BEY
New life. New job. New home. New goals...
I vowed to make drastic changes and to never fall back into old habits. But then Shawn Carter showed up and blew all my good intentions to hell. I should have stayed away. I shouldn't have played his ga...
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SHAWN
I really, really fucking hate this line of questioning, but I knew it was coming the second I started telling her ancient shit.
“Yeah, but I can feel things now.”
She frowns, which confuses me. “But you felt Rihanna and only Rihanna?”
“I felt her when she touched me, and being young like I was, I thought it meant something special.”
“But it doesn’t?” Beyoncé asks. “Because you also felt me, and now you can feel everything.”
Why does she look disappointed?
I really suck at this. “Yeah, I started feeling again little by little after that day you patted my cheek. The shrinks told my parents it would happen one day when I felt secure with myself and my surroundings.”
“You felt insecure?” she asks, probing a little too far.
“Focus on the part where I could feel again, Beyoncé . Nothing else.”
She sighs harshly while studying me. “So it was just a coincidence that I patted your cheek that day and your feeling came back. And you stalked me because you thought I was special, only to learn that your feeling was back for everything and not just me. How am I doing?”
“Considering you aren’t questioning the mental block thing, pretty well. And yes, I did stalk you a little because of it.” Why does she look so damn deflated?
“I’ve seen a lot of traumatized patients deal with things by using mental resources in a way I never thought possible. We’ll discuss how you got there when you feel comfortable.”
Shit. I forget she works in a hospital. Thankfully she isn’t pushing, because I don’t want to have this discussion when she’s barely coherent and fighting to stay awake.
“So Rihanna was special, because you only felt her,” she goes on, snapping me out of my thoughts.
It dawns on me as to why she’s acting like this, and I resist the urge to smirk. “Rihanna fucked Drake while we were serious. So no, she wasn’t too special.”
“But she would have been if she hadn’t been a cheater.”
“It’s really important that you’re special, isn’t it?” I muse, watching as her eyebrows knit together. She doesn’t look embarrassed though. Hell, she doesn’t even look insecure.
“What girl doesn’t want the magic touch?” she asks flatly, as though that’s the obvious answer.
Laughing under my breath, I lean back, confused about how easy this conversation has gone in comparison to how I thought it would go.
