He’d heard the whisperings, the suggestions that she was too much, too captivating, too… scandalous. Redbone

The neon sign outside the motel buzzed, casting a sickly red glow over the peeling wallpaper of Room 204. Inside, the only sound was the low, rhythmic bassline of Childish Gambino’s "Redbone" crackling from a cheap Bluetooth speaker, a song that seemed to warp the very air of the room. He’d heard the whisperings, the suggestions that she

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’d heard the whisperings