Page 12 of Butterfly 6, Phase 1

Messiah watched Yara’s chest rise and fall all night. Morgan was only across the room, but she felt miles away. There was something about the silence of scorned lovers. It carried daggers through the air, cutting deep. The resentment was screaming, yet it made no sound simultaneously. They co-existed in discomfort as their anxiety ate away at them. It had taken Morgan hours to lose the battle of exhaustion. He was relieved when she finally slept. Being under her scrutiny had Messiah on pins and needles. He wanted to apologize on repeat, but he hadn’t quite figured out what to say. Every time he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Silence was the best, worst option. Messiah was afraid to close his eyes. He sat like a watchdog, making sure the police didn’t come through the door to cart Morgan away. Messiah stood and grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of the bed. He unfolded it and spread it over Morgan before turning to Yara. She really did spit my babies out, man, he thought.

Morgan stirred, and she opened red eyes.

“Thanks,” she whispered as she pulled the blanket tighter to her chest.

“Come on,” he said, as he eased beside her, opening his arms wide behind the couch so that she could lean into him. Morgan’s exhaustion allowed her to comply as she sighed. He caressed the top of her head as they stared at Yara.

“I just feel like crying.”

“You can cry, shorty. I know you play tough. Your secret’s safe with me,” Messiah mumbled.

“As mad as I am, I’m so grateful that I don’t have to do this by myself,” Morgan whispered.

Morgan felt Messiah’s phone vibrate in his pocket. Her eyes instinctively shifted to the clock on the wall. It was the dead of night. Nobody would be calling him at this hour, except someone he was intimate with.

He removed his arm from around her and went into his pocket.

The words Shorty Doo Wop illuminated his screen along with Bleu’s picture.

Morgan scoffed and put distance between them as she shook her head in disgust.

Messiah silenced the call and sat up, leaning over, knees to elbows, as Morgan stood.

He could tell by the look on her face that she had put her guard back up. That was their routine these days.

“Can we talk, shorty?”

“There’s nothing to say,” she replied simply. “And don’t ever call me that again.”

Messiah chose his next words carefully. “I need you to listen, Mo. I want to be honest with you…”

Morgan laughed, and the emotion was so out of place, that her reaction confused Messiah.

“You want to be honest now?” Morgan asked, shaking her head. “Mmcht.” She sucked her teeth and turned her back to Messiah, facing the opposite wall as if he wasn’t even in the room. “It doesn’t even matter anymore.”

Messiah knew this wouldn’t be an easy conversation, but he had to clear the air. This tension they were existing under was suffocating him. Morgan had been angry before, but she was offended now. The phone call from Bleu had reignited her rage.

“It didn’t happen with Bleu the way you think it…”

Her stomach turned at the way he said her name. She closed her eyes because she knew Messiah. She knew him too well. The subtle inflection of the way his vowels came together when he said her name made her feel like throwing up. She wondered how she hadn’t heard it before. There was endearment in his tone. Morgan counted down from ten in her mind as she closed her eyes to try to bring her temper down. I don’t want to talk about this. I just want to focus on Yolly. Messiah, stop. Please, just stop. We should be focused on our baby. The last thing I want to do is argue.

But she couldn’t tune him out. His truth. It was a weapon. It felt like he was holding a knife to her throat. She almost wished she didn’t know. The truth felt like the end. Sometimes it was easier to go along with the lie that made it easy to keep the person you loved in your life. “It only happened once, after you…”

“I. DON’T. GIVE. A. FUCK,” she signed. Morgan shot him a glance so malicious it hurt when it landed on him. He had to put a hand to his chest to see if the impact he felt had penetrated him. That’s how real it felt. Like a gunshot piercing his heart. Morgan was moving her hands so swiftly that he could barely keep up. “I literally don’t give two fucks about that bottom of the barrel, thirsty, crack head, fake-ass bitch.”

Messiah’s recoil at her insults made her skin crawl. She shook her head because he couldn’t even hide his affections. Her name-calling of Bleu was offensive to him, and she could tell. He wore it all over his face. She was an expert interpreter when it came to his body language. She had been reading it her entire life due to her disability. There was no mistaking it. He felt a way. She waited for him to defend Bleu because it would be all she wrote. I will take this nigga head off his fucking shoulders if he says one word in defense of this ho, Morgan thought.

“Sometimes you got to let a dog stay where he lay.” Morgan said that part aloud. She wanted to sound tougher than her shaky voice allowed. Heartbreak clung to her vocal cords, and her body language was screaming despite her tough facade. She folded her arms, trying to stop her heart from racing, but it was fighting to get out of her chest. She felt like she was having a heart attack. She crossed her legs, and her foot bounced as she avoided looking Messiah’s way. He had done many things to blindside her over the years. This felt like a scab picked raw. Their history ran through her mind. He had me out here looking crazy, Morgan thought.

It took everything in Messiah to let Morgan have that one. She was one of one when it came to the number of people who could say they had talked to him crazy. He didn’t allow it. Morgan’s mouth was lethal when she was hurt, and he held his tongue. Anything he said would only add fuel to an already rambunctious fire.

“That’s where you were? When I was pregnant with your kids? Laid up with her?” Morgan scoffed and shook her head in disbelief.

“I was in the hospital, Mo. Surgery after surgery, fighting for my life…”

“With her, though, right?” Morgan wasn’t letting up. She didn’t give a fuck about what he was fighting. She wanted to know who he was with.

His silence was an admission of guilt.