Page 22

Two weeks later…

T he room was quiet except for the soft sound of the central heating and ceiling fan. I was deep in sleep, my body curled into the warm cocoon of blankets, when something startled me awake. My heart jumped as I turned over, squinting through the dark to see Damier sitting upright in bed.

His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. Sweat poured down his face, glistening in the faint moonlight streaming through the curtains.

“Damier,” I said softly, my voice thick with sleep.

He didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on some invisible point in front of him.

“Baby,” I said again, reaching out to touch his arm.

He flinched slightly, snapping out of whatever trance he was in. His head turned toward me, and for a moment, he looked lost, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before.

“I’m good,” he muttered, wiping his face with his hand.

“You’re not,” I said firmly, sitting up beside him. “What’s going on?”

He let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve been having nightmares,” he admitted. “I’ve been hiding them… even from myself. But tonight—” He paused, swallowing hard.

“Tonight, it was my twin,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “He was choking me, his hands tight around my neck, and I couldn’t move. Donshay was in the background, crying, and I couldn’t get to him. I just… I felt trapped.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the room.

“I don’t even feel sorry for him,” he said bitterly, shaking his head. “Whatever Damian’s going through, he deserves it. I don’t want to have these dreams, Imani. I don’t.”

I sat there for a moment, processing everything. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t push into his mental health unless he asked, but this? This was something he couldn’t just ignore.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for him,” I gently said. “But your mind is trying to tell you something. These nightmares… they’re not just going to stop on their own. You need to deal with them, baby.”

He glanced at me, his brow furrowing. “How?”

“Cognitive therapy,” I said. “I know you don’t want to take medication, but therapy can help. It’s time to start working through this, even if it’s uncomfortable.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think it’ll work?”

“I know it will,” I said.

“Well, link me with one of your psychologist friends so I can start.”

“I’m going to refer you to my top earner at my office. She’s the best, and she specializes in what you’re going through.”

He nodded slowly, the tension in his body easing just a little. “Alright. I trust you. Set it up. But let her know she has to sign an NDA. You know the life I live.”

“Don’t worry. I got you.”

We sat there for a moment longer before I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll make some tea,” I said.

He nodded, heading to the bathroom to shower while I went downstairs, the warmth of the house wrapping around me like a blanket. I pulled out a tin of lavender and chamomile tea and boiled water, letting the soothing aroma fill the kitchen.

When he came downstairs, fresh from the shower and dressed in nothing but gray sweatpants, I couldn’t help but take a moment to admire him. His skin still glistened slightly, and his wavy fade was damp, but his face looked softer, calmer.

I handed him the mug, and he hesitated briefly, lifting a skeptical brow. “I’m not a tea drinker,” he muttered.

I giggled, shaking my head. “Boy, just drink it.”

He sighed but took a sip, his expression shifting slightly. “This is kinda alright,” he grudgingly admitted.

“See?” I teased, settling onto the couch beside him.

We sat there in the dark. The only sound was the faint noise of the pool cleaner outside. His arm rested on the back of the couch, and I leaned into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“We’re going to be okay,” I whispered, my hand resting on his leg.

He nodded, his lips brushing the top of my head. “Yeah, baby. We will be.”

The quiet settled around us as the tea and the moment worked their magic. Eventually, we both drifted off, tangled together on the couch.

When I woke up hours later, the early morning sun was filtering through the windows, but I didn’t feel rested. My heart ached as the reality of the evening to come hit me like a freight train.

It was time for Donta’s scheduled passing.

The weight of it crushed me, and as I glanced at Damier, still asleep beside me, I knew the hours ahead were going to be some of the hardest of my life.

$$$$$

The evening air was heavy with grief as we gathered at my parents’ house. Everyone was there—Damier by my side, Mrs. Knight offering support to my mother, both of my grandmothers and even my uncle Leroy, my dad’s brother, who was there to keep him occupied. The house felt full, yet hollow, as if the weight of what was about to happen had sucked the life out of it.

Donta had been heavily medicated for days. He no longer knew who was around him or what was happening, but at least he wasn’t in pain. That small comfort was the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down.

Mrs. Knight had arranged for food to be catered, which was her way of ensuring everyone was taken care of. Platters of wings, mac and cheese, string greens, and desserts sat untouched on the dining table because no one had an appetite.

Except for me.

The weed I’d been smoking with Damier all day left me mentally numb but physically starving. I grabbed a plate, forcing myself to eat a few wings and some mac and cheese. It felt wrong to enjoy food on a day like this, but it was the only thing distracting me.

An hour later, my mother’s voice broke through the soft conversation. “It’s time,” she said softly, her words slicing through the air like a blade.

My chest tightened as I stood, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me. The only people allowed into Donta’s room were me, my parents, my grandmothers, and the home nurse. Everyone else stayed downstairs, their somber murmurs fading as we climbed the stairs to his room.

The room was dimly lit. Donta lay still in the bed, his body fragile, his chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. My heart clenched as I approached him, my knees weak at the sight of my little brother.

The nurse handed my mother a small vial of pentobarbital, the medicine that would bring him peace. She connected it to the IV line already in place in Donta’s arm, her movements steady but solemn.

My mother’s hands trembled as she pushed the syringe’s plunger slowly, delivering the dose that would ease him into eternal rest. Her voice wavered as she leaned close to him, whispering, “I love you, baby.”

We stood there, holding our breaths as his chest rose and fell for the last time. The room grew impossibly still, time seeming to stop as his breathing faded into silence.

And then it hit me.

I crumbled into my parents’ arms, the weight of my grief pulling me down as sobs wracked my body. “He’s gone,” I choked out, the words slicing through me like a knife.

I climbed into the bed beside him, wrapping my arms around his lifeless body. I stayed there, tears streaming down my face, until the coroner arrived to take him.

I stumbled into the bathroom afterward, splashing cold water on my face as I tried to pull myself together. My reflection stared back at me, red-eyed and hollow.

When I emerged and went downstairs, Mrs. Knight was waiting in the kitchen. “He’s in the backyard,” she said softly, nodding toward the door.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as I made my way outside.

Damier stood under the big oak tree, a blunt in one hand and a glass of cognac in the other. He was blowing thick clouds of smoke into the night sky, his gaze fixed on the stars.

He looked up as I approached, his expression softening. “I had to step out,” he admitted. “When I heard you cry, I couldn’t… I needed air. Needed to clear my head.”

He passed me the blunt, and I took it, inhaling deeply as I leaned into him.

“It’s going to be hard without him,” I quietly said, my voice breaking.

“I know,” he replied, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said, exhaling slowly. “After the funeral, I’m going to take a year and a half off work. I need to focus on my mental health, on becoming a wife, and hopefully a mom. I’ll keep the practice open and let my psychologists handle things, but I won’t be seeing clients for a while.”

He nodded, his voice low. “That’s the best decision, baby. You need time to heal, to focus on you.”

We finished the blunt in silence, the shared quiet feeling like a balm for my raw emotions.

When we went back inside, I sat with my parents to discuss the funeral arrangements. The conversation felt surreal, as if I were watching it happen from outside myself.

When it was time to leave, Damier and I walked to his car, the air cool against my skin. Once we were settled inside, he started the engine and glanced over at me.

“I want to head to your place tonight,” he said, his voice steady.

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Really?”

He smirked, his hand resting on the gearshift. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking… I might take you up on your offer to make your place ours.”

A small smile tugged at my lips, the tiniest spark of warmth breaking through my grief. “You mean that?”

He nodded, his eyes meeting mine. “Yeah, Imani. I mean it. I like being in your world.”

As he pulled out of the driveway, I leaned back in my seat, the weight of the day still heavy but slightly lighter with him beside me. For the first time in hours, I felt a glimmer of hope.