seasons | killmonger

15 | S C E N T

The most beautiful fig may contain a worm.
~Zulu Proverb

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"I'm all ears." Erik look at me from across the room while his arms were crossed against his bare chest. "And you should be quick before I get tired."

"If you're that tired then we don't need to have the conversation then, right?"

He frowned at me and rolled his eyes before he ran his hands against his hair and groaned. "Mbali, stop bullshitting. Talk, now."

I rolled my eyes at him and gave in. "So which do you wanna know first: about the keloids or where I went?" I crossed my legs on the bed and picked at my nails.

"Let's start with the keloids and work our way through the life story." He cleared his throat. I sighed and laid back on the bed, crossing my legs but keeping my hand on my side where he put the ointment.

"You're not gonna tell anyone, right?"

His face deadpanned towards me. "Mbali, I don't even fucking like people like that— let alone talk to them. Who am I gonna run my mouth to? Hmm?" He cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips together.

I looked up at the ceiling and rolled my eyes at his comment. I mean he was right. He would barely even talked to T'Challa if it wasn't for them practically working together. I remember times when T'Challa would call over to the headquarters to speak to him, and Erik would literally look at his Kimoyo beads for at least ten seconds; seeing that it was T'Challa, and ignore the call... and the next two.

"Exactly how you have your scars from the total amount of people you killed, I have mine for that same exact reason. Before my job with the royal family and the border tribe became as serious as it is, I messed around with this group of people when I was younger before I was angry about how my life was going. I was always an emotional ass kid, but when my parents went missing I was just angry because I didn't have anyone— T'Challa and his family helped, but it was still a void cause I didn't have my family." I mumbled and picked at the material of my top. "They called themselves Nomads and stuff like that— the people that I would sneak around with. They were pretty much either ex-war dogs or people exiled from their tribes. I met them when I thought I could handle things on my own and they just taught me their way of living— which I found out included killing people—"

"And you went along with it?" Erik cut me off and frowned, making me glare at him.

"I know you're not over there judging; we literally did the same thing but with different motives, nigga. Now let me finish since you wanted to know so badly." I cleared my throat. "When I found out they were killing people, I wanted to back out but it was the only way I would get stress and anger out of me. The first scar I had was from killing a man; and it hurt like hell."

"How did you keep this from everyone for so long? When did you even stop?"

"I stopped when they put me as a commander for the border tribe. I hid it for so long because I'm required to wear clothes that keep me covered; unless it's for a formal event but I still stay covered. And the Nomads pretty much all went missing after a few years. There was no trace of them after I was gone for so long. But I still regret killing people— innocent and guilty."

"How many did you kill?" He stood up and walked around the room, picking up an empty shot glass that was near the tv and filling it back up with brown liquor. I lifted my shirt so that he could see the rows as he came back over.