Ride For Me, Die For Me.

Chapter 19: Between the Living and the Leaving

Justin’s POV

The scent of sage and firewood lingered in the air like an old memory, clinging to the walls of Granny’s house. I sat near the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, eyes locked on the woman lying still and pale under knitted blankets. Waiya. Her breathing had steadied, but that didn’t stop the churn in my chest. She hadn’t told me it was this bad. That the pain had been eating at her from the inside. That she’d almost—

I looked away, jaw tightening. She looked too damn fragile like that. It didn’t sit right. It didn’t sit at all.

Granny hummed a low tune in the corner as she ground herbs in a bowl, her hands steady, deliberate. The living room had turned into something sacred, like time itself moved slower here. Monica sat crisscrossed on the floor with a mouthful of chips, watching the scene like it was a documentary.

“Y’all really out here actin’ like this ain’t spiritual warfare,” she mumbled through crunches. “I could’ve stayed home for this stress.”

Granny didn’t look up. “You could’ve, but you didn’t. So hush and be useful.”

Monica held up her hands like she’d been shot. “Aight, wise one. I’ll zip it.”

A moment later, the front door opened with a creak. I stood instinctively. Three women stepped into the room like they brought the wind with them.

Waiya’s sisters—Lily and Nyla—led the way, their eyes sharp and fast as they scanned the room. Behind them was a woman I’d never seen before, but I knew immediately—that’s her mother.

She looked like a storm wrapped in skin. Not loud, not dramatic. Just powerful. Like the kind of woman who carried her pain behind her back and dared anyone to ask about it.

Her eyes landed on me first, and for a moment, I forgot how to stand still.

“You must be Justin,” she said, voice low, unreadable.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, straightening like I was back in high school.

She gave a small nod—barely a nod, really—and stepped past me like the room had been hers all along.

“Damn,” Lily muttered, eyeing Waiya. “We leave for one day and come back to a whole emergency room situation?”

Nyla looked at me pointedly. “You let her go through this alone?”

I bristled. “I didn’t let anything happen. She ain’t tell me how bad it was.”

“She shouldn’t have had to,” Nyla said, softer this time, but no less sharp.

Waiya stirred slightly, groaning. Her lips parted. “Nyla… Lily…”

“We’re here, sis,” Lily said, kneeling beside her. “Don’t even worry about all that right now. We got you.”

Waiya’s eyes drifted past them and landed on her mom. Her expression shifted—grief, guilt, love, something else. “You came…”

Her mother sat on the edge of the armchair across from her, folding her hands in her lap. “Granny said it was time.”

Monica leaned toward me and whispered, “Damn. I feel like I’m watchin’ a telenovela. Someone pass the popcorn.”

Granny didn’t even look at her. “Monica, go boil the rest of the eucalyptus. Now.”

Monica pouted and shuffled toward the kitchen, still muttering about the lack of appreciation for comedic relief.

I turned back to Waiya. Her face was pinched like she was trying to stay strong even now, even half-conscious.

Granny stood and placed a bowl of warm water near Waiya’s side, dipping a cloth and gently patting the scar on her back. It shimmered faintly under the light—angry, alive, and still pulsing with a rhythm that wasn’t hers.

“The scar’s draining her energy faster than it should,” Granny finally said. “But I’ve slowed it. Dullin’ the pain, holdin’ it back.”

Lily looked up. “Can it be closed?”

“Not by any of us,” Granny said, her voice calm and final. “Only her.”

A silence settled over the room.

Waiya whispered something I could barely hear. I leaned in. “What was that, baby?”

“I didn’t want anyone to worry,” she said.

“You should’ve,” I muttered, pain creeping into my voice. “You should’ve told me.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Her hand reached for mine, and I held it like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

Her mother watched the exchange closely but said nothing. Not yet.

I looked around at the room. At the sisters, worried but holding strong. At the momma who’d walked in like a force of nature. At Monica, peeking out from the kitchen doorway now, holding a steaming pot with a raised brow.

And at Granny, whose eyes were on the fire, her thoughts already a few steps ahead of the rest of us.

We were in it now.

And whatever came next, none of us were leaving untouched. The pot of eucalyptus water hissed softly as Monica placed it near Granny’s feet. The scent bloomed into the room, thick and biting, crawling up my nose and sinking deep into my chest. Granny dipped another cloth and pressed it against Waiya’s neck, muttering something low under her breath—words that sounded older than all of us.

Waiya’s body jerked once, then stilled. Her breathing grew shallow again, like whatever Granny was doing was keeping her teetering on the edge.

“Why’s it still pullin’ from her?” I asked, watching the glow ripple faintly beneath her skin. “You said you slowed it down.”

“I did,” Granny answered, eyes still on her work. “But slowin’ ain’t stoppin’. This thing’s rooted deep. Like it knows her.”

Lily crossed her arms, pacing by the couch. “So how long she got before it—what, drains her out completely?”

“I’m buyin’ her time,” Granny said. “But time don’t last forever.”

Her mama stood still near the fireplace, arms folded. She hadn’t said a word since that one quiet “Granny said it was time.” But I could feel her watching. Watching all of us. Watching her daughter break down inch by inch under this weight none of us fully understood.

Nyla finally broke the silence. “So what’s the answer? If none of us can fix it—if not even you can—then what the hell are we supposed to do?”

Granny wiped her hands and stood, shoulders heavy but eyes clear. “You wait. And you be ready.”

Lily’s mouth twisted. “Ready for what?”

“For her,” Granny said. “To come back to herself. Fully.”

Monica dropped into the nearest chair with a long, drawn-out exhale. “So what we doin’? Just sittin’ here hopin’ her superpowers kick in before she dies?”

“Monica,” I warned, but she just threw her hands up.

“Nah, I mean it. Ain’t nobody sayin’ it, but we all thinkin’ it. She needs to wake up. Or whatever comes through next might not be Waiya at all.”

That silenced the room in the worst way.

I looked down at her again. Her lips were moving, just barely, like she was whispering to something in her sleep. Her hand squeezed mine once, weak but still there. Still hers.

“She’s stronger than any of us know,” I said, more to myself than anyone else.

“She gon’ need to be,” Granny replied. “‘Cause what’s comin’… it ain’t stoppin’ just ’cause we ask nice.”

Her mama stepped forward, voice cool but with fire underneath. “I need to speak to her. When she wakes.”

“You will,” Granny said, not looking at her. “But you best come correct. This ain’t the time for old wounds.”

Their eyes locked. No yelling. No drama. Just old pain and buried truths stretching tight between them.

Monica got up and disappeared into the kitchen again. Lily sat down beside me and Nyla stayed standing, arms still crossed. No one moved much. The room was a waiting room now. Sacred and quiet and tense.

I could feel the shift coming. Like the moment before a storm breaks.

And through it all, I just kept holding her hand.