He was in too deep. The paranoia was his own, his own "n-s creepin'," his own, private, self-inflicted hell. But as she walked toward him, the red light bathing her in a kind of surreal, dreamlike beauty, he realized that it didn't matter. The risk, the fear, the, yes, scandalous nature of it all... it was worth it.
He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and pulled her to him. The music swelled, the bassline thumping in his chest, a, yes, chaotic, beautiful heartbeat of a love that was, in its own way, as "redbone" as she was. Redbone
Marcus was tired, his heart heavy with the paranoia that had become his constant companion. He loved her—God, he loved her—but the insecurity was a cold weight in his stomach. He’d seen the way she looked at others, the way she seemed to exist in a space that he couldn't quite reach. He was in too deep
"Stay woke," he whispered, a mantra he couldn't help but repeat. “Too late,” the song seemed to echo in his mind. The risk, the fear, the, yes, scandalous nature of it all
“If you want it, you can have it,” he thought, looking at her in the mirror.
He’d heard the whisperings, the suggestions that she was too much, too captivating, too… scandalous.