M͓̽y͓̽ c͓̽o͓̽n͓̽v͓̽i͓̽c͓̽t͓̽ [B͓̽W͓̽W͓̽M͓̽]

21 - Fix My Wrongs✔️

+Brandy

I don't feel so good.

I've got a raging migraine and my back hurts, yet it isn't enough to stop me from getting shit done today. My big girl pants are on as I cruise down the streets of Timber-Way in my personal black Range Rover.

My eyes stay glued on the small vanilla painted two-story house, each time I drive by it, which has been a total of ten times so far. There are several cars parked in front and the amount increases by the minute. The urge to throw up becomes unbearable each time I see the Arkansas BlueStar flowers planted in the front yard.

I'm a mess and this whole thing was fucked.

"God, help me." I sigh, biting my nails. I knew this was going to be hard, but damn... this was much more than hard. Everything feels so... intense. "Jesus give me strength." Letting out a harsh breath, I decide to finally park the car on the other end of the street.

Shutting off the car, I take a deep breath before stepping out. Fixing my shades, I make my way towards the crowded home. My heavy shoulder bag digs deeply into my skin with each step I take towards the door. My legs wobble, threatening to collapse at any given moment.

"Tara Rockwell." I remind myself. "That's her name, that's who I'm doing this for... for her, her family and friends."

I've got this.

I can do it.

The closer my feet get to reaching the house, the more flashes of how I got this idea comes to mind.

After last night's ordeal... the little voice in my head practically begged me to check Facebook. While I was on there, I typed in Tara Rockwell's name which leads me to her now memorialized page and from there on I found out about this going away get together thing that her husband was throwing. In his post, he encouraged anyone who knew his wife to come and join him and his family in mourning her life.

Which is why I'm here right now, practically a feet away from their front door that is wide open, with people crawling on the inside.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

I can do this.

Bracing myself, to walk up the steps, my phone pings, which throws me off my game a bit. My hands involuntarily reach into my pocket to pull out my phone and just like that my legs stop working.

From: Unforgettable DiCk Elijah 🙏🏾

'Where are you?'

—Sent at 11:11 am

Shutting off the phone, I go to put it back in my pockets but stop hearing another ping.

From: Unforgettable DiCk Elijah 🙏🏾

'Don't ignore me, your read receipt is on, so I know you got my text. I'm not some type of whore Brandy, you can't just fuck me and leave without saying anything 🤣 No but for real, where are you? Elliot woke up missing you.'

—Sent at 11:11 am

I find myself cracking a small smile while reading the second sentence. Elijah could be such a goof sometimes.

To: Unforgettable DiCk Elijah 🙏🏾

'Tell him not to worry, I'll be home in a couple of hours. I'm going radio silent so don't expect to hear from me. And before you start, don't worry, I'm not doing anything that's gonna get me killed. Today's just a personal day for me... and btw, you are a whore. Sorry to burst your bubbles.'