Butterfly

by Ashley Antoinette

  Morgan blushed, twiddling her fingers to avoid looking at him. She had never been nervous around him before, but just his eyes gracing her filled Morgan with anxiety. “Thanks, Meek.”

  The band began to play a Stevie Wonder classic, and Mo looked toward the dance floor.

  “Do you want to dance?” she asked.

  “Nigga, no,” he said. “Your ass ain’t crying or nothing. You ain’t sad. I ain’t got to do no cheering up. Fuck no.”

  Morgan’s eyes crinkled tight as her lips spread wide in amusement. She remembered the night he had hustled with her all those years ago, just to get her to feel better. It had been right after Messiah had deserted her. She had been pregnant and lonely, the saddest she had ever been, and he had tucked his gangster vibrato away to entertain her with one dance. She loved that part of him. He was hard, but not cold. Gangster, but not cruel. It was the day she discovered he would do anything to make her smile. “I mean, I can squeeze out a tear or two if it’ll make you say yes,” she countered.

  He rubbed both hands atop of his wavy covered Caesar. “Man, where the fuck is Isa? It’s time to break out.” He chuckled.

  “Knowing Isa and knowing Aria even better, they’re having sex in a bathroom somewhere. Sex that they will later deny ever took place,” she said, standing. “So, you have nothing but time to dance.”

  She pulled Meek to the center of the dance floor as the singer went into the first verse of the beautiful ballad.

  Oh, so long for this night I prayed

  That a star would guide you my way …

  To share with me this special day

  Morgan placed her hands in Meek’s as the words carried her across the hardwood floor, following his lead, which she knew would be smooth. Meek was just a smooth-ass nigga. The things he said, but even more what he didn’t say … smooth. The way he walked … smooth. The way he commanded … smooth. The way he pulled her closer and tapped on the small of her back as they danced … effortlessly smooth. Morgan swooned as she followed his lead, side to side, swaying like a couple. Only they weren’t, but damn if they didn’t look couple-ish. He was a hood nigga in all his hood nigga glory, but he was top shelf. VSOP. He knew when to turn it off. Taking him in didn’t come with a bite. He was smooth. An effortless gangster. Morgan turned her face to the side and rested her cheek against his chest. She totally understood why Yara had taken the position against him now. It was comfortable. It felt safe … safe enough to close her eyes. The way he held her made her feel protected, like he would die before he ever let anyone get close enough to do her harm. She hadn’t felt this secure since Messiah, and it snuck up on her, beguiling her into a comfort zone with a man she should not be comfortable with at all.

  “I’m really glad you’re here. I needed you and didn’t even know it,” she whispered.

  Her words jarred him. They stunned her. She had no idea where they had even arisen from. He leaned his head back, forehead wrinkled as he looked in her eyes. She knew he was searching for understanding. She hoped he found some, because she needed it too. He captured her in those dark orbs. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. It was supposed to stay trapped in her head where an explanation wouldn’t have to follow, but they had slipped and now he was probing her, now he was wondering. Now he knew that her refuge was in his arms. That the comfort she felt even after removing herself from his life for two years was overwhelming. Morgan was swallowed by confusion because she had never felt anything for him before. Sure, they had been friends, but her emotion was so bound by Messiah that she had none left over for anyone else.

  He reminds me of Ssiah. My mind is playing tricks on me. My heart wants what it can’t have, so it’s beating for Meek because he’s the closest thing to him. Morgan wanted to pull back because the connection frightened her, but she fit perfectly in Ahmeek’s embrace. She was lost in the melody of the live band, in the darkness of his eyes, in the gentle rhythm as they swayed. The way he looked at her, like he couldn’t find words, like his stomach was in knots, like restraint was evading him, made Morgan turn red, but she was in too deep to turn away from him, so he witnessed every moment of her reticence as they stared at each other. Morgan felt like she was floating. She planted her head against his chest and sighed, releasing every single piece of angst that plagued her body. It was such a pretty song. It just made her feel lighthearted like it was two years ago, and every fiber of her body had been kissed by love, only a different set of hands were holding her now. How was it possible to feel this again with someone else?

  The tug of her elbow reminded her that there was a roomful of people around them. It was like someone had awakened her from a good dream, abruptly snatching her from that golden place, burning her soul with desperation to linger there just a moment longer because she was almost to the good part. She turned to find Christiana’s eyes burning her, marking her with disdain.

  Christiana held up a cell phone and accompanied it with a lifted brow of displeasure. “Bash has been trying to reach you.”

  Meek took a step back, and Morgan took the phone quickly.

  “Is he okay?” she asked. Worry pierced her for a beat, and then she sighed in relief. “No infection? Just teething? Is he sure?” Another pause, and then her anxiety eased. “Thank God. Okay. Kiss them for me. I’ll be home when I finish up here.” She hung up the phone before he could say I love you. She always did, blaming it on a quick trigger finger, but Morgan hated to say it. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about Bash, because she did. She was growing to love him, but she wasn’t in love. Being in love felt different. She felt something for him, but it wasn’t that. She handed the phone back to Christiana.

  “Perhaps a bit of space between you and your friend,” Christiana whispered to her. “You don’t want people getting the wrong idea. You are a wife-to-be now.”

  Morgan nodded, flushing in embarrassment, then turned back to Meek. “You were right. He’s going to be fine.” She looked around the crowded room and back at Meek. “You want to get out of here? Find Isa and Aria and just go somewhere … somewhere fun?”

  “How does Morgan Atkins have fun?” Meek asked.

  “Meet me out front and I’ll show you,” she said.

  Morgan left him on the dance floor and then sent a text to Aria to meet her at the door.

  * * *

  “A dance studio. This is fun?” Meek asked as he followed Morgan inside. She flipped the light switch, and it came to life.

  “This is always fun,” Aria said in excitement.

  Morgan pulled a bottle of tequila from her tote bag. “This makes it even better.”

  Aria pulled out her phone and pressed Play. A gutter, old-school classic filled the air.

  “You a goon, Ali … DMX, huh?” Isa snickered.

  Aria smirked and hit a cute four count in her formal dress and heels. “Act like you know, boy,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Pour up.”

  “We don’t have cups here,” Morgan said.

  “We straight from the bottle with it,” Meek said. “I know you all the way across the pond, Mo, but you Flint bred, baby.” He cracked it open and lifted it to her lips. Morgan took the shot and grimaced as it traveled down her entire body, warming her instantly.

  “Ugh!” she said, sticking her tongue out. “That’s horrible.”

  Meek smirked, then took a shot without the dramatics before he passed the bottle.

  Morgan clapped her hands together and bobbed to the beat. She looked at herself in the mirror, then kicked off her heels.

  What type of games are being played

  How’s it going down?

  Morgan took off, moving her body with aggression, aggression she wasn’t allowed to show on a daily. In Bash’s world, she was expected to be demure, to be the woman behind the man, to be the lady representing her family at tea parties and shit.

  Meek took a seat on the floor, leaning his back against the mirror, propping elbows to his knees. He was her audience, and although Aria was right beside h
er, Morgan was all he saw. Isa joined him, and they passed the bottle between them while enjoying the show. It was like Aria and Morgan had never stopped dancing together. They picked up on each other’s energy so well, falling into a freestyle that looked choreographed because they were so skilled. Meek held up the bottle for Mo, and she took a quick break to indulge in another shot. She laughed as it spilled down her chin. She held the bottle in the air and grooved.

  She passed the bottle, then closed her eyes, getting lost in the music.

  London was a new life for her, but she was still so Flint at her core. Keeping that part tucked, stifling her voice so that Bash could feel heard, so that he was secure about his position in her life, sometimes made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. She was breathing deep tonight, and her lungs expanded, pulling it all in because it tasted like freedom.

  Let that nigga play daddy, make moves with me

  Meek shot her a wink, and she smirked as she let her feet work like only she could. Only Mo could make a Crip walk seductive as she snapped her pretty fingers. Aria stopped dancing and pulled out her phone, going live on social media with Morgan.

  “Bitch, you ain’t missed a beat,” Aria said, laughing as the song ended.

  Morgan shrugged. “God, this feels good. It’s been a minute since I’ve just danced for no reason.”

  “Why don’t you do the show with me in a few weeks?” Aria said. “You’ll be back home by then, right? I feel like you’ve moved over here. Home is still Michigan, Mo. You can come back.”

  “I know,” Morgan said. “Who knows? I just might.” She shrugged, taking a seat between Isa and Meek.

  “You should,” Meek said. “Michigan misses you.”

  “Is that right?” she asked, smiling. It felt good to be missed … to be thought of … by someone who didn’t consider others easily. By someone who didn’t really know how to let emotions show. It made her feel special. To be missed.

  Aria sat and slid her phone across the floor. “The fans miss you too.”

  Morgan picked up the phone and scrolled down the screen to see the comments. An outpouring of love. Heart eyes and exclamation marks. A few peaches and wet emojis. Morgan scoffed.

  “Yeah, okay,” she said, nodding. “I’ll do the show. I’ll be home anyway. Might as well, right?”

  “Yo, Ali, I need to holla at you about something. Com’ere,” Isa said, standing and walking out the building.

  Aria stood and followed him, leaving Meek and Mo snickering.

  “Are they always like this?” she asked.

  “Man, bruh nose so wide open, it ain’t even funny,” Meek admitted, shaking his head.

  Mo laughed. “What about you? Which of your ten girlfriends has your nose open?”

  “I don’t be entertaining these girls, man,” he denied. Tattooed hands swept down his head. “What about you?” he asked, picking up her left hand and thumbing the diamond ring. Morgan had almost forgotten it was there. “You getting married, Mo?”

  She shrugged, and her eyes went dark, like Meek had flipped a switch to turn the light inside her off. A heaviness returned to her chest. A doom occupied her stomach.

  “I can see you’re not happy, Mo. If he can’t, it’s because he doesn’t want to or because he don’t know you,” Meek stated.

  Morgan lifted stunned eyes to meet his. “You’re talking like you know me.”

  “I pay attention,” Meek said. “I know you don’t want to get married.”

  Morgan blew out a deep breath. “Yeah, well, we don’t always get what we want. I’ve tried love. Love didn’t work. Even before Messiah died, it fell apart. It started off with a lie. It would have ended eventually anyway. I still question if he ever even loved me.”

  “He loved you, Mo. That much I’m sure of,” Meek stated.

  “I don’t want to talk about him. I never talk about him,” she whispered.

  “Maybe you should. Not with me, but like with a professional or some shit…”

  “Why? Because I’m crazy? I guess I went a little crazy, huh? You’ve seen me key cars and bust out windows.” She shook her head and buried her face in her hands.

  “You still owe me for that shit too,” he said.

  Morgan grimaced and threw her head back to the sky. “It wasn’t my best moment. I was so fucking mad. I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe y’all let me!”

  “Fuck was we gon’ do? When the queen come through to burn shit down, you just let the queen burn shit down,” Meek stated, licking his lips as amusement filled his eyes.

  “I’ve grown,” she said.

  “I can see that.” He nodded. “Little Morgan a grown-ass woman now and wearing that crown real well. I’m proud of you.”

  “Little Morgan is twenty pounds too heavy and barely keeping up with two toddlers,” she said, shaking her head.

  “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.

  The vibrating of his phone broke through the intensity.

  “One of your hoes?” Morgan asked, lifting a curious brow as she snatched his phone. She shook her head when the nude photo popped onto his screen. “Whoa!” she said as she covered her mouth with one hand. “How do you even get women to send you shit like this?” She turned her head sideways, gritting her teeth as she turned the phone upside down. “Is that a banana? So you eating bananas out of bitches’ pu—”

  Meek snatched his phone back. “That mouth too pretty to be so dirty, Mo.”

  Morgan erupted in laughter. “Bananas, huh?”

  Meek blushed and crinkled his nose in denial. He licked his bottom lip.

  “Seriously, what does one say to a woman to get her to do that?”

  She knew she was being a hypocrite because she had seen her fair share of days where fruit was used in unconventional ways. Messiah had sucked an entire strawberry out of her before. She knew the exact type of man it took to make a girl go crazy.

  “I don’t be gaming women, Mo. They do what they want. I don’t ask for shit like this. They searching for attention,” he answered.

  She pulled his phone from his hands again. “What’s the passcode?”

  “One-one-two-eight,” he said without hesitation.

  “Bet if I was your girl, you wouldn’t be giving that code up so quickly.” She snickered.

  “If you were my girl, I’d give you the passcode, the safe code, the social security number, the ATM pin, all’at,” he replied.

  “Mmm-hmm … you talking good.” She nudged him with her shoulder as she opened his photos. Just as she suspected, it was filled with different women.

  “Okay, what’s wrong with her? Why not settle down with her? She’s pretty,” Morgan said.

  “She got ugly feet,” Meek answered.

  Morgan laughed from her soul. Only a man would judge a woman for something so miniscule. They tended to pick women apart, to erode the confidence of a woman without even really meaning to do harm. She shook her head and flipped to the next photo.

  “And her?”

  “She’s shallow as shit. Stay on some did you see this on Shaderoom type shit? Did you hear about such and such? I ain’t with the gossiping. My bitch got to move like I move,” Meek answered.

  “Your bitch?” she asked, challenging him.

  “My bad, Mo. My woman,” he corrected. “I prefer the private type.”

  “And her?” Mo flipped to the next one, holding it up to his face.

  “She can’t take dick,” Meek stated bluntly.

  Morgan
shook her head and handed him his phone.

  “These women would probably love you so good, Meek. No one woman has everything. Choose one and build with her,” Morgan stated.

  “Every woman ain’t like you, Mo. They ain’t worth building with,” Meek stated.

  Morgan met his stare. “I hope you find someone worth something to you one day, Meek,” she whispered. “You deserve to know what that feels like. Loving one woman more than anything else in the world. Having someone you would kill for … die for … without thinking twice.”

  “That’s what love is? Being willing to die behind something? What I need a girl for? You give me that. How I’ma find a girl that understand that? That I’ll lay a nigga down for Morgan Atkins? What girl you know gon’ accept that?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I did. I understood about Bleu.”

  “That’s because you’re the shit,” Meek stated. “You’re one of one, Mo. That fiancé of yours is a lucky man.”

  Morgan sighed because just the mention of Bash had brought her back to reality. Meek had her head in the clouds, and reality had grounded her. This might have felt like old times, but they weren’t. Time had moved on, and she had a life to return to.

  She checked the time on her phone. “It’s late. I should go,” she whispered. He stood and reached down to help her to her feet.

  “Thank you for coming all the way here to see me. You don’t even know how it helped,” Morgan admitted. “You guys remind me of a time in my life when I was happy. It feels like forever ago. I’m sorry I pushed you away after Messiah died. You called a thousand times. I just couldn’t answer. I didn’t trust you. I was looking for someone to blame, and it fell on you … it fell on Isa. I didn’t know how to feel. I went from hating him for lying to me about who he was to grieving him because he was gone,” Morgan said. She shook her head in dismay. “I don’t know. It was just a lot. You guys were his best friends … I thought you were my friend, and I was embarrassed because you knew about his plot to hurt my family. I felt stupid, like I was an inside joke.”