You didn’t think dating the boy who had been chasing you since middle school would be this traumatic. You thought that finally being with Giovanni—after the failed attempts and complications—would make you happy. But you were far from it. You two barely ever saw each other, and when you did, it was always an argument. You were starting to feel like a trophy to him. He’d show you off, flaunt you, etc., but alone—just the two of you—it was toxic. He was never home, always in the streets selling weed, doing whatever lost hood niggas do, and you were sick of being home alone, choking on your tears, half-headed conversations, and the sound of the door opening and closing without a goodbye. He could be the sweetest man when he wanted to, but that was very rare. You were tired of it all—tired of being alone—when a relationship involves both of you. Why would you only want half of him when he has all of you?

As you were throwing your clothes into the all-black garbage bag, the bedroom door pushed open and Giovanni stood there with an unreadable expression on his face. He finally spoke up, “The fuck is you doin’, foe? Put that shit back.” He snatched the clothes out of your hands.