Page 30

Story: Southwave

SHUT DOWN

Mula had been crashing on my couch for weeks.

He moved like my place was his. Ate my food.

Smoked my weed. Took long-ass showers with the steam rolling out the door like it was his bathroom.

I watched him sleep, lying out with one arm over his head, tattoos stretched across his chest, and his chain glinting low under the lamp.

I told myself this wasn’t just a fling . That summer was no accident. We had a thing .

So when the TV got low and the night got quiet, I slid off the couch, crept over real soft. I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart thumping, breathing in his scent of soap, weed, cologne, and somethin’ raw.

I leaned in, real close.

“Let me help you relax, Mula...”

His eyes opened slowly, but this time, he didn’t just brush me off. His voice was low, raspy, but serious.

“Storm... nah. I can’t do that.”

I blinked, confused and feeling the heat in my chest rise.

He sighed, rubbed his hand down his face, eyes tight like the shit was heavy on him.

“Look... I ain’t tryna lead you on. I know we had a lil thing. That summer... yeah, it was what it was, but I got a lot goin’ on. Real shit. I’m tryna get my head right.”

I sat there, silent, watching him, waiting for him to say something that made sense.

He exhaled again, his voice lower now. “I got a girl. Or... Well, a fiancée now. It’s complicated, and you won’t understand if I told you.”

I stiffened. “You told me you were single in the summer. Let me guess… It’s that girl I caught you kissing on the boat that night.”

“Yeah, but… She’s... different,” he uttered, his voice low, eyes somewhere far away. “We been through... some shit. Shit you wouldn’t understand.” He shook his head like he was done explaining.

“I just need you to hold me down for a lil longer. That’s what I’m paying you for. Don’t get it twisted. Don’t make this more than it is.”

My chest felt tight, but I masked it quick, lips pursed like I was cool. “Yeah, a’ight. Whatever.”

But in my mind? Nah. That wasn’t a real explanation. He was just going through it—needed time. I wasn’t trying to look dumb, though. So when my girls came through later after Mula went into my room, talking shit about their men, asking what was up with mine, I said it straight.

“That’s my man. He’s just going through something.”

They gave me side eyes while sipping their drinks, trying to act like I wasn’t salty about Mula dissing me, but I was.