He didn’t turn to her immediately. Iman had let it be known it wasn’t love, and Messiah would never turn his back to a foe.

Eye to eye. Man to man. They didn’t need words to speak the rules of engagement.

“I was going to call you,” she said. “I decided to go.” She held a cardboard box in her hands, and Messiah removed it, setting it on the floor beside him.

“Let me talk to you,” he said. All aggression, he didn’t hide his disdain.

Bleu looked at Iman. He was her rock. Messiah was her hard place. Here she was, caught between them.

“We out of here in an hour. I’ll let the movers know what’s what,” Iman stated, unaffected by Messiah’s discontent. He slid his cell phone out of his pocket and stepped out of the house, forehead full of wrinkles as he pushed the screen door open.

They were silent as Bleu looked up at him. “I hope you get everything you want, Messiah,” she said, eyes glistening.

He flicked his nose and sniffed as he gritted his teeth, temple throbbing. He cleared his throat. He was doing everything to stop the volcano of emotions inside of him from erupting.

“You gon’ make me say it?” he asked.

“Say what, Messiah?” she sighed.

“You’re all I got, Bleu,” Messiah said. He searched for answers in her eyes, but all he saw was confusion.

“And somehow I’m not enough,” she said in disbelief, shaking her head. He saw the limit. For the first time, he saw her putting up a boundary; she was fed the fuck up, and it bewildered him because over the years, Bleu had given and given and given. She had never said no, and all of a sudden, she was screaming it loud and clear. He had overlooked her one too many times. She had no more to give without reciprocation.

Bleu bent down to pick up the box and walked by Messiah. He pulled at her elbow. His eyes pleaded with her. They did the begging his lips never would. He was too full of pride to tell her she was destroying him with this move. He had lost every single person he had ever valued. Bleu had been solid. She had been an everyday factor in his life. The only time she hadn’t been present was when he had forced her out by disappearing. This cut him deep.

“I swear you on some bullshit, B,” he said. “This about Mo?”

Bleu sighed. “Messiah, not everything is about Morgan Atkins,” she said, eyes lowering in complete confusion as she shook her head. “It’s about me. For once, this is about me.”

Two men entered through the front door. They wore gloves and wheeled in dollies, interrupting Bleu and Messiah with playful banter as they began to gather Bleu’s possessions.