A/N: warning! please read before continuing!
this chapter may be emotionally triggering, and i suggest you proceed with caution. i'd also like to say that i do not condone, tolerate, or support the behavior that will be shown in this chapter. i honestly found it very difficult to write.
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He looked down at his phone, where he had put her address in, and walked along the sidewalk in the dark.
Carefully holding onto her journal, his eyes wandered aimlessly around the neighborhood. It was in walking distance of the jazz club, but it seemed like he had stepped into another world.
He lived in the other direction in a nice apartment complex, of which he had no complaints about, while there was nothing like that here. Instead, there were rows and rows of white, identical houses. They weren't as big or luxurious as mansions, but they were certainly impressive for a middle class area.
Finally, his phone dinged, informing him that he had arrived. He warily climbed up the porch and peeked inside through the frosted glass of the front windows. Chatter echoed from inside; he hesitated on interrupting their evening.
He contemplated leaving her journal by the door, but decided against it, considering how stressed she might've been without it already.
He took in a deep breath before knocking on the door, plastering on a friendly smile. It took a moment for someone to answer, but when they did, he was met with an unfamiliar face.
"Um, hello, ma'am," he cleared his throat awkwardly while the mature woman eyed him.
"Who are you? I didn't order anything," she said sharply; he furrowed his eyebrows.
"No, ma'am, I'm here to return a journal. I believe the owner lives here."
The woman yanked the journal from his hands and inspected it with disapproving eyes. She then looked back up at him. "Where did you find this?"
"The jazz club, ma'am. I work there," he told her politely, ignoring her abrasiveness.
"The jazz club? I cannot believe this," she huffed before raising her voice. "Henry! Come here quick!"
He stood nervously in front of the irritated woman, who froze him in place with her eyes, until a man appeared by her side.
"What is it, Elizabeth? Why are you shouting—" the man paused, frowning at him. "Who is this, Elizabeth?"
The woman handed him the journal. "This man here came to return that. And you know where he found it? At the jazz club, where he works!"
"Jazz club? What is our daughter doing at a jazz club?" the man asked, and his eyes widened.
"Wait, did you say daughter?"
His question was answered when the face that he had grown to feel so attached to appeared. She wore one of her signature stunning dresses, and he couldn't help but smile at her presence.
She, however, did not return the gesture. Instead, she looked rather distressed when she saw him across from her parents.
"What are you doing here, Blue?"
Her mother's eyebrows rose instantly. "Blue? You know this man personally?"
"Well," she hesitated, glancing over at him. "I do, yes. We're...close."
"Close? What is the meaning of this? Not only have you been sneaking around going to some lowly jazz club, but you're close with this man?" her father scoffed, shaking his head. "I expected better from you, Eden."
She let out an incredulous laugh. "What's wrong with me being close with him, Dad? Tell me, why does it disappoint you so much that I associate myself with him?"
He shifted in his spot, throwing a displeased look at him. "Well, because he's...you know..."
"What?" she shouted, throwing her hands in the air. "Say it, Dad! It's because he's black, isn't it? It's because the color of his skin is different from yours, isn't it?"
Her father didn't respond, pursing his lips, and her mother stood quietly as well.
He slowly stepped forward, reaching for her arm. "Rose, it's okay. You don't have to do this."
"Yes, yes, I do, Blue. Because I'm sick and tired of how they treat people like trash, simply because they don't look the same as them," she spat out, staring at her parents with nothing but anger in her eyes.
Her father looked down at his hand around her arm and scowled. "Get your filthy hands off of my daughter, you animal!"
"Excuse me?" he gaped at him, startled at his tone.
"You heard me! I don't care what my daughter believes in that delusional head of hers, you don't belong here! Go back to your city slums!"
"Don't talk to me like that. I've been nothing but polite with you. If there's anyone delusional here, it'd be you!" he snapped, and her father fumed at his words.
The man suddenly stepped forward, swinging his fist back, but before he could hurt him, she intervened. She grasped her father's hand and looked at him, her eyes swelling with tears.
"Stop, Dad. Please just stop," she begged, her voice cracking with emotion, and he reluctantly backed away.
He watched as her parents eventually disappeared into their house, tossing him hateful glances on the way. His face softened when she turned back to him, her cheeks glistening with tears.
He was at a loss for words, while she desperately wanted to remove the ugly ones that whirled in her mind. They stood there in silence for a moment, both completely overwhelmed and shocked by what had just transpired.
When she met his eyes, she felt nothing but guilt surge through her. She wiped away her tears and let out a shaky sigh. "I'm sorry, Blue."
Before he could reply, she closed the door, and he was left all alone in the cold night.