fade to gray (frank ocean)

monks.

       "let's go to sleep in paris, wake up in tokyo, have a dream in new orleans, fall in love in chicago..."  my phone sang next to me as it rang. blaze groaned and tossed over in her sleep. i guess she wasn't a fan of lupe fiasco. 

"hello?" i asked, groggily. i ain't even bother to check the caller i.d., since a call at 7 in the morning must have been important. i roll with nocturnal niggas.

"lonny, my nigga, guess what."  it was cam, and he was hype about something. 

"what?"

"i know you was looking for me at that party i threw last night, but i was gone on... business."

"okay.."

       "but anyway, i got you a gig at a singer's club or some shit like that. i know you like to sing, you be on your do-re-mi shit." he chuckles. turns out, he was a much better friend than i'd ever considered him to be. i told him about my studio sessions and all, but i'd never thought he actually listened to me. never thought he listened when i griped about being a singer without a platform.

"you ser's?" i inquired.

"serious as fuck." 

"what time, and where?"

he gave me the details, and i wrote them on the palm of my hand. "thanks, fam."

"no pro'lem, lon."

       i cleared through the morning fog in my brain, then remembered i had something to ask him. "hey, cam-" click. "fuck my life." i groaned. in my frustration, i reached over and grabbed blaze, laying my heavy head on her stomach and curling up into a ball. something you did with anise when the pressure got to you, my conscience reminded me. 

i snatched our bodies apart; the level of intimacy with a spiritual stranger was too high. 

"what's the matter?" she asked me ever so sweetly. i could read her, and she was genuine. 

"nothing. i... i gotta pee." i lied, then rushed to the bathroom like i was in a hurry to convince her that was it. 

       i splashed cold water on my face, then took a good look at myself in the mirror. i saw a man who was christopher francis breaux, but clearly couldn't be him. the man i knew wouldn't go against everything he believed simply because of pain he tried running away from.  

       "fucking punk," i chastised myself in haitian creole, my native tongue. my grandmother spoke it, but when mama started taking care of me again, she forced me to speak english and slapped me whenever i mixed up an english word with a creole one. haitian creole was the language given to me in love, so therefore, it was my language.

"you were taught to not try and outrun your shadows by chasing down liquor with more." 

"it's all your fault anyway."

"but was it really? was it?" 

"she had the same shit that killed mama, and she had it on her own accord! fuck you mean, was it my fault? no!"

       "but it was you that had her in the car when y'all ran away from them niggas in the desert." all i'd been saying earlier was in creole, but i accidentally let the 'y'all' slip in english. i mentally corrected myself and continued arguing myself. 

"if i left her, they would've killed her there or held her hostage!" (to whatever reading this, i say - nigga, i know you must be frustrated, because i'm frustrating my damn self.)

       "your abscence kills her slower and more lethally than a bullet ever could." the words left my mouth in english before i could really think about them, and then they hung in the air. like a fool, i stared in the air and considered them.

i knew it was true, because i remember that she once warned me what leaving her would do.

       "here, just grab that bag, and then we'll be totally gone for good." she whispered, pointing at the large suitcase by her bedroom door. i nodded, then 'indian-walked' to the door so i couldn't be detected by none of the high-tech type shit i'm sure her dad had installed.

       it was ironic, since she'd fought so hard to come back here after the first time her dad kicked her out and threw her on the street. he'd removed her from his will, but took her back under his roof and now tried to control her every movement. funny how it took her almost dying to get his attention. but now that she has it, she doesn't want it nor need it, and she wants to leave. so she mustered up the courage, and that's what she's doing.

       after i handed it to her and she tossed it on the waiting, lush lawn below us, she stated, "i don't care if he comes looking for me tomorrow, or even in a few hours. i can't live like this no more." her words were tossed from her mouth, just to emphasize how big of a fuck she didn't give. "so i won't."

       "you don't have to, i promise you." i lugged her bag out into my acura, and it took up the whole backseat. but my queen having something from the only home she's known to comfort her in a world of change is worth it. anything to see her happy and content. i hopped in the driver's seat (but not without opening her door first, manners always) and started up the car.

she squeezed my hand in response. i looked at her, and saw emotion written all over her face that made it too difficult to speak much.

"where to?"

       "anywhere but here," she replied, her frail voice damn near breaking. i couldn't stand looking at her like that, so i took her to one place that always comforted me whenever something heavy was on my mind- the beach. 

       the waves crashed calmly against the wet sand and against our brown feet as i led her down to the waters. the ocean was at low tide, so we could go ankle-deep into an area where we'd be wading come daylight. i just let us stand here for awhile, and waited on the sound of rushing water to calm her. if that didn't, i hoped my hand in hers would.

her breathing returned to normal, and i knew she was done fighting sobs after awhile. "lonny..."

"yes?"

       "don't leave me, now that i'm not home and i can bounce back on my own with bottles from the liquor cabinet. i- i don't really know if i could take you leaving me." she sniffled. "if you did, damn... i'd probably just lose all sense of self, and become apathetic beyond fixing."

"leave you? that's not an option."

"huh. alright." she interrupted my thought process, making me shut up before i even took a breath. "lonny?"

"hmm?"

"what now?" 

"tell you the truth, i have no clue." i tried shifting the mood from serious to playful. "maybe we'll end up slaying dragons, or going into china and hunting white tigers."

"lonny. no." she said. "dragons ain't real, and i'm pretty sure it's illegal to hunt white tigers. or orange tigers."

"crush my dreams, why don't you?" 

"it's reality."

reality is the thing i've been trying to outrun since i knew how to.

like now, as i sit here, getting high off my mind knowing good and well that i have a show to do later tonight.

a.n. - hey! sorry for the short-ish update, but niggas got school tomorrow, and i need my sleep something awful. *shakes head* lordt. the story's about to get good and pick up the pace in like, the next chapter, so that'll take some time to write. please don't hate me if i don't get to update friday.

1) do you really think cam is a bad friend, or nah?

2) would you trust a random same-day gig like that, or not? why or why not?

3) why do you think he argues with himself?

4) what do you think's gonna happen next? 

5) this has nothing to do with the current storyline, but if i wrote a story about blaze, would you read it? (be honest. it'd be different from what i usually write, i know.)