Eternal Love: Beynika Oneshots

Chemistry III

Working so hard, every night and day
And now we get the pay back
Trying so hard, saving up the paper
Now we get to lay back
________

I lie awake in my bed considering the illegal activities of which I'd chosen to participate in. It was ironic how cancer-causing cigarettes and alcoholic related deaths meant nothing to the government - as long as they were able to tax them both. However, with weed, it took decades to legalize, and now that it was legal, they still had their choices of who could grow and sell on large scales.

Growth for personal use was permitted, which was why I was able to grow my own from time to time. Because I made so much of it, it wasn't necessary to grow it year-round. My supply was never low.

In many ways, my agreement to assist Beyoncé in her endeavors had a lot to do with my rebellion for the fucked up system. Marijuana was a plant. Something natural and from the earth. There was no way it shouldn't have been completely legal from the start up until the end of time. I saw it no different from the luscious tomatoes that I grew or the berries that I loved to pick.

Ping.

The chiming of the iPhone that laid on my chest was followed with a slight vibration. Before unlocking the device - that I'd placed a password on minutes prior - I checked the time. In only forty minutes, it would be twelve. The coordinates he sent, I combined with the ones that were available on the voice memo I'd played earlier.

After further research, I located the destination. Thirty minutes away. Beyoncé had waited until I had just enough time to meet my twelve o'clock deadline to send the information I needed. She wasn't playing fairly, but I understood. Precaution was a part of the job, and it came with the territory.

I slid into my car with thirty-one minutes to spare. If a light held too long or I happened to encounter an accident, I wouldn't make the cut. The thought drove my anxiety up the wall, while simultaneously giving me an adrenaline rush that I couldn't recall feeling before. I was certain I hadn't because I would've remembered the gratification of it all.

Blurred lights and dark skies kept me company as I toured California's streets at the ungodly hour - going over the speed limit without a single care in the world. Not for the law, anyway. The one concern I did have is what kept my foot on the gas. Getting to my destination on time was above all else.

Prompt.
Precise.

They were a part of my genetic makeup, it seemed. There hadn't been a time when I was tardy for anything. Tonight wouldn't be the exception. Even with the odds stacked against me - like receiving the final piece to crack the puzzle just in time to get a move on it and running into every red light the city was offering at the time - I would be there when my time came.

Doja Cat's Streets crooned through my speakers, sending me on my way and easing the tension that the uncertainty of my night burdened me with. Around the tenth replay of the same tune, I pulled up to a small, abandoned gas station on the edge of town. Confusion plagued me, but didn't hinder my curiosity. I was certain that this wasn't the place I was supposed to be meeting Beyoncé. It couldn't have been.

Stepping out of my car, I slammed the door in annoyance. She could've just given me the damn address. What's with all the secrets? The thoughts swarmed me at once. Now, I'm at the wrong place and don't know where the hell I'm supposed to be. Defeated, I unlocked the phone she'd given me, folded my left arm across my chest and initiated a call to the number that had texted me. The heat from my dead engine felt quite delightful as I leaned against the side near the hood.