☾° Compelled. ⌜ d. swing. ⌟

☾° › one.

Nᴇᴡ Oʀʟᴇᴀɴs. Lᴏᴜɪsɪᴀɴᴀ. ━ 𝟣𝟫𝟫𝟣.

DᴇVᴀɴᴛᴇ DᴇGʀᴀᴛᴇ.

For the past few hours I had been on a wild hunt for food. Between the fact that I was a picky eater and people finally getting hip to the fact that they shouldn't frequent the woods at every hour of the night the shit became exhausting. Not to mention the string of bodies my younger brother carelessly left strewn across the trees on a binge. I sure hope he got enough that day because I definitely wasn't feeding his ass.

The sound of loud music disrupted my thought process. With my enhanced hearing I could tell that the music was Heavy Metal. Metallica, Black Sabbath one of those bands that white people listen to right before they sell their soul to Satan.

Unbeknownst to them, they were selling their soul to me tonight.

I walked up to the party and was instantly greeted by a young white boy with Greek letters he probably couldn't even read across his chest and a half-conscious woman on his arm. He immediately shoved a cup in my hand.

"Hey, man! What's up? I'm Brad, and this is...fuck, I don't know her name man." The boy said, looking down at the girl who was obviously too drunk to stand on her own two feet. She was a cute, petite red hair with bright aqua-green eyes. I couldn't help but to let my eyes roam her figure, even though there wasn't much to look at. "You want her dude?" The fraternity boy that I know knew as Brad solicited as he pushed her my way and I only pushed her back, ultimately making her fall on the ground.

"Nah, that's all you." I replied as I stepped over the girl with not an ounce of care for her wellbeing. It would've been too easy to confiscate her for the party, she was drunk. She'd probably agree to anything. But I didn't want anything too easy, and I damn sure ain't want alcohol poisoning.

I took a quick visual survey of the party, there wasn't another Black person was invited to the party. Almost made me feel like I had stepped back three decades. In hindsight was better for me because white people hardly questioned motives. Especially white women. They would do anything just to be in the presence of a Black man over six foot that promised to bite them.

I heard two small voices whisper behind me as if they were sneaking up on their prey. If only they knew what type of nigga they were messing with. Before they could make their presence known, I turned to face them. "What's up, ladies?"

"Oh, hey. I was just telling my friend that we've never seen you before." The tall, brunette said as she twirled her hair around her finger. That shit was irritating.

"I don't come out often." I place the cup up to my lips and I pretend to drink the mixture of liquors in it. I wasn't thirsty for alcohol.

"That's too bad." The strawberry blonde added. "But I told my friend I wouldn't have ever forgotten your face and those gorgeous eyes." She reached up to place her hand on my face and I quickly craned my neck backwards as a non-verbal command not to touch me.

"Don't put your hands on me. You don't know me." I snapped, I could tell the roughness of my tone only made her wet. White girls and their Mandingo fetishes would be the death of them. Literally.

"Ugh, there goes Tiffany and that Black girl she hangs out with. I just don't even get it." The blonde scoffed in disgust. My brow lined knitted together in confusion, I hated the way women talked about each other for no reason. But the fact that she was being blatantly racist in my face was almost appalling. Shit, I thought I was passed that era in life. It's the fuckin' nineties. "Ooh, no offense."