Page 14 of Butterfly 6, Phase 1

“The gun ain’t pointed at you, Mo. In that game of roulette. It’s at my temple, shorty, and you control the trigger,” Messiah admitted, as he feather-stroked the tendrils of Yara’s hair. He was locked in on his daughter. The energy in the room was tense and suffocating. She hated it because discomfort had never been the vibe between them. They had always been soothed in each other’s space. Resentment was smothering them. The sound of the vital signs monitor beeped as they focused on Yara. Silence ate up another hour of the day as they stubbornly refused to speak. Morgan didn’t even glance Messiah’s way.

Her wrath was suffocating Messiah. He had never quite cared about the feelings of others, but hurting hers was like hurting himself. They couldn’t co-exist like this.

“I don’t want to fight with you, shorty. She’s fighting for her life, and we fighting each other.”

“How did this happen?” Mo responded. “If I had someone to blame, I could stop wanting to take it out on you.” Morgan was tired. Tired of it all. The emotional tug of war taxed her in a way that debilitated her entire day. She couldn’t think straight when they were fighting so intensely. The tension between them made her physically ill. “I don’t want to fight either.” It was futile. It didn’t even matter. They sat in silence as minutes felt like hours. It was a shame to love someone so much but hate them simultaneously. Awkwardness governed the room.

“She looks so much like you,” Messiah swooned.

“She looks like Raven,” Morgan whispered. “Exactly like her.”

Morgan snapped her eyes shut. The thought of her sister made her think of Mizan, which put Messiah’s betrayal on a loop in her mind. This was torture. Morgan had prayed for his presence. She had wanted this man so badly once upon a time. A part of her always would, but Messiah wasn’t good for her. There was only so much she could take. The decisions he made. The lies he told. They were unending. Every time she came to terms with one of his lies and made peace with accepting his mistakes, a new betrayal came to light. It felt like he lived with a mission to deceive her, and it hurt because Morgan only ever wanted to know him. From the day she laid eyes on Messiah Williams, intimacy was what she wished for from him. She remembered the days she prayed he would notice her. There was a time when she dreamed of having his kids and being his girl. She knew they would have an epic love. It was written in her dreams long before she ever had him. Their reality had taken a wrong turn somewhere. What had started off as everything she had ever wanted and needed was now a sad memory. He had brought her both the best and worst days of her life. There was so much distance between them, and as much as they wished they could find their way back, they had lost their way.

“Ethic told me you aren’t Mizan’s real brother. Who was he to you?” Morgan asked, voice small.

Her question sent a tremble through his chest. A lightning bolt of fear. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. She was asking reasonable questions. These were inquiries that she had never gotten to field because of his sudden departure. He was triggered, and he felt himself tightening up, building his wall higher, because allowing her to dig freely into his trauma was a hard no.

“Now ain’t the time,” Messiah resisted.

“Will it ever be?” Morgan asked.

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Morgan felt a sense of relief as White Boy Nick stepped into the room.

Nick took one look at Morgan and saw distress all over her face. “Now, Messiah, I know you a gangster, but don’t make me tap into my he/him on your ass over my girl,” Nick said, letting the masculine bass creep back into his tone. “I’ll turn into a whole WWE star over this one right here. Why you over there looking like you about to cry, bitch?”

Messiah leveled a hard stare at Nick; his eyes were taut with sincerity.

“You better get your friend, shorty. I ain’t in the mood for play. I don’t even know homie like that.”

“Who playing?” Nick asked.

“Nick, don’t,” Morgan said. “It’s been a very long day.” Morgan knew Messiah wasn’t super close to her friends. He knew of him, but he didn’t fuck with Nick directly, so he wasn’t used to Nick’s loud demeanor.

Messiah headed for the door. He wasn’t in a good headspace, and he was intolerant of bullshit on a regular day, so he knew his fuse was short today. “I’ma let you catch up with your people,” Messiah stated. “I’ma get some air and some caffeine or something.”

Morgan wanted to stop him, but she knew it was best they have some space. Messiah walked out, and Morgan sighed.

“Come on, my baby,” Nick said, holding his arms open for a hug. “I know you want to cry.” Morgan found comfort in her friend.

“How did you get back here? They not even letting too many people in.”

“You know I got my ways,” Nick replied as he rubbed her back. “When Aria called me, I came running.”

“Thank you,” Morgan whispered, “I don’t even know what I would do without y’all.”

“You’ll never have to know either,” Nick answered. “We don’t have to talk. I don’t have to be entertained. I’ll just sit here with you and Yolly Pop, if that’s okay?”

Morgan nodded. She was thankful that he didn’t come through the door with a million questions. She was exhausted. She had only recanted the update on Yolly to Ethic, and even that had drained her. She couldn’t imagine saying it again and again for every single person who walked through the door. The more she said it aloud, the more terrifying their reality became. This silent support was exactly what was needed. He was present but not prying, and she appreciated him for knowing exactly how much support to give.

He sat on one side of the room, and she sat on the other, no pressure, no conversation, just presence.

Chapter 6

“Scars” by Summer Walker

Messiah stood outside the room, leaning his back against the wall as he lifted his eyes to the ceiling. He forced out a sharp breath, hoping it would ease the tender feeling in his stomach, but it didn’t calm. He was sick, so much so that he felt like tears would leak from his eyes against his will.

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee, Dad.”