Frayed Ends (BxB)

𝔁𝔁𝓿𝓲

↳ 𝓕𝓻𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓭 𝓔𝓷𝓭𝓼

Meena made a noise of disgust at the taste of coffee — weak and bitter even with heavy creamer. The familiar rattle of cubes was louder than usual, but the handful of ice only succeeded in watering down the murky-brown liquid.

Even within the off-white walls associated with sadness and suffocating fear for grieving family members, Meena could still picture the critical remark Kenji would make, emphasizing their coffee didn't hold a candle to Heidi's.

Caving in, Meena slid a few dollar bills in the vending machine, punching in the letter and number combination for a Mountain Dew, despite the amount of caffeine and sugar in the drink.

The neck of the bottle pinched between his fingers, Meena re-entered the cold room, where Kamal was passed out on rumpled sheets. The plastic rails of the bed were barricaded by expressionless men in black suits, hands locked in front of each of them.

His mom threaded a needle through a pair of old jeans to conceal the rip below the back pocket. Meena noticed her hobby of sewing was a distraction from reality lately. That was likely the reason behind the knitted sweaters he and Mustafa were given on New Year's as a belated Christmas present.

The reality of her husband's ashy, exhausted features. The reality of the clumps of his lush, dark curls streaked with grey she cleaned out of the shower drain this morning. The reality his body could react badly to the treatment. The reality he could die.

While Breonna wouldn't fall into a pit of sadness over his potential death, she'd grieve the absence of her purpose in life. Even if she didn't genuinely love her husband, he gave her the affluent lifestyle she was used to. Though a portion of his will would fund her life of luxury, most of his net worth would be divided among their children — with Meena's payout plainly outweighing that of his siblings.

🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍🌹🤍

❝How have you been, Meena?❞ Kamal prompted, his voice raspy from his lack of sleep. He sipped chilled, orange juice from a flimsy carton Heath, the bodyguard to his left, brought from the cafeteria downstairs.

Heath was the youngest of Kamal's bodyguards — shown by the absence of greys in his thick tresses of blonde and the youth in his navy blue eyes. Heath had removed his suit jacket a half hour ago, so his rolled-up sleeves revealed veins blending into his fair skin.

Back to reality, Meena says, ❝I've been alright. I have a boyfriend now. Been together for three months. You met him at the gala, remember?❞

❝Why didn't you invite him to New Year's?❞ He asks after another swallow of orange juice.

❝His family was visiting for the holidays. He was busy.❞

❝Invite him to Aafiya's birthday. In Israel. When is that? He won't have to pay a dime, don't worry. She said that Mustafa could invite someone, didn't she?❞

His tone on the last statement was cautious, as he looked to his wife for confirmation. She nodded silently, crushed by the fact Kamal repeats the same routine everyday that the days blur in his mind. The only constant was, his eyes are closed in both his bed at home and at the hospital.

❝One and a half months,❞ Meena fills in.

❝I thought so,❞ he mumbles, exhaustion tugging at his features.

❝Well, we'd love to meet him sometime.❞ Breonna smiles softly at her son, her hand squeezing his knee.

Meena nodded silently, but that wasn't even an option. Even though he agreed to smooth out the crinkles in their relationship, he would be dammed if he roped Kenji into the mess his father created.

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Wrinkled, ivory petals were browning and wet, splattered across the patchy grass shouldering the uneven sidewalk. A boarder of pastel-pink and white-blossomed trees framed his path, their outstretched branches veiling the sun. The dirty soles of his Vans easily maneuvered around puddles graying the concrete leading up to the white, wrap-around porch of the Victorian-era apartment.

His ringed fingers carried a disposable cup of cold brew coffee. The fresh smell of roasted coffee beans and vanilla still lingered in his convertible he left top-down since Heidi's, letting the fingers of the wind tousle his ringlets.

Bending down, Meena removed his fading, acid-washed slip-ons. He knew Aafiya, a carbon copy of their mom in her cleanliness, would chastise him if he tracked muddy footprints on their freshly-mopped, tiled floor.

His car keys clanked against the glass bowl on the counter, amidst the sea of keys already in the dish. The keys to Mustafa's Toyota Tundra and Aafiya's Lexus. Multiple keys to both their parents' house and to the apartment because Mustafa was always losing his — before finding them days later.

Kenji had even gave him a key to his new apartment with Riku a few weeks back with a polka-dotted strawberry carved into the silver bow. He carried all of his keys on his key ring Aafiya made him as an arts and crafts project in eighth grade.

Meena's thumbs tapped the keyboard.

Maldives for Aafiya's birthday with my siblings and I, shortcake? You can share a room with me, and Juno will be there, too. I'm the designated cook. Aafiya wants me to make fajitas. She thinks I'm pretty damn good at it. If you want, you can pitch in on a few meals, too. I would love your help, baby.

Kenji replied moments later.

shortcake 🍓🤍: sure!

shortcake 🍓🤍: i can make pico de gallo!

The shape of his lips curved up at the text. He heard the words in Kenji's chirpy tone, even from the words on his screen.

Did you guys like seeing Meena's parents again? Were you proud to see the more human side of Kamal rather than the stotic persona he shows?

How was the imagery at the end? 🤭

You excited for the next chapter?