You Came
765 Words
When she stepped out of the bathroom, the house felt like it had grown a second layer. Everything was blurry at the edges, people’s faces warping as they laughed and shouted.
Tasha was on the stairs now, arguing with someone about Beyoncé versus Rihanna. Her hands flailed in the air as she made her case, spilling half her drink in the process.
Shay reached her, giggling. “You’re so loud.”
“And you’re so drunk,” Tasha replied, then squinted. “Wait. Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” Shay leaned into her. “I’m vibing.”
Tasha didn’t look convinced, but before she could say anything else, someone turned the music up even louder and the crowd surged around them.
It was too much.
Too hot.
Too many people.
Shay blinked. Her vision swam.
“I think I need air,” she said, but it came out slurred.
“I’ll come with—”
“I’m good,” Shay insisted again, stumbling toward the front door.
⸻
The cool night hit her like a slap—at first refreshing, then disorienting.
She stood on the porch, swaying slightly, watching the grass ripple under the streetlight like it was alive. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she fumbled for it, squinting at the screen.
Cairo: You home?
She stared at the text, and tears burned behind her eyes for no reason at all. She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t even know where home was supposed to feel like anymore.
Without thinking, she called him.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
He answered. “Shay?”
Her breath caught.
She didn’t say anything at first—just stood there, wobbling on the porch steps like she was twelve years old again and waiting for someone to come get her from a place she didn’t belong.
“I don’t feel good,” she finally said. Her voice was small, broken.
“Where are you?”
“A party. Near campus. I don’t know—Tasha said the street name but I forgot. There’s a red Jeep out front and a guy with a tattoo on his neck doing pushups on the lawn.”
Cairo didn’t even laugh. “Stay where you are. I’m coming.”
⸻
Ten minutes felt like forever.
Shay sat on the curb with her head in her hands, trying not to throw up. The world tilted every time she closed her eyes.
A car pulled up, headlights cutting through the dark.
Cairo jumped out before it fully stopped. “Shay.”
She looked up, eyes watery. “You came.”
“Of course I did.”
He crouched in front of her, studying her face. “You okay? You hurt?”
She shook her head, and a tear slipped out anyway. “I’m just… tired. And drunk. And everything feels loud.”
He helped her up gently, like she might break. She almost did.
His hoodie smelled like soap and cologne and something warm she couldn’t name.
In the passenger seat, she curled into herself, shivering despite the heat blasting from the vents.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Cairo glanced at her, his jaw tight. “Don’t thank me. Just rest, okay?”
⸻
The ride was quiet.
Shay’s head rested against the window, the city blurring past in streaks of yellow and blue.
She wasn’t sure if she was falling asleep or passing out, but when she felt Cairo’s hand brush hers at a red light, she almost cried again.
Not because of him.
But because of what she didn’t know how to say.
That she was scared.
That she didn’t know how to let someone stay.
That she didn’t want to mess this up.
That she already felt like she was.
⸻
By the time they got back to Cairo’s apartment, Shay was barely coherent.
He helped her inside, guiding her toward the couch with steady hands.
“Drink this,” he said softly, handing her water.
She sipped it slowly, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to call you.”
“You did though.”
She nodded, wiping at her face. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
“You don’t have to be.”
And just like that, the last of her resistance cracked.
But the full breakdown—the storm brewing behind her eyes—wasn’t ready to fall just yet.
For now, she just leaned into him.
Cairo wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.
And for the first time in a long time, Shay let herself be held.
- Writer
