IF IT'S SO WRONG, WHY DOES IT FEEL SO RIGHT?

SHATTERED

Nala walked into her childhood home, and the air immediately felt heavy and stale, a toxic contrast to the protective warmth of Billie's apartment. She had only been gone for four months, but the house already felt alien, hostile.

David was waiting.

He was standing in the cavernous living room, a glass of dark liquor in his hand, his eyes narrowed with cold, simmering rage.

"Look who decided to grace us with her presence," he sneered.

Nala dropped her duffel bag. She stood tall, refusing to shrink. "I'm here for the week, David. Just stay out of my way."

"Stay out of your way?" He let out a short, sharp laugh, devoid of humor. "You think you can just disappear for months, living with that... that hot white chick who thought she could step to me in the middle of the grocery store?"

Nala felt her jaw clench. The memory of Billie, pale and furious, intervening during a verbal assault David launched at Nala near the produce section, was still fresh.

"Be more respectful," Nala said, her voice low and steady. "She's my teacher."

David's face twisted into a grotesque smile. "Oh, what, you like her? You creepy ass dyke. You can't even get a chance anyway. A white girl that beautiful would never get with a disgusting black bitch like you. And it's disgusting to get involved with your student."

The words were like sharp, cold metal digging into Nala's skin. She didn't flinch, but her fists tightened.

"I'm going to my room," she stated, turning away, but David moved faster.

The impact was sudden and brutal, a heavy sound of flesh striking flesh filling the room. Nala stumbled sideways, her ear ringing fiercely. She tasted copper instantly.

Lola rushed in from the kitchen, her face tight with anger. "David! I told you not to do this in public! Do you know how much trouble you caused at that grocery store? And Nala, where the hell have you been? I barely see you!"

Nala pushed past them, ignoring the throbbing pain in her cheek, ignoring the sting of Lola's accusation. She locked herself in her old bedroom, sinking onto the bed. She had to hold on. She had to endure this so Billie could have her space and sort out her complicated week. She trusted Billie.

***

The week was a slow, painful grind. Each day, Nala showed up to school looking slightly worse than the day before. Monday was a stiff neck; Tuesday, a deep purple bruise on her forearm that she covered with a heavy, long-sleeved shirt despite the warm weather.

By Thursday, she was moving with unnatural caution, a continuous ache running from her shoulder down her side. She was exhausted, unable to sleep properly, constantly anticipating the next confrontation.

In class, Nala made sure her expression was always bright, her answers quick and witty. She laughed easily, trying to project a carefree buoyancy. She couldn't let Billie worry, not when Billie was dealing with her family and whatever was happening at her apartment.

But Billie saw it. She saw the way Nala's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, the way she winced imperceptibly when she shifted her backpack strap, the careful way she tilted her head. Billie's stomach clenched every time Nala moved too slowly.

Billie couldn't concentrate. She kept seeing the image of Nala's face, the exhaustion, the subtle discoloration she knew wasn't natural shadow. She was consumed by worry, the thought of Nala's injuries replaying in her mind, making sleep impossible. Just graduate, Amari. Just get out. Then we can fix everything and you never have to go back there.