seasons | killmonger

22 | W A L L S

Even the colors of a chameleon are for survival not beauty.
~African Proverb

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Mbali

He was gone by the time I woke up. The side of the bed that he was once laying in was completely empty, but he at least had the decency to leave the covers over me. I looked around the room and groaned because he had his curtains wide open and the sun hit me directly in the face.

He was never an early morning person, but would always still wake up early to get the majority of the day over with so that he could have the remainder to himself.

I had manners, so I fixed his bed when I got out of it and went straight to my room. If he was in the living room, I'd for sure here the TV going off because he still watches American sports. But it was quiet down there from what I could tell. Or even if he was in the kitchen, he'd have music blasting. Still nothing.

I went to my room to quickly fix myself up, pulling my braids into a bun on my head before getting into the shower. Looking out my window I noticed that Zina was still there sleeping on her side. And knowing her, she'd be up in the next few minutes making the most amount of noise because she wants attention from everyone. Even though she was an elephant, I swear she had human tendencies and needs.

I showered quickly and put on a regular White shirt and a pair of jeans that I ended up getting as a gift from Sage because she thought 'they'd make my ass look fire.'

He had to be somewhere in this house and it was killing me. I peaked back into his room and he wasn't there. I looked outside— he wasn't there. The kitchen? Not there; or even the living room and his own study. That's when it clicked because it was the only place I didn't check, and I swear I knew he'd be there.

I jogged down the flight of steps that lead to the basement of where we lived and heard thuds coming from the opposite side of the closed door along with his music. Just to be cautious, I opened the door slowly and saw him shirtless, training with one of the other members of the border tribe; and N'Jadaka definitely was not going easy on him.

I quietly closed the door and watched him fight, and how strategic he was. He rarely fought with anything in his hands— everything was just his fists, and they moved so fast, that you could hear the wind move against them and every other move he would make. Eventually they picked up training sticks that were eight feet long. Mumbling something to each other beforehand, they instantly went at each other with no remorse. They were good at blocking each other and the sound of the wooden sticks hitting each other echoed off the blue walls.

When I was finally able to see his side profile, I knew something was off. His face was hard enough to cut stone and his jaw was clenched harder than usual. Even his muscles looked tense like they did last night— and his eyes just looked dark. Darker than usual. He somehow managed to distract the fighter, sending the stick under his knees, sending him falling backward. He fell to his back with a thud, and N'Jadaka had the stick against his chin. "Another round." He huffed, waiting for the man to stand, but the look on his face read so much exhaustion and worry. He didn't move much, but continued to look up at N'Jadaka.

"So you about to pussy out? And you suppose to follow under me? Fuck outta here." He scoffed and squatted down to his side. "Stand the fuck up."

He opened his mouth to try and protest but sighed, trying to push his body off the ground. "Konele. Thatha ikhefu." Enough. Take a break. I shook my head and walked over with my arms crossed. N'Jadaka looked down at me with an irritated expression.