you don't— I can even buy you a new one, or—"
Kamala reached for the dress, holding it up against herself. Her expression shifted from curiosity to delight before she leaned in, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to Samara's lips.
The kiss silenced every anxious thought spinning in Samara's head.
Kamala pulled back slightly, smirking. "I love it. Wait in the living room. I'll be down in a few minutes."
Samara nodded, stepping inside. But before heading to the couch, she took a slight detour, pulling the front door open just enough for Kamala to glimpse the car she had rented. A sleek black Mercedes with chrome details sat parked in the driveway. Not the most expensive model, but a definite upgrade from what either of them drove.
Kamala raised an eyebrow. "Fancy?"
Samara chuckled. "Figured you deserved luxury." She didn't mention the rental contract's strict rule against any kind of "intimate activities" in the car. Not that it mattered, what she had planned needed more space anyway.
With a satisfied smirk, she moved to the couch, settling in as she waited. A few minutes later, Kamala descended the stairs, dressed in the gown, and Samara was absolutely smitten. Without hesitation, she held out her arm, letting Kamala loop hers through. She led her out of the house, opening the passenger door with a grin.
"After you," she murmured.
Kamala slid in, and Samara shut the door before rounding the car to the driver's side.
As they pulled off, Samara glanced at Kamala, soaking in how beautiful she looked.
Tonight was going to be perfect.
—
The restaurant had the perfect ambiance, dim lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and a quiet, secluded table near the window with a beautiful view of the city lights. Samara pulled out Kamala's chair for her before taking her own seat, flashing a small, pleased smile when Kamala gave her a look of appreciation. After confirming their reservation, they ordered their meals, settling into the comfortable warmth of the evening. The conversation flowed easily at first, lighthearted and teasing, but eventually, Kamala sighed, her expression growing more serious.
"Troy gets out tomorrow."
Samara barely blinked. She waved it off, leaning back in her chair.
"I'm not worried about that. And you shouldn't be, either." She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against Kamala's.
"Tonight is about us."
Kamala let out a small breath, relaxing at Samara's reassurance. But just as she was about to respond, Samara's phone lit up on the table.
Mom.
Kamala saw it too. Samara tensed, jaw tightening, and before Kamala could say anything, she declined the call without hesitation, setting the phone back down.
"Are you sure?" Kamala asked gently. "It could be something important."
Samara scoffed. "It can wait."
Kamala studied her for a beat but didn't push. Samara had made her choice.
The tension lingered, but Samara didn't let it show. She picked up the conversation where they left off, her tone easy, her smile just as bright.
Kamala understood, this was how she coped.
She wasn't ignoring it; she was just... pushing it aside for now.
A few minutes passed.
Then, the phone rang again.
Samara glanced at the screen, saw Mom flashing across it once more, and this time, Kamala placed a hand over hers before she could decline it.
"Answer it," Kamala said, her voice firm but gentle. "I can wait. Go to the bathroom and take the call."
Samara exhaled sharply, shaking her head before standing. "I'm sorry," she muttered before grabbing her phone and making her way toward the bathroom.
Kamala watched her go, a small knot of worry settling in her stomach.
Whatever this was, it wasn't just a casual call.
Samara pressed the phone to her ear the moment she stepped into the bathroom, her voice sharp with irritation. "Ma, what? What is so—"
"You need to leave."
Samara froze. "What?"
"I don't care where you go, just get off Howard's campus. Don't be anywhere you usually are."
"Slow down. What are you talking about?"
Araminta's breath came fast, uneven. "I found a gun under the floorboards."
Samara's stomach dropped.
"And two stacks of money."
Samara leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. "What?"
"He gets out tomorrow, Samara," Araminta continued, voice rising. "And he called me. He told me the gun wasn't for me..."
Samara squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling sharply, she knew what she was implying. "You don't have proof he's coming for me."
"Who else could it be for?"
"This is ridiculous." Samara shook her head.
"You're calling me while I'm on a date, telling me to pack up my life over some old-ass money and a gun? Call the goddamn cops if you're that scared."
"I can't!" Araminta snapped.
"He told me not to, or he's going to kill me. Tomorrow. What don't you get about that? He's crazy, Samara!"
Samara rolled her eyes, pacing the small space. "And? What does that have to do with me? You're the one who lied to him. I didn't do anything? You deal with it. I'm not putting up with this shit."
Before her mother could respond, she ended the call. But almost immediately, her phone buzzed again. Samara groaned before answering, barely restraining her frustration. "Ma—"
"Please, Samara." Araminta's voice was raw now, desperate.
"Listen to me. I don't know what he wants. I don't know what he's capable of. It's been over ten years. He's resentful as a motherfucker."
Something in her mother's tone sent a chill through her.
"Just... find somewhere else to stay for a while," Araminta pleaded.
Samara exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. I'll ask if I can stay at Kamala's."
"Yes—yes, good. That's good."
There was a pause.
Then—
"... What do you know about Siobhan?"
Samara frowned. "What?"
"Troy told me I should ask you. Or Kamala."
Samara's grip tightened around the phone. "She's just some girl I met in a club. We dated, it aint end well. What does that have to do with anything? And how the hell do you even know about her?"
"I'm trying to tell you, he might be sending someone after you or o—"
"I'll call you later," Samara cut her off.
"This shit is weird, and I'm trying to enjoy my night."
She hung up before Araminta could respond.
Standing in the mirror, she took a deep breath, trying to shake the unease creeping up her spine. Then, schooling her expression, she turned and walked back out to Kamala.
Samara slid back into her seat, offering Kamala a small smile as if nothing had happened. Their food had arrived while she was gone, hers slightly cold.
Kamala frowned and gestured for the waitress. "Do you mind reheating hers?"
Before the waitress could respond, Samara shook her head. "It's fine." She picked up her fork and took a bite, forcing herself to stay present, to push the tension aside.
But it wasn't easy.
Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the napkin, tapping against the table. Every time her phone vibrated, she flinched, glancing down with her heart hammering in her chest.
Kamala watched her closely, setting her own fork down. "Okay," she said after a moment, leaning forward. "What was that about?"
Samara didn't look up. "Nothing. Just my mom being her."
Kamala arched a brow. "Come on now. You got that same haunted look in your eyes that you had when all that other stuff was happening. Tell me what's wrong."
Samara hesitated, her fingers tightening around her fork.
Kamala tilted her head. "If you don't tell me, I'm leaving."
Samara let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "You're so dramatic."
Kamala just lifted a brow, waiting.
With a sigh, Samara leaned back, rubbing a hand down her face. "My mom called asking about Siobhan," she admitted.
"And then she told me I need to find somewhere else to stay. Said I'm not safe at Howard."
Kamala's expression turned serious. "Why?"
"She found a gun. Two stacks of money. And Troy called her, told her not to touch them. Told her not to call the cops, or he'd kill her."
Kamala's posture straightened.
"And then—" Samara hesitated, tapping her fingers against the table. "She said he told her that the gun wasn't meant for her."
Kamala inhaled sharply. "And you're not scared?"
Samara shrugged. "Why would I be? I don't know him. I don't owe him anything. If anything, he should be going after her—"
Kamala reached over and smacked her hand lightly. "Don't say that. Don't wish that on her or anyone."
Samara lowered her eyes, but Kamala wasn't done.
"That man might actually be plotting something," Kamala said firmly. "And... I wasn't gonna say anything before, 'cause I didn't want you to stress, but—I saw Siobhan at his parole hearing."
Samara's head snapped up. "What?"
"I didn't say anything because I didn't think it mattered. But now? I think she's his daughter."
Samara exhaled sharply, gripping the bridge of her nose. "Kamala, drop it. Please. We'll talk about it later. I just... I just want to enjoy tonight."
Kamala studied her for a moment before nodding. "Alright. Later."
They finished their meal, both trying to shake the weight of the conversation. Samara made a point to relax, to force the tension from her shoulders. By the time dessert arrived, she almost felt normal again.
After paying, they made their way back to the car, settling inside.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, Kamala turned to her. "You're gonna come stay at my place for a while."
Samara blinked. "What?"
"Three, four days. Just to give Troy time to do whatever he's gonna do and see what his next move is."
Samara didn't argue.
"And first thing in the morning, we're going to court to file for restraining orders." Kamala continued,
"I know you have a free period, and I don't have a first period to teach, so we'll get it done."
Samara exhaled, nodding. "Okay."
Kamala nodded back.
Samara started the car, gripping the wheel a little tighter than usual, and drove them back to Kamala's home.
—
As soon as they stepped inside, Kamala wasted no time.
She turned to Samara with a soft smile. "Thank you for tonight. It was wonderful," she murmured, squeezing her hand. But then, her expression turned serious.
"Just... don't ignore things for me, okay?"
Samara didn't answer right away, just nodded, her throat tight. Kamala gave her hand another squeeze before leading them upstairs to the master bedroom.
The second they were inside, Kamala shut the door behind them and playfully pushed Samara against the wall. Before Samara could react, Kamala's lips were on hers, slow and teasing at first. Samara let out a soft moan as Kamala's lips found a sensitive spot on her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Kamala grinned against her skin, emboldened, her fingers tracing down the zipper of Samara's dress.
But before she could undo it, Samara flipped them around, pressing Kamala against the wall instead.
Kamala giggled, breathless.
Samara's gaze grew hungry. "I'm the one taking you on the date, remember?" she murmured against Kamala's lips before going in again. Their kiss deepened, turning into a slow, heated battle of control. Soon, they found themselves on the bed, Samara hovering over Kamala, trailing kisses down her neck.
When she reached the neckline of Kamala's dress, she paused.
Leaning in close, she whispered, "Turn over," Samara whispered, her voice a command that sent a shiver down Kamala's spine.
Kamala's breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly. A blush crept up her cheeks, but she didn't hesitate. Slowly, she rolled onto her stomach, her hands gripping the mattress as she felt Samara's weight shift behind her. The room was silent, save for the sound of their breathing, heavy and uneven.
Samara's hands moved to the zipper of Kamala's dress, her touch deliberate, unhurried. The sound of the zipper being pulled down was deafening, each inch exposing more of Kamala's skin. She felt the cool air of the room kiss her back, the sensation making her shudder. Samara's hands slid the dress from her shoulders, the fabric pooling around her waist before being tossed aside.
Kamala lay there, her heart pounding, as Samara's fingers traced the curve of her spine, her touch lingering on the delicate lace of her bra. She could feel Samara's eyes on her, admiring, coveting.
It made her feel exposed, in the most intoxicating way.
"You're so beautiful," Samara whispered, her voice thick with need. Her hands moved to the clasp of Kamala's bra, undoing it with practiced ease. The lace fell away, leaving Kamala completely bare from the waist up. Samara's breath caught, her fingers skimming over the soft skin of Kamala's back, making her shiver.
But Samara wasn't done. Her hands moved lower, to the waistband of Kamala's panties. There was a moment of hesitation, a beat of tension that made Kamala's stomach flip. And then, without warning, Samara ripped the fabric, the sound sharp and sudden. Kamala gasped, her hands clutching the sheets beneath her as she felt the cool air against her exposed skin.
She turned her head, about to ask what Samara meant by destroying her panties, but the words died on her lips. Samara was already on her knees, her hands gripping Kamala's hips, pulling her back toward her. Kamala's breath caught as she felt Samara's breath hot against her core, her lips brushing against her sensitive skin. As Samara's tongue lapped at Kamala's folds, Kamala's head spun. Her hands clawed at the sheets, her body arching as Samara's mouth worked to leave her shaking. She tried to pull away, to catch her breath, but Samara's grip on her hips was firm, holding her in place.
"Stay," Samara murmured against her skin, her voice vibrating through Kamala, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. "I've got you right where I want you."
Kamala obeyed, her body quivering as Samara's tongue found her clit, circling it with a precision that had her gasping. Her hands twisted in the sheets, her knuckles paling as she fought to keep control. But Samara wasn't having it.
"I want to hear you?" she demanded, her lips brushing against Kamala's ear as she pulled away for a moment, her breath hot against her skin.
"Let me hear how much you love this."
Kamala's eyes fluttered shut, her chest rising and falling in sharp, erratic breaths. "OO shit-" she managed
"Come on" Samara insisted, her fingers pressing into Kamala's hips as she guided her back onto her mouth. She paused, glancing up at Kamala with a teasing glint in her eye. "You're right there, aren't you? I can feel it."
And with that, Samara was back in, her tongue working with relentless precision. Kamala felt the heat coil tight inside her, the pressure building to a breaking point. Shivers ran down her spine as Samara's fingers traced up her thighs, spreading them just a little wider.
"How does that feel?" Samara asked between slow, deliberate licks.
Kamala gasped, her voice breaking with pleasure. "Like nothing else exists except this."
Samara chuckled low, the sound vibrating against Kamala's skin, never once easing the intensity. Kamala's cries filled the room, her body tensing as the moment neared—
And then, suddenly, the warmth disappeared.
Kamala's breath hitched as Samara pulled back, leaving only the ghost of her touch behind. A faint whisper caressed her overheated skin.
"Maybe we should go again? Or-"
"No—don't stop!" Kamala pleaded, her head shaking frantically, her body half-rising onto her elbows. Her voice carried a raw, almost panicked edge. "In a minute, maybe—but don't stop now."
Samara smirked wickedly, licking her lower lip as she took in Kamala's desperate expression before leaning forward again. Her tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves, and Kamala shattered, her body jerking, breath stuttering, sounds spilling from her lips that barely resembled words, nothing but pure, unfiltered pleasure.
The release hit like a tidal wave, vision blurred, her hearing faded, but every nerve remained hyperaware, focused only on the overwhelming sensation consuming her.
When the waves finally ebbed, leaving her boneless and trembling, Samara's touch softened, shifting from urgency to warmth. She wrapped herself around Kamala's spent frame, pulling her close, holding her steady in the quiet aftermath. Their breaths synced, hearts pounding in a shared rhythm as the world around them slowed, settled, gentler, quieter, safer.
Then her phone rang again.
—
Araminta paced the length of her living room, arms folded tight against her chest, the weight of the night pressing against her lungs. The gun still sat where she'd left it. The money, too. Untouched. But neither had stopped the worry from eating her alive. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one darker than the last.
Maybe she needed to call Julia, tell her that Tazara should leave campus too.
Just in case.
If Troy was serious, and God, she knew he was, there was no telling how far this could go. Her phone rang, breaking through the thick silence.
She nearly jumped.
Her heart hammered as she picked it up, staring at the number flashing on the screen. Another collect call from Troy Harper.
Araminta swallowed hard before pressing accept and bringing the phone to her ear.
This time, he didn't start cursing right away.
"You call Samara about Siobhan yet?" His voice was eerily calm.
Araminta cleared her throat. "Yeah."
"And?"
"She said they dated for a minute. Didn't end well."
A humorless chuckle came from the other end. "Yeah... that's what my daughter told me too."
Araminta hesitated before asking, "So... what exactly are you planning to do?", god, why in the world had Samara gotten involved with that girl?
"I just wanna talk to your daughter." His voice was smooth, almost casual.
"Ain't got no malicious intent. Now, my daughter? Her? I don't know. But me? I just wanna talk."
Araminta's fingers clenched around the phone. "Then what's the gun for?"
Troy laughed, low and slow. "A man gotta protect himself, you know? An OG like me stepping back into these streets? Gotta stay strapped."
A weak, uneasy laugh slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
His voice turned sharp in an instant. "Ha. The fuck you laughin' at, bitch?"
Araminta's stomach lurched.
"I'm about to pull up at your daughter's school and air that bitch out."
Her blood ran cold.
"For what? She hasn't done anything to you!" she snapped.
Troy scoffed. "Yes, she has."
Araminta squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the phone tighter.
"You said you was gonna get her to represent me." His voice darkened.
"And she refused. That ain't what you told me?"
Araminta's breath caught in her throat. "Yeah... that's what I said."
"That's the reason," Troy sneered. "I don't like people that don't keep their word."
He paused for a beat, then continued, his voice cold and deliberate.
"Now you, you are good people in my book. Don't mean I like your ass, but you good people. You got somebody to represent me, so you get to keep that pretty little face of yours."
Araminta felt sick.
"But your daughter?" Troy sighed dramatically.
"If I don't like her explanation... I don't think you're gonna see her again." Then the line went dead. Araminta stood frozen, the dial tone droning in her ear before she forced herself to move, immediately calling Samara.
She picked up after three rings, her breath uneven.
Araminta didn't waste time. "I don't care what you're doing right now, it's none of my business. But he just said he's going to kill you if he doesn't like the reason you didn't represent him."
Silence.
Then Samara's voice came, sharp and angry.
"Why are you telling me this like it's my fault? Like I owe him something?"
Araminta closed her eyes. "Samara, I—"
"You never told me about any of this before law school." Samara's voice shook. "I had to find out through a damn gift box from the father you told me didn't exist."
Araminta had no defense.
"I have another place to stay," Samara said. "I'm filing that restraining order tomorrow."
Araminta exhaled, relieved. "Good."
Then Samara hung up.
Araminta didn't call back. She knew better.
But as she stood there, heart pounding, her fingers hovered over 911.
She couldn't do it.
If she called the cops, he'd find out.
And then?
God help them all.
January 15th
The courthouse smelled like stale coffee and old paper, the kind of place where time seemed to drag its feet. Samara sat stiffly in one of the worn-out chairs, hands gripping the stack of paperwork she and Kamala had spent all morning filling out.
Her knee bounced restlessly as she waited for their number to be called. Kamala sat beside her, silent but steady, her presence grounding Samara in a way nothing else could.
Finally, the clerk called their number.
They approached the counter, handed over the forms, and answered the necessary questions. It was routine, clinical—just another day at the office for the people behind the desk. But for Samara, it was a desperate attempt to put some kind of legal wall between her and the nightmare inching closer.
Once everything was submitted, they walked out of the courthouse into the crisp winter air. Back in Kamala's car, Samara let out a long breath, rolling her shoulders like she could physically shake off the tension.
Kamala started the engine, but before pulling off, Samara turned to her.
"You still got your handgun?"
Kamala gave her a sharp look. "Yeah. Why?"
Samara ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to figure out the best way to say it. "Troy gets out today."
Kamala's fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
"He's gonna get a gun, a stack of some money he left under my mom's floorboards over a decade ago. And that bitch that drugged me with a bong? That was his daughter."
Kamala let out a slow breath.
Samara nodded. "And I don't know what she wants. He's gonna kill me out of spite. And honestly? I don't even know what Siobhan's after. She knows where I stay. Probably stole my key again."
Kamala's jaw tensed. "And your mom? She hasn't called the police?"
"She won't." Samara sighed, pressing her fingers against her temples. "He told her if she did, he'd kill her. And she believes him. So do I."
Kamala was quiet for a moment, then reached over, stroking Samara's curls, her voice low but certain.
"Don't worry about it. I'll keep us both safe."
Samara glanced at her, unconvinced.
Before either of them could say anything else, Howard's campus came into view. Kamala pulled into a parking spot near the law building.
They stepped out, the weight of the day settling over them as they walked inside, class went on as always.
—
11:30 AM
The release process was slow, but Troy had been waiting over twenty years, what was another few hours?
He went through the motions: signing papers, listening to some bullshit about parole restrictions he had no intention of following, collecting the items he came in with, old clothes, a wallet with dust instead of dollars, a watch that hadn't ticked in years. He tossed it all in a plastic bag and strutted toward the exit.
As soon as he stepped outside, his first breath of free air hit like a shot of liquor, warm and sharp. The sun sat high in the winter sky, glaring, but all he could focus on was the car parked up the block.
Siobhan was waiting, leaning against the hood, arms crossed.
Troy grinned, rolling his shoulders as he strolled toward her. Then, for the hell of it, he broke out into a half-assed crip walk, just to let the moment go on.
Siobhan scoffed. "Nigga, if you don't get in this damn car."
Troy laughed, swinging open the passenger door and sliding in. "Damn, I can't celebrate? I been locked up since you was damn near in diapers."
Siobhan didn't say anything, just pulled off, heading toward Araminta's house.
12:15 PM
When they pulled up, Araminta was already sitting outside on the porch, legs crossed, a blunt between her fingers.
She didn't even look at them. Just took a long, slow drag and exhaled into the cold air.
Troy stepped out, cracking his neck. "Damn, you could at least say hello."
She said nothing.
Siobhan smirked but didn't push it. They walked past her, stepping into the house like they owned the place.
The door was unlocked.
Inside, nothing had changed. Same couch. Same old-ass pictures. Same everything. It was like stepping into a time capsule, back before his world flipped upside down.
Troy took his time going upstairs. He already knew what he was gonna find.
Sure enough, the bed was pushed back, and the floorboard was pried up.
He smirked. "She just had to go looking."
But when he knelt down and saw that his stash was untouched, money still wrapped tight, gun still where he left it, he let out a low chuckle. "Good girl."
He gathered everything up and went back downstairs. Siobhan was waiting by the door, arms folded.
"Let's go," he said.
As they stepped back onto the porch, Troy slowed for a second, stopping beside Araminta. He reached out and patted her head, like she was some stray dog that had finally learned its place.
"Good girl," he muttered before walking off.
She still didn't look at him. Just took another long drag and shook as she wrapped her coat around herself tighter.
They got back in the car and pulled off.
12:30 PM
It was an hour and some change to D.C., depending on traffic.
Siobhan drove, one hand on the wheel, the other picking at her nails. "We should be there by one, two maybe," she said.
Troy leaned back, watching the road. "What's the move?"
"We're going back to my apartment first. Then later, we'll hit Howard's campus, wait 'til folks are partying or whatever. That way, we can just walk right on campus and to the dorms."
Troy nodded, rubbing his chin. "And what we doin' about Samara?"
Siobhan shrugged. "Talk, I guess. See what she gotta say."
Troy scoffed. "Ain't shit she gotta say."
Siobhan glanced at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Then why you so pressed to kill her or whatever, you basically told her mom you was after her, and you ain't get that gun just because you an OG?"
Troy exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. "You know how much time I spent tryna be a good dad to that girl? Tryna get her mama to see me as a man, as a father?" He shook his head.
"She ain't never let me. And after all that money, all that time, all that effort—I get thrown in a cage for twenty goddamn years for their asses."
It had been his choice to pull the gun.
His choice to force Araminta's hands on it.
His fingers curled into fists. "Seem like the right thing to do. Balance the scales."
Siobhan didn't say anything for a minute. Just drove.
Then she realized something.
Her father was just doing shit to do it.
He wasn't thinking long-term. He wasn't thinking at all. He was just out here, looking for something to hurt, something to break.
And if he actually killed Samara?
He was going right back to prison.
Not that it mattered to her, he'd been behind bars most of her life anyway. If he went back, nothing would really change.
Still, she wasn't about to snitch on him.
And besides... She had her own bone to pick with Tazara. Maybe she didn't wanna kill Kamala, Samara, or even Tazara. But she did like the idea of pistol-whipping somebody.
2:35 PM
"Damn, it feels good to be free."
Siobhan chuckled as she rolled up, her fingers quick and practiced. "Yeah, yeah. Bet it does."
Troy stepped through the door, taking in the apartment with a quick scan. He was barely inside before a white man, grinning way too hard, practically bounced up to him.
"Ohhh, you big and strong," the man, Daniel, gushed, squeezing Troy's arm like he was checking the ripeness of a melon.
"Prison must have treated you right."
Troy snatched his arm back, giving him a once-over. "Man, who the hell—?"
Siobhan sighed, already expecting this. "Daddy, this is Daniel. My roommate."
Daniel beamed. "Nice to finally meet you! Been hearing about you for a while."
Troy just stared before muttering, "One of them fruit cakes, huh?"
Siobhan rolled her eyes. "Don't call him that. He likes that."
Daniel only laughed. "OOO Siobhan don't be telling my business, I don't mind it from him! I actually like fruit cake."
Troy grunted. "Yeah, I bet you like pound cake too." Daniel tooted up his left ass cheek a little, laughing at troy's joke before walking off.
Troy shook his head and stepping further inside.
Daniel, still smiling, pointed toward the hall. "My room's down there. I'll let y'all catch up." He gave Troy's shoulder a little pat before disappearing into his own space.
Troy sat down on the couch, sinking into it like he belonged there. He stretched his arms over the back and exhaled. "Smell that soon as I walked in. What you smoking on?"
Siobhan grinned. "Godfather OG."
Troy nodded in approval. "Good shit."
She smirked. "Damn right." they fist bumped
He studied her for a second. "And what you do for money? I know you got something going."
She leaned against the kitchen counter, shrugging. "Online entertainment."
He raised an eyebrow. "Like some OnlyFans type shit?"
Siobhan rolled her eyes. "Not like that. Just online stuff. Pays well."
Troy nodded, satisfied enough. "As long as you making that good money, I guess."
She grabbed a pre-rolled blunt from the counter and tossed it to him. "We hitting Howard's campus around three. That's when I figure law classes let out."
Troy caught the blunt and grinned. "I like the way you think."
Siobhan grabbed the lighter, flicked it, and leaned in. The blunt lit up, the tip burning red.
Troy took the first hit.
They had time. She went to make her own. .
She shot her a look
"Nigga I ain't smoking behind you, you probably was drinking prison wine n smoking that pink shit they got in there" she remarked, electing a soft laugh from troy
He watched her for a second before nodding toward the hallway. "That gay white boy, your man?"
She scoffed. "Hell no."
Troy smirked. "He your plug, then?"
"Nah, he just be around." She licked the blunt, sealing it, then shot him a look.
"You ain't gotta worry about who I mess with."
Troy held his hands up in mock surrender. "I ain't worried 'bout nothin' just asking'." He glanced toward the kitchen. "Y'all got food in here?"
Siobhan lit the blunt and took a slow drag before nodding toward the fridge. "Go see for yourself."
Troy hauled himself up and headed into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets. He pulled out a box of cereal, checked the date, then shrugged and grabbed a bowl.
—
3:25PM
Samara walked into her dorm, shutting the door behind her with a sigh. She was already in her head about too much—assignments, class discussions, and now this mess with her mom's ex.
She pulled out a duffel bag from under her bed and started grabbing clothes. A couple pairs of jeans, some hoodies, enough underwear and socks to last a week at most. She wasn't about to overpack. This wasn't a damn vacation.
Across the room, Tazara sat cross-legged on her bed, watching with mild curiosity. "You going somewhere?"
"Yeah," Samara muttered, folding a shirt and shoving it in her bag.
"I thought you liked it here at Howard," Tazara joked, smirking.
Samara shot her a look. "That's not funny."
Tazara's smirk faded. "Okay, so what's up?"
Samara zipped up a side pocket before answering. "My mom's ex got out of prison."
Tazara frowned. "Okay... and?"
"He's threatening me," Samara said flatly, stuffing a pair of Jordans in the bag. "Said he's coming up here to do something."
Tazara blinked. "What the fuck?"
Samara zipped up the main compartment and exhaled sharply. "Yeah. So I'm staying with Kamala for a little while."
Tazara sat forward. "Damn, that's crazy."
"Yeah, and his daughter is Siobhan."
Tazara's brows lifted. "Oh. So now both of their asses might be trying to get at you."
"Exactly."
Tazara shook her head. "But you ain't do shit to them, so why they mad?"
"I don't know." Samara wasn't in the mood to analyze crazy. She finished packing, zipping her bag closed with finality.
Then she turned to Tazara. "You still got your stash bag? I ain't trying to be at Kamala's house without some shit to smoke on."
Tazara rolled her eyes but grinned. "Yeah, I got it. There's like three joints in there, all sativa. Don't be wigging out on Kamala with your happy-go-lucky shit."
She reached under her mattress, pulled out a small pink stash bag, and tossed it to Samara.
Samara caught it, tucking it into her duffel. "Good looking out."
"Always."
Samara slung the bag over her shoulder and headed for the door, but before leaving, she turned back. "Look after yourself, alright? Call me if anything happens. If they actually show up."
Tazara nodded. "I will."
With that, Samara stepped out, making her way to the parking lot. She tossed her bag into the passenger seat, then got in and started the car.
As she pulled out of the dormitory lot, she noticed another car coming in. Something about it felt... familiar. The windows were tinted, so she couldn't see inside, but her gut told her she knew that car from somewhere.
Still, she didn't slow down. She kept driving.
Kamala's place wasn't far. She just needed to get there.
3:25 PM
Siobhan pulled the car to a stop outside Samara's dormitory. The campus was quiet, students either in class or holed up somewhere waiting for the day to end. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel before cutting her eyes at Troy.
"You really got that gun on you?"
Troy scoffed like she was stupid for even asking. "Hell yeah."
Siobhan nodded, lips pursed. "Let me hold it."
He frowned. "For what?"
"I'm going in first," she explained. "Then I'll come get you. There's only one way in and out, this bitch, so you keep watching the exit."
Troy eyed her for a second before exhaling sharply and pulling the gun from his waistband. He handed it to her without another word.
Siobhan took it, checked the safety, then opened the door and stepped out.
The dorm halls were eerily quiet, dimly lit from the setting sun filtering through the windows. She walked with purpose, gun tucked in her hoodie pocket, her heartbeat steady. She wasn't sure what she planned to do if she found Samara, but she wasn't leaving without seeing her.
Reaching the dorm room, she knocked, then moved just out of view of the peephole.
A few seconds passed before the door cracked open.
Tazara. Siobhan stepped into view, tilting her head. "Hey, is Samara here?" She was already leaning in, trying to see past her.
Tazara's expression soured instantly. "Hell no, she ain't here. And you need to leave." She started to slam the door shut.
Siobhan moved faster.
She shoved the gun between the door, forcing it open. Tazara yelped as she stumbled backward, losing her footing and hitting the floor with a thud.
Siobhan stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind her. The lock clicked into place.
Tazara was already scrambling to her feet, eyes blazing with rage and fear. "You crazy criminal bitch," she spat, wiping her hands on her jeans. "You just like your whack-ass daddy."
Siobhan smirked. "Yeah? And?"
Tazara exhaled sharply. "I knew you was coming. Samara told me. And she ain't here. She ain't been here in days."
That was a lie.
Siobhan could see the way Tazara's jaw tensed, the flicker of her eyes.
She took a slow step forward. "Where is she?"
Tazara squared her shoulders. "I don't know. She's doing a witness protection type thing because both of y'all crazy asses are trying to hunt her down."
That set something off in Siobhan. 'Witness protection? Bitch, please.'
Before she even thought about it, she swung the gun.
Crack.
Tazara's head snapped to the side, a nasty gash forming on her cheek. She stumbled, a sharp hiss escaping her lips as her hand flew to her face.
"Bitch, you hit me?!"
Siobhan cocked her head. "Damn right, I hit you, bitch."
And then she did it again.
Tazara hit the floor with a grunt, curling in on herself. She wasn't crying. Wasn't even screaming. Just shielding herself, gritting her teeth through it.
Siobhan kept going. Swing after swing. But something about it felt... hollow.
None of the blows were landing like they should've. Like she wasn't even trying to hurt her.
Because she wasn't.
She didn't even know why the fuck she was here.
She didn't have real beef with Samara. And her issues with Tazara? That wasn't even real. She was just pissed that she couldn't do what she wanted with Samara because people like Tazara and Kamala kept blocking her.
After about five minutes, her arms got tired.
She stepped back, breathing hard. Looked down at Tazara, who was still on the floor, clutching the side of her face.
Then, without another word, Siobhan turned and left.
Tazara lay there for a second, heart pounding, the left side of her face throbbing like a bass drum. Then, with a groan, she pushed herself up, pressing her palm against her cheek. When she pulled her hand away, it was slick with blood.
"Man, fuck that bitch," she muttered under her breath, wincing as she touched the tender spot again.
Her head was still spinning, but she had enough sense to do the one thing that needed to be done. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and dialed 911.
The line rang twice before a dispatcher picked up. "911, what's your emergency?"
Tazara inhaled sharply, still tasting blood in her mouth. "Some bitch named Siobhan and her daddy just pulled up to Howard's campus dormitories, pistol-whipped me, and now they're looking for my friend to kill her."
The dispatcher's tone remained frustratingly neutral. "What are the individuals' full names?"
Tazara sucked her teeth. "Didn't I just fucking tell you the bitch name—Siobhan!"
There was a slight pause. Then, with a clipped tone, the dispatcher said, "And the father's name as well?"
Tazara exhaled through her nose, trying to rein it in.
"Aight, my bad. I just got pistol-whipped across the face and then for like five minutes afterward, so I'm not exactly in the best mood right now. My campus medical bill, 'bout to be high as hell." She wiped at her cheek again, grimacing.
"His name is Troy Harper. He just got out on parole from Maryland State Correctional."
The dispatcher typed something. "Okay, thank you. We advise that you go to your campus Medical Center and have your injuries checked out. Officers will be dispatched to meet you there for a statement."
Tazara closed her eyes, sighed. "Yeah. Alright. Thanks."
She hung up and shoved the phone back into her pocket before pushing herself up. Her face stung like hell, her body ached, and her pride was damn near gone.
She cursed under her breath the whole walk to the campus Medical Center.
"Shit... This bitch really hit me like that?" She pressed her sleeve to her cheek, wincing again.
For now, she needed ice, some bandages, and a solid alibi. She wasn't going to get her back, but that didn't mean her ego wasn't hurt.
—
The clatter of the knife against the cutting board echoed through the quiet kitchen as Samara stirred the pot of soup on the stove. Kamala, focused on chopping vegetables behind her, hummed softly to herself. It was a peaceful moment, until Samara's phone rang, breaking the stillness.
She glanced down at the caller ID. It was Tazara.
Before Samara could even say hello, Tazara's voice cut through the line. "Yo, I just got pistol-whipped in the fucking face! Siobhan, her crazy ass, beat the shit outta me for like five minutes straight! You need to call the damn cops, 'cause that restraining order don't mean shit against Siobhan!"
Kamala froze, her knife mid-slice, her face immediately registering shock. Samara quickly covered the mic, turning to look at her. "It's Tazara," she said quietly.
Kamala's eyes widened. "Is she alright?"
Samara put the phone back to her ear. "Tazara?"
"Yeah, I'm alright," Tazara's voice came through, a little strained but still intact. "she walked out after, so I don't think they were really trying to hurt me or anything, but they were looking for you, Samara."
Kamala stepped closer, her voice cutting in with concern. "You need a place to stay? You can crash here."
Tazara scoffed. "Nah, I'm good. I'm slightly gay, but I ain't into that thrupple stuff," she joked, a tired laugh following.
Samara let out a small chuckle, relief flooding her chest despite the situation. "Stay safe, alright? Get yourself checked out."
"Yeah, yeah," Tazara responded with a sigh. "I'm heading to the med center now, pray those damn interns don't kill me before I get through this. Anyway, I'm hanging up."
"Take care."
Tazara hung up, and Samara stood silently over the stove, stirring the soup absently. The room was quiet, the tension thick in the air. Kamala passed behind her, pausing for a moment to place a hand gently on Samara's shoulder.
"We'll get through it," Kamala said softly, her voice full of quiet reassurance as she turned back to her task
—
5:10 PM
Siobhan and Troy walked into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind them. The faint hum of the city outside filtered in through the windows, but the apartment itself was quieter than usual, except for the strange sound coming from the living room.
As they stepped inside, Siobhan's eyes immediately landed on Daniel, who was standing in front of the mirror in the living room, admiring himself.
He was wearing assless chaps, striking a series of exaggerated poses.
Troy immediately shielded his eyes with his hand, groaning. "What the hell is he doing now?"
Siobhan sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know"
She walked over to Daniel, folding her arms across her chest. "What the hell are you doing?"
Daniel grinned, not even bothered by her tone. "Beyoncé's going on tour, Siobhan. I've got to look good." He adjusted his posture, eyeing himself in the mirror.
Troy rolled his eyes, but a small chuckle slipped out. "That's a really gay white boy thing to do, but I can't lie, I'd wear some assless chaps for Beyoncé too. She's fine as hell." Siobhan ignored the exchange, her thoughts still tangled from the earlier events. She turned toward Troy, trying to shake off the quiet unease that had settled in her gut during the ride back.
Troy raised an eyebrow as he caught her lost expression. "What's wrong with you? You've been silent this whole ride. What happened?"
Siobhan hesitated. She wasn't sure how to explain it. Part of her didn't even want to talk to him anymore. She was tired of the whole damn thing. She didn't feel any real connection with him. He'd been in prison since before she was born. All they shared was a mutual disdain for the world around them and an unhealthy need to wreak havoc.
Instead of voicing the truth, she settled for a half-lie. "I pistol-whipped Tazara."
Troy's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't comment immediately. "And?"
"And Samara wasn't there. She left. I don't know where she went."
Troy's silence lingered for a moment, but then his face hardened with a strange intensity. "We're going back up there. You said Samara takes Law School classes, right? Those classes are practically every damn day. So we're going to sit outside the law building and wait for her ass to come out."
Siobhan rolled her eyes, clearly frustrated. "Whatever. You wanna sit outside, wait around, go ahead. You're sleeping on the couch. There are blankets in the closet by the door."
Troy shot her a glare. "You really gonna make your old man sleep on the couch?"
Siobhan shrugged, unapologetic. "Hell yeah. You've been sleeping on slim fucking surfaces for this long. Why change it now? You've got a big ass TV to watch, so what's the problem?"
Troy grunted in response, clearly not satisfied, but he wasn't about to argue more. "It ain't even time to go to sleep yet."
Siobhan tossed her head toward the kitchen. "Well, then find something to do, 'cause I'm about to go smoke myself another joint. I paid too much money for that blunt to go to waste, so smoke the rest."
She turned on her heel, heading for the back of the apartment, leaving Troy to sulk in the living room. The tension in the air was thick, but Siobhan didn't care. She had bigger things on her mind, and right now, she was just trying to calm her nerves.
She needed to smoke. To think. To drown out the chaos for just a moment.
January 16th