It's silent for the rest of the night, and you can't sleep through the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. The wind sounds eerie outside of your bedroom window, it being all you can focus on as you lie awake with your eyes on the ceiling. After all that's happened, you don't really think you've ever considered a scenario where N'Jadaka would get into trouble doing all this, especially since he's been able to avoid jail so far.
As far as you know, that is.
You feel like shit, both physically and mentally, and the worst part about it all is his flippant reaction to him going away. He says he'll be alright, and when you asked how long he said with an intense growl that he's going to be there to see his baby be born. That was it. He promised, and it made you feel better, because that's about six months from now but you hope he doesn't stay that long. He's a prince, and you're sure he has enough pull to maybe half that.
Hell, maybe cut it to a quarter.
He'd run whatever prison he'd get into but that's worrying for a whole other slew of reasons.
"You hungry?"
When you look over, he's standing in the doorway of your bedroom, filling the space effortlessly in nothing but sweatpants. He's pretty bruised up himself from what little you've seen, and you shudder to think how he'll react once he sees you entirely. You're unable to really hide now, wearing nothing but a sports bra and boyshorts as you attempt to rest, and once that light comes on it's all over.
N'Jadaka just stares at you, frowning, before stalking over to you and roughly sitting down on the edge of the bed. It's like every time he sees that you're hurt he gets angry, but that's not what you need him to be right now. You need reassurance, so you ask again:
"You won't be gone that long, right?"
He shakes his head.
"Are you sure?"
He shushes you before saying, "Three months tops, baby, that's it."
It's still too long but you leave it alone for now, wondering what you're going to do as far as explaining this entire situation to your parents. Your mom won't get on you for it but your dad will definitely not be pleased that his daughter's 'thug' baby daddy is doing jail time.
You hum in frustration, annoyed that you can't sleep on your stomach or your side or do anything but lay still and hurt. The neck brace is ridiculously restricting and it's a lot of fanfare for a swollen neck. It's not like you broke it, and Shuri's makeshift collar allowed you to at least turn your head.
Funnily enough, N'Jadaka has something to say about this as his eyes rake over your bruised body. "I had goddamn vibranium in my lungs and they healed me; she can't even fix this."
"She said h-"
His hand goes to your lips, silencing you. Not talking is a major thing to ask of someone and you can't help it, despite the way your voice rasps and contracts your throat painfully. You talk anyway.
"Surgery ain't the same as bruising," you say. "I'm swollen, not bleeding out."
"I thought I told you to be quiet."
"When's your court date? Can I come?"
To this he denies you, scoffing like it's an absurd thing to ask, but you know he's the type to want to save face so there's that. You know he doesn't give a fuck and won't do anything but stare the judge down but you just need to know. You need to know what he did and why he's being charged for self -defense; unless that sneaking suspicion you have is true.
"Hey," you rasp, tapping him to bring his attention off of examining your bruises. "What did you do? Tell me."
He just looks at you and you ask him where Devon was because you know he wasn't one of the bodies on the lawn. That worry never left your spirit, that blight, and you're convinced Devon Sanders didn't die until very recently. You think this is why he's in trouble.
