Terrance
1404 Words
Lexi
I listened carefully as Terrance explained pieces of his life.
It was the most honest conversation we'd ever had.
The man everyone called a boss sounded exhausted.
Like he was tired of carrying a role he never wanted.
"You could've left."
"I tried."
His answer surprised me.
"What happened?"
"The streets don't let people leave that easily."
I didn't have a response to that.
Because deep down I knew he was right.
The neighborhood had a way of pulling people back.
No matter how hard they tried to escape.
Then his voice changed.
Got quieter.
"Heard you asking about my past."
"What past?"
"The woman."
I frowned.
Nicole had mentioned something once.
Something about a girl Terrance used to love.
A girl who disappeared.
"You mean your ex?"
Another silence.
"She wasn't just an ex."
Something in his voice made my chest tighten.
"I loved her."
I sat down on my couch.
The SUV remained parked outside.
Yet somehow I found myself focused entirely on Terrance.
"What happened?"
"Nobody knows."
His answer sent chills down my spine.
For the next several minutes he told me everything.
How they met in high school.
How she encouraged his dreams.
How she believed in him.
How she made him want more than the streets.
Then one night she was involved in a terrible accident.
She suffered broken ribs.
A fractured sternum.
A traumatic brain injury.
She was transported to a hospital.
Expected to survive.
Expected to recover.
Then she vanished.
Gone.
Just like that.
No witnesses.
No explanations.
No evidence.
Nothing.
I sat speechless.
"People disappear every day," he continued.
"But not like that."
"What do you mean?"
"The hospital footage was destroyed."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"The cameras malfunctioned supposedly."
"That sounds suspicious."
"It gets worse."
"How?"
"The nurse who last saw her quit the next day."
I sat up straighter.
"What?"
"Then moved away."
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
Something about the story felt familiar.
Too familiar.
A hospital.
Missing information.
Destroyed evidence.
People disappearing.
For some reason, my mind drifted back to Nicole.
Back to Tony.
Back to whatever secret he may have stumbled across.
Then a thought hit me.
A terrifying thought.
"Terrance."
"What?"
"What if Tony wasn't talking about you?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if he was talking about someone connected to you?"
Silence.
Then—
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying maybe Nicole getting shot wasn't random."
The words hung in the air.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Possible.
Because if Tony had learned something he wasn't supposed to know...
If he had been watching people...
If he had stumbled across information involving Terrance's brother...
Or the missing girl...
Then maybe somebody wanted to make sure certain secrets stayed buried.
My heart started racing.
The black SUV suddenly pulled away from the curb.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Its headlights illuminated my apartment for a brief moment before disappearing down the street.
I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"Lexi."
"Yeah?"
"You need to stay away from this."
I laughed.
"You already know that's not happening."
For the first time all night, Terrance laughed too.
A genuine laugh.
The kind that made me smile despite everything.
"You're stubborn."
"So I've been told."
Another silence followed.
But this one felt different.
Comfortable.
Warm.
Dangerously intimate.
"Terrance?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you telling me all this?"
The question lingered.
And for several seconds, neither of us spoke.
When he finally answered, his voice was almost a whisper.
"Because you're the first person in a long time who sees me as a person instead of a reputation."
My heart skipped.
Just once.
But it was enough.
Neither of us acknowledged it.
Neither of us had to.
Because at that moment something shifted between us.
Something real.
Something neither of us had been expecting.
Unfortunately, neither of us noticed the figure standing in the shadows across from Lexi's apartment.
Watching.
Listening.
Waiting.
The same figure pulled out a phone.
Dialed a number.
And quietly said four words.
"She knows too much now."
Then the call disconnected.
And somewhere in the darkness, a plan was set into motion.
The next morning I woke up exhausted.
I hadn't slept much after my conversation with Terrance.
Every time I closed my eyes, my thoughts raced.
The black SUV.
Tony.
The missing girl.
The destroyed hospital footage.
None of it made sense.
Yet somehow all of it felt connected.
My phone buzzed.
It was Nicole.
"Can you come by?"
"Of course."
An hour later, I was sitting beside her hospital bed.
She looked better physically.
The color had returned to her face.
The swelling had gone down.
But emotionally she looked drained.
Like someone carrying years of pain.
As soon as I sat down, she started crying.
Not the dramatic crying people do when they want attention.
The kind of crying that comes from carrying too much for too long.
I moved beside her and wrapped my arms around her.
For several minutes she simply cried.
When she finally spoke, her voice barely rose beyond a whisper.
"I don't know how to be me anymore."
My heart broke.
"What do you mean?"
Nicole stared at her hands.
"Tony spent years telling me I wasn't enough."
I remained quiet.
Sometimes people don't need advice.
They need someone to listen.
"He told me I was too fat."
A tear rolled down her face.
"He told me nobody else would want me."
Another tear.
"He told me I was lucky he stayed."
My chest tightened.
Because I knew those words.
Not personally.
But through countless women who had walked through the clinic where I worked.
Women with bruises hidden beneath makeup.
Women with broken spirits hidden behind smiles.
Women who blamed themselves for surviving abuse.
Nicole continued speaking.
"Eventually I believed him."
The sadness in her voice was devastating.
"I stopped dressing how I liked."
She wiped her eyes.
"I stopped wearing my hair the way I wanted."
Another pause.
"I stopped being Nicole."
The room became silent.
Then she looked directly at me.
"The worst part wasn't the hitting."
"What was?"
"The way he made me hate myself."
I didn't know what to say.
Because she was right.
Bruises heal.
Broken bones heal.
Even scars eventually fade.
But emotional wounds?
Those things could haunt someone forever.
"He used to apologize afterward."
Her voice shook.
"Every single time."
I frowned.
"What would he say?"
"He'd cry."
She laughed bitterly.
"Imagine that."
I remained silent.
"He'd tell me he loved me."
Another bitter laugh.
"He'd tell me he didn't know why he kept hurting me."
My stomach turned.
The manipulation.
The cycle.
The control.
All of it was intentional.
Every bit of it.
"The night I hit him with that skillet..." she continued.
"...was the first time I chose myself."
I squeezed her hand.
"And I'm proud of you."
Nicole cried again.
This time they weren't tears of sadness.
They were tears of release.
Years of pain finally leaving her body.
For the first time since the shooting, I saw a glimpse of the old Nicole.
The strong Nicole.
The confident Nicole.
The woman Tony had spent years trying to destroy.
And I silently promised myself that version of her was coming back.
No matter how long it took.
Terrance
I sat in my apartment staring at a stack of college brochures.
Anyone who walked into my place would probably laugh.
Most people expected money counters.
Weapons.
Drug ledgers.
Street business.
Instead, they'd find textbooks.
Research papers.
Psychology journals.
Behavioral science articles.
Things that actually interested me.
The streets never interested me.
People did.
The human mind did.
The way trauma shaped behavior fascinated me.
The way grief changed people fascinated me.
The way pain could either destroy a person or transform them fascinated me.
Maybe because I'd experienced all three.
Losing my father changed me.
Losing my first love nearly broke me.
Watching my brother sacrifice himself for our family burdened me.
People saw the image.
The reputation.
The street celebrity.
But none of them saw the man underneath.
The man who wanted a degree.
The man who wanted a future.
The man who wanted peace.
Unfortunately, peace wasn't an option.
Not while my brother was still involved.
I leaned back in my chair.
My brother was all I had left.
After our mother's death and our father's murder, it had always been us.
Me and him.
Against everyone.
- Writer
