𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐌𝐞 𝐔𝐩 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐲

𝙞: 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙨, 𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙨

𝐁𝐌𝐔𝐒 𝐈
衛ゑニ

𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙘:
𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 — 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙠𝙣𝙙.

𝐵𝑒𝓎𝑜𝓃𝒸é ♡

They say life is the embodiment of energy,  innovation, a sphere of activity or influence. Some may just see it as the world, or universe. Life can be excitement or emotional grounds for some. It can be a loop of challenges and sometimes annual unforeseen obstacles that builds courage to overcome.

Life can be easygoing in some circumstances, but most people can't unlock that level and ability because it starts with their way of thinking, and grounding themselves.

I live life how I see a deck of cards. You never know what the fuck you're dealt with, but you can always count on an ace and a spade. It's just them jokers who tend to be tricky, and that's where staying ready, so you don't have to get ready, comes into play.

With one swift turn of the wheel in my all-black 2023 Tesla, I abruptly parked my vehicle, slamming on the brakes due to the infrequent tardiness I'm encountering this rising. To know me is to fathom that I hate being late, no matter the circumstance. On-time? That is also considered unpunctual in my book. I prefer to at least be thirty minutes present than the expected arrival time. It's a reflection of responsibility and competence.

Some hoot it just being Beyoncé, but who am I to listen to their opinion? Those same people, more than likely, blend within the late spectrum.

Turning my music down so I don't get reported by the whites, I flipped open my mirror, attached to the roof of my car, hastily applying my favorite satin red lipstick, Ruby Woo, which happened to coordinate perfectly with my matte red interior. You'd think it's my favorite color by the way I always incorporate the bright hue into my day-to-day wardrobe, and that's never the case. Red simply compliments me and my aura, very well. I'd consider the first color of the rainbow, more so an accent color, if you will.

My phone alarm began to loudly echo in my ear, insinuating I had about eight minutes left to spare, to lock up my vehicle and travel swiftly to my office. I quickly slid off my cozy UGG slides, and exchanged them for my favorite sliver Loubs, accompanied by a gloss red coat on the bottom. Of course.

I seized hold of my special edition Hermes Birkin, and Fendi shades, before rushing my extensive legs to the elevator. My golden locks bounced on my shoulder with each stride I took. I made sure to secure my thumb into the keyless fob, hearing a couple of beeps as I locked my car.

Eventually making my presence notable on the top floor, I gained a few good mornings, coaxing my response of a toothy commercial smile and head nods. Reaching the end of the hallway, there stood my timid assistant with my black coffee in hand.

She had the audacity to wear pink today. Gross. I hate pink.

"Good morning, Mrs. Fenty. Here's your coffee, black, 180° Fahrenheit, with three shots of espresso, as requested. Aaaand—here is your file for your first patient of the day, which consists of the required headshot photos, diagnoses, and introduction pages." She informed, handing me my coffee and the mere familiar manilla folder that I immediately tucked under my arm.

My eyebrows urgently crammed, "Where's my raisin bagel and strawberry cream cheese, Lauren? You've been here for almost a year now. Is this not a routine?"

"Um, y-you told me that you w-were fasting and that carbs were a part of that list of goods to stay away from, ma'am." She gulped, as her bright dimpled smile soon vanished, becoming an expression of worrisome.

I'm not sure why, but I sort of felt like the villain here. Unbeknownst, they happen to be my favorite character in every storyline.

"Okay? Soooo, if I'm fasting from carbs, then that should've given you an ounce of consideration to- I don't know.. prepare fruit as a great alternative. Hell, even a couple of scrambled eggs, well beaten. I can't only survive off coffee! I'd literally die, and then you'd be in jail for murder because you can't do shit right." I pinched the bridge of my nose, releasing a frustrated sigh. "Damn it, Lauren, get a clue!" I snapped. I instantly noticed wetness forming in her glossy brown eyes.

"I-I'm so sorry Mrs. Fenty! I can run down to the cafe—"

I eventually broke character, starting with a smirk forming on my lips, before bending over as laughter escaped my mouth. I held my knee as I stumped my foot because I was beyond tickled at my antics.

"Whew!" I stood up, wiping a tear. "I'm just fucking with you. Tighten up, London."

I proceeded to my office and slammed the door shut with the heel of my pump.

"One day she's going to spit in my coffee. I just know it." I mumbled, sitting my items down on my desk, and shortly removing my cream colored trench coat.

I tidied away my personal items into the metal steel storage I had recently bought from an IKEA catalog. I then marched over to my marble-coated desk, plopping down into my office swivel chair gently, as I crossed one leg over the other. With one press of a button and a simple swipe of my mouse, I summoned my iMac monitor so that I could check my incoming business emails with the short amount of time I had ticking down my back.

I guess this would be a great time to formally introduce myself. My name is Beyoncé Giselle Fenty. Age, 29, and I am a crisis therapist, or psychologist, whichever you prefer. I typically take on clients who have already been diagnosed and have lived with chronic mental disorders. Some consider me the big dog because I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I do take on some of the most challenging cases yet. It's a demanding work atmosphere, but I love what I do.

This beautiful twenty-two carrot rock weighing my ring finger, does intel that I am married to my gorgeous wife, Robyn Fenty, who has been recognized by the critically acclaimed, food network, as one of the top bakers in the country.

We currently don't have any children as of yet, and that's due to us being highly career-driven people. Our relationship is quite different than your typical partnership, but that's enough about me. Oversharing isn't my strong suit.

After dissecting a few emails, I logged onto my work portal. Although my assistant hands me everything manually within a folder, the same information is also sent to me virtually, directly from the patient. In this company, when being linked to the proper therapist for your current condition, we advise sending in the most needed information in, so that we perceive an overview of what to expect, ensuring we have the perfect person on top of their needs.

Because I deal with a lot of traumatic events, and a heavy workload, I take about three to four clients a day, depending on the requirements needed for each person. I have to wrap my head around a lot, as well as prepare a proper treatment and plan to get the patient to where they need to progress in life. Furthermore, our job is to be problem solvers, and not all heroes are draped in capes.

They're draped in Loubs.

I clicked the profile of my first patient, Onika Maraj. I read that she is twenty-two years old, and was raised in Queens, New York. She has an associates in journalism and minor in art history. And interesting enough, she has a pet frog named Bubbles.

Just reading her short bio left me intrigued about what I had in store for me today. Indulging a few sips of my coffee, I noticed she uploaded a video onto her profile for her proper introduction piece. Our patients have the option to either send in a typed introduction or a video. Most patients send in a worded version, so I was surprised to see an actual video submission.

I soon clicked play.

"Hi!" She waved, wearing her black straight tresses in a neat bun, assembling herself in a white button-down, and a gold-plated necklace with her name across it around her neck. She appeared to be in bed. "My name is Onika, and I was diagnosed with Dissociative identity disorder at the young age of seven. I've always felt different than most people around me, easily being labeled weird, or even the word I hate most, crazy.

I have the biggest beef with society's norms because I should, amongst others like me, be able to just express who I am without sly remarks and consistent judgment.

But because only Onika feels this way, I can't help how my other personalities react or interact. I have a total of four personas living within my one small body, and we can't wait to meet you, Mrs. Fenty. I've read multiple articles about you, perceiving that you're the best at what you do. See you soon!" I watched as she bit her bottom lip, winking as if a new personality took over before the video suddenly ended.

"Hmph." My mouth dropped to a frown. This might be my most interesting case yet.

I exited the video, hearing the henges to my door squeak as it resumed opening. In came my good friend, and college, Kelendria.

"Mmm smells good in here." She complimented me, observing the new fall decor I had upgraded around my office.

"Good. With the seasons changing, I felt it necessary to exchange my plug-ins, replacing them with more of a vanilla musk. I would honestly dread coming to work if I didn't feel my best inside my office. I don't know how Bob continues to work inside his boring ass office. He still has the same decor arrangement since he was hired, fifteen years ago." I stated, leaning over to turn on my heater.

"Bob is what you call white privileged. I honestly couldn't tell you how many complaints he has from clients, yet, his busted bald-headed ass is still employed."

I chuckled, shaking my head. If you thought that I was a straightforward person, Kelly definitely has me beat in that department. We've been best friends since high school. One of the only friends I can call on and she's there in a snap of a finger. She recently transferred to my company, which I've been trying to convince her of doing a while ago, but I'm happy she's here now, working in the behavioral health department, with children.

"Girl, tell me about it. How do you get coffee stains on your shirt EVERY morning?" I rolled my eyes.

"Chileee." She chuckled. "Anyways, why did I find Lauren in the restroom crying? I done told you to leave that girl alone, Bey. Don't be surprised when your coffee randomly starts having bubbles foaming at the rim."

I sighed. "Trust me, I've tried being nic—"

"You's a damn lie, and the truth ain't in you! You betta' leave my lil' work girlfriend alone, or I will happily insert some laxative inside your coffee myself."

"Oh, that's low, Kelly!"

"So I've heard." She smirked. "I'll see you at lunch, where I plan to sneak myself a glass of red-blend wine."

"You're such an alcoholic." I chuckled, cuffing the tapered sleeves of my black button down shirt.

"Bitch, it's the blood of Jesus!" She shouted, before slamming the door behind her.

I assembled my reading glasses onto the bridge of my nose, taking a quick glare at the clock on my wall. Onika should be here shortly so I decided to read a bit more of the file before she arrives.

"On Onika's eighth birthday, her parents decided that giving up their parental rights, allowing her Aunt full custody, convinced it would be a better fit for not only their careers, but for Onika's well being.

Pharrell and Vantie Maraj, who you know to be very well known in the modeling and music industry, didn't think they had the proper resources to take care of their newly diagnosed child's condition. Tika, who is Onika's aunt, was able support Onika by bringing her in and raising her as her own. Onika is fully aware of who her parents are, and only wished to be accepted by them." I mumbled, reading the first page statement, sent from her first psychiatrist, Dr. Noel.

I sat her file back into my cabinet, as I began to take in what I'd read. The disheartening part of that brief timeline is that you can easily google her parents, and it will clear as day state that they've indeed never bared any children.

Life is exhausting.

𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝐵𝑀𝒰𝒮 𝐼 ♡

_______________________________

Thoughts/Concerns?

[Expect a few changes and adjustments compared to the oneshot series. Consider that this book will have a lot more detail and twists.]

Thank you for reading. ♡