Blame on me (Rewriting)

The start

Preface

Momma said never love a nigga more than he love me daddy said the same thing and he a OG
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Chapter 1: Blame on Me

"I'm not doing this with you anymore, Xhavier."

My voice was shaking, but not because I was scared—because I was done. Done being overlooked. Done being the woman behind the man who couldn't even look me in the eye and be real.

"I'm tired, X. Tired of loving you harder than you ever tried to love me. Tired of watching you chase the streets like they ever did anything for you. What about me? When do I matter? When do we matter?"

He stood there, cold as ever. Arms folded, face blank, like my pain was just background noise.

"You wasn't saying all that when I was lacing you in diamonds and keeping you in designer. You liked that shit, Kymora."

That was his weapon—guilt wrapped in glitter. Material love for a soul starving of affection.

"I never asked for none of that," I snapped. My voice cracked, but I kept going. "I didn't want gifts. I wanted you. Your loyalty. Your honesty. Your heart. Not a fucking chain around my neck to shut me up."

"But did you say no to it though?"
He smirked. Like that was a checkmate.

I stared at him, heart breaking all over again.

"You really think you can buy me and that makes everything okay? Where you going, X? Can we talk like two people who supposed to be in love?"

"I ain't got time for this shit, yo. I gotta go."

I moved in front of the door, blocking him.

"Go where? You not taking my car. Not tonight. Not ever again. Gimme my keys."

"Move, Kymora."

"I said no. Put my keys in my hand, then you can leave."

That's when it happened.

No hesitation. No regret. He shoved me so hard, I slammed into the wall, breath knocked out of me. My body hit cold drywall like it was nothing to him—like I was nothing.

He didn't look back.

Didn't check to see if I was breathing. Just walked out like I was another thing he could leave behind.

And that's the moment it finally clicked for me.
This wasn't love.
This was survival dressed up in trauma bonding.

This man had become my addiction—my poison. I kept sipping from his cup, even as it burned me from the inside out. Every time I said I was leaving, I lied. And I knew it. Because no matter how many times he broke me, I always found some way to forgive him.

Why?
Because I thought loving him meant saving him.
But I was the one drowning.

I used to stare in the mirror, tearing myself apart. Picking at my body. My face. My heart. Asking myself what I was missing. Wondering what she had that I didn't. I was crying silently, night after night, building a wall around the girl I used to be, hiding her in the name of love.

And just when I thought it couldn't get worse—the police came.
A knock that turned into a kick. A search warrant. Guns. Dope. Money.
In my house.
Hidden in places I didn't even know existed.

I didn't snitch. Never even thought about it.
I took the charge.
Three years of my life—for a man who wouldn't have done three minutes for me.

That was the moment I realized I had to save myself.
Because if I didn't, nobody else would.

This is my story.
How I rose from betrayal, from hurt, from silence.
How I found my voice again.
And how I learned that loving someone doesn't mean losing yourself.

The truth?

The blame was never on me.
But I carried it like it was.

Not anymore.