Eternal Love: Beynika Oneshots

Senses VII

My every thought contained her. Every move I made was because of her existence. Every breath I breathed had been altered since the discovery of her. She made me different. Came into my world and tried to make me better. That shit didn't sit right with my soul, even knowing that it was right for my soul.

Was it wrong to want to mourn? Alone? Without interference or anyone suppressing the pain with great conversation and mind-numbing sex? She was too much for me. Too much too soon.

Soon after the ringing of my phone stopped, it began to chime. My alarm sounded, reminding me that I had a day ahead of me. My haven - my home - would be the death of me, emotionally and mentally. I felt so much better here, though, away from the world and everything going on around me. Because I knew as much as my efforts to combat their demise included agreeing to the therapist that my mother suggested.

Dr. Veronica Harris.

Young. Black. Educated. Wealthy. Everything that my mother loved in a woman that shared the same ethnicity as us. She loved her so much so that she'd decided to front the bill. For her, it was whatever it took to get me out of the house and helped. Though I wasn't a mother, I could understand her concern. It was from a genuine place, which was why I was forcing myself from the bed and standing on my feet.

Had it been anyone else suggesting therapy, I would've blocked their number before they could finish their sentence. But, not my mother. She wanted me better, but I was better off broken, at least. This pain that I felt wouldn't heal itself in a day. Not a week or even a few months. If I was fortunate, a decade would bring me a bit of solace.

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Okay, Onika, I prepped, you need this.

One foot in front of the other, I found my way to the bathroom where I started the shower. Standing in the mirror, I realized how closely I resembled the scum on the bottom of my shoes. It was pathetic. But on the brighter side, my skin was glowing and my hair was flourishing. The bushy curls were a result of bed head, being that I'd hardly gotten out of mine.

Taking the bit of leniency my hair and skin offered my appearance, I nodded with a shrug. If nothing else, those two would help conceal the wreckage inside of me. I had five million hair ties - it seemed - so finding one wasn't an issue. I waded my hair up into a slouchy bun and proceeded to the closet for a towel.

The steaming hot water stung my flesh so good. It felt heavenly as I stepped in, allowing the fog to unclog my nose and help me breathe a bit better. I wasn't sick, but my sinuses could be bitchy during the colder months. Thankfully, the shower was a source of immediate release that was only a few feet away from my bedroom.

"Ahhhh." Head tilted backward, I closed my eyes and stood underneath the shower as it kneaded the kinks caused from lying in bed for hours.

Big mistake.

Visions of my hands gripping the sheets as she plowed into me caused the prickly needle sensation on every inch of my skin. My mouth slacked and temperature rose as the feeling of her plastic phallus saturating me completely revisited my body. I could feel her... inside of me. Taking so much care and being so fucking good. Her tongue. Her hands. Her breast. Her back. Her... everything.

In a desperate attempt to disengage, I bucked my eyes and lifted my head. Even my most private moments belonged to her. Belonged to the moments we shared as we learned one another's bodies. And, boy, had it been a fucking lesson. She'd taught me things about myself that I hadn't even known. She'd shown me how to feel more than I'd ever felt during a moment of intimacy with any other.

She'd even left me with homework because, for the last two weeks, I'd been trying to make myself feel as good as she had. Yet, I kept failing. Once a scholar in the studies of my being, I felt like a complete imposter. Satisfaction was no longer guaranteed when I stroked myself. She'd fucked up everything and managed to do so gracefully.

"Shit," I spat the water that had entered my mouth.

Deciding against the usual slow-paced shower that I enjoyed, I cut my time in half. The spoof was coated with body wash in an instant before I began scrubbing my skin with it. Replacing thoughts of her - thoughts of us - with fond memories of my best friend, I managed a cackle.

There were so many wonderful things that made her who she was. It was such a tragedy that I'd never get to experience the beauty of her soul again, unless through painful and wonderful memories that simply weren't enough. When the pressure of our moments together became too much to think about anymore, I shut off the water and exited the shower.

Twenty minutes had gone by before I was dressed in a cream sweater with a cowl neck and elongated sleeves. Beneath it was a deep, almost burnt, orange jumper. The designer sneakers that adorned my feet were laced with the shoe strings tucked. My natural curls flourished under distress along with my skin. I didn't believe in bothering what wasn't broken, so I left the two alone.

Conflicted as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I toyed with the idea of staying home. My readiness to discuss anything pertaining to Mina was unclear. I was unsure. The pain was still so very fresh, prickling my heart every damn day like thousands of tiny needles. Even breathing hurt. Especially knowing that she wasn't.

You've got this, Oni. I sighed, closing my eyes with a slouched frame. She wouldn't leave me alone. She was in my head, my heart, my soul and my sleep. She was everywhere that I went, in every room that I was hiding out. No matter what I tried, I couldn't get away from her.

But really, you've got this. My little voice found its way to the surface, causing me to perk up and widen my eyes in appreciation. The slouching of my frame was instantly corrected. As my mother and I had discussed, therapy was only the foundation. The healing would come when I was ready. Recalling the conversation, I continued to prepare for my exit.

On my way out of the door, I grabbed my vintage Gucci bag and keys. With my one-piece being long-sleeved in addition to my sweater, wearing a coat was out of the question. If the wind could penetrate the two, then I'd have to suffer. However, I doubted it very much. As I stepped outside, I dug into my purse to retrieve my scarf. I hated the winds hitting my face and ears, so covering them were a must.

My key fit into the lock. I turned it once, locking the door and securing my belongings. When I twirled on the tips of my toes, I was hardly expecting the sight before me.

I was hardly expecting the shallow breathing.
I was hardly expecting the loss of rationality.
I was hardly expecting the lapse in thoughts.
I was hardly expecting her.

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thoughts?

did you guys expect Nicki to ghost Bey?

is her reason valid?

vote and comment!