The Art of Falling | Szn 1, Episode Eight

Memories | Kiyanne

The stench of bodily fluids in the abandoned home Kiyanne had been squatting in for the past few weeks nearly overwhelmed her as she huddled in a corner and wrapped her arms around her legs.

Closing her eyes, she drowned out the sounds of the people around her and counted backward from ten to try to calm her anxiety. A hand clamped her shoulder, nearly making her jump out of her skin as she screamed.

“Kiy, shh,” a familiar voice shushed her. “It’s just me.”

“Oh, my God,” she heaved a sigh of relief, throwing herself into her brother’s arms. “Where have you been? I thought you left me!”

His eyes met hers as he frowned. “No. I went to see if I could steal something for us to eat,” he said, finding her hand in the darkness. I would never leave you. You know that.”

Gasping, Kiyanne opened her eyes and sat straight up, panting heavily. Closing her eyes, she counted backward from ten, reminding herself she was safe and home. She was in the center of her plush, queen-sized bed instead of a corner of the roach-infested squatter’s house that had been her home for a short while during her teenage years.

Inhaling sharply, she finally opened her eyes and glanced at the clock resting on her nightstand, noting the time.

11:11 pm

“Not again,” she groaned, flopping into her pillows.

Every year, a cycle of insomnia and nightmares began, resulting in her waking up at the same time of night. No matter how many years passed, she could never escape the memories of the final days she spent with her brother before they’d gotten separated.

Knowing that sleep was no longer an option despite her fatigue, she shoved her comforter away and climbed out of bed. Her feet sunk into the soft carpet as Kiyanne trekked to her dresser and pulled out a pair of sweatpants to pull on. Finding a hoodie in her closet, she quickly donned it, snatched off her bonnet, and made a quick bathroom trip to wash her face.

With one final sweep of her apartment to retrieve her phone and keys, she left, taking the steps instead of the elevator down to the expensively decorated lobby of her apartment building.

After welcoming the chill from the brisk night air, Kiyanne allowed herself to get lost in past memories instead of running from them.

Despite only sharing a father, she and her brother, Gabriel, had been inseparable when they were children. Kiyanne’s birth mother left her in the custody of her father before passing away, and since Kiyanne was the product of an affair, her childhood experience differed drastically from Gabriel’s.

After his wife informed Kiyanne’s father that Kiyanne was no longer welcome in their home, he placed her in foster care and never looked back. Gabriel was her only constant as she bounced from group home to group home, praying to find a family to call her own.

The only thing keeping Kiyanne somewhat on track was the love and protection her brother provided. They’d even come up with a plan to run away from the lives they hated. Kiyanne was tired of having her hopes of finding a family crushed, and Gabriel was tired of trying to fit into the box of perfection his parents forced him into.

Kiyanne and Gabriel’s runway plan succeeded for one short year before they were suddenly separated, and her life turned for the worse—until she met Hazel.

The taste of salt against her lips pulled Kiyanne out of her memories as it registered that she was crying. Quickly wiping the tears away, she scolded herself to get it together. Her father had always instilled in her that crying was for the weak. And she was anything but.

As she turned a corner, Kiyanne noticed an exchange between two men that caught her attention. Not that exchange itself but because of the temptation she felt upon witnessing it. She’d been clean for years but couldn’t deny that she missed the bliss and euphoria that came with a high.

She stepped toward them, just for her plans to be derailed, when she heard, “Yo!”

Turning, she relaxed at the sight of Shameek jogging toward her.

“What are you doing out here alone at this time of night?” He stopped just before entering her personal space.

Kiyanne shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing out here?”

“I,” he sang, pointing at the logo on his shirt. “Just got off work. I work the second shift at one of the delivery warehouses.”

“Oh, wow,” she pressed a hand to her mouth to fight a giggle. “I didn't peg you as a delivery man.”

“Eh,” Shameek shrugged as the two began walking in sync as if their brains were on the same wavelength. “I’m not. It’s just a means to an end until I get back into what I love to do.”

“And that is?”

“Music.”

“Oh, Lord,” she dropped her head back, glancing up at the sky. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

“One of the many washed-up rappers in this city, whose studio is actually a corner of their friend’s home with sofa stuffing taped to the wall.”

“First, bold of you to assume I rap.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” he confirmed “And second, that example was oddly specific,” Shameek laughed as she pulled her head up.

“What can I say? My dating life has been worse than a Greek tragedy.”

“I can tell. But that’s not the case for me, nosey. I’m good at what I do. A professional if I say so myself.”

“Says you.”

“Remind me to invite you to a session sometime just to shut you up.”

“I would gladly come to support your art,” Kiyanne smiled, brushing her hair out of her face. “If you’re good at it.”

“Disrespectful,” he shook his head, as an unfamiliar feeling crept through him. Kiyanne agreeing so easily to accompany him to a studio session to support him was foreign. He was so used to people putting him down, that he wasn't sure what to make of someone uplifting him, even if she was teasing him while doing so.

“You hungry?” Shameek suddenly blurted, making Kiyanne nervous.

“Nah,” she declined as her stomach growled, making a liar out of her.

“Right,” he nodded, taking her hand and leading her in the opposite direction of where she’d been walking.

“Didn’t I say I wasn’t hungry?”

“Your growling stomach otherwise.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?”

Shameek smirked as they continued down the block. “And what do you think you are?”

“A recluse who likes to mind her business and not bother anyone.”

“Whew,” he whistled. “That makes for a boring life, Kiyanne.”

“Maybe I like boring,” she replied as they stopped in front of The Upper Crust.

Shameek pushed the door open, allowing her to step inside first. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

“Welcome in!” An oversized gentleman called upon hearing the door open. “What can I do ya for?”

“Two slices of pepperoni for me and whatever she wants,” Shameek pointed to Kiyanne.

“I’ll settle for two slices of cheese.”

“I got you, Mama,” the gentleman behind the counter nodded, starting

Shameek swiftly gestured to an open booth. “We can sit right here.”

“Are you always this bossy?” Kiyanne acquired, sliding in across from him.

“Only when dealing with someone as stubborn as you,” his dimples appeared as he smiled, nearly making her melt.

“So,” she propped her elbows onto the table and rested her face in her hands, trying to distract herself from his looks. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this impromptu dinner outing?”

“I was hungry and could use the company,” he shrugged. “And we just so happened to cross paths at the right time because clearly you were too.”

Smiling, she rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“So, Miss Kiyanne, what do you do?”

“I work in an art gallery.”

“Host by day and painter by night, huh?”’

Kiyanne raised an eyebrow. “How did you know that I—”

“You had paint streaks on your face the other night when you opened the door,” he said as a slender gentleman dropped off their order. Shameek handed him two twenties. “You can keep the change.”

“I could’ve paid for my own food, you know,” Kiyanne raised an eyebrow.

“I never said you couldn’t,” he grinned. “But back to you being an artist. You should show me a painting sometime so I can see if you’re good or not.”

“Absolutely not,” she picked up one of her pizza slices.

She wasn’t shy about her work, but Kiyanne didn’t flaunt it either. She knew she was talented; that was all the validation she needed.

“How about this? If you show me a painting, I’ll let you hear one of my tracks.”

“I don’t recall wanting to hear any of your corny bars, Sir,” she teased.

“A’ight, at first it was cute, but now your disrespect is getting out of hand,” Shameek frowned.

Kiyanne’s hands went into the air as she smirked. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Seriously, though, I don’t like sharing my work. It’s private. Like me.”

“One of my least favorite things about you.”

“Oh, whatever,” she took another bite of her food. “But since you’re all in my business, what brought you to Blue Note Falls?”

“Several bad fuckin’ decisions,” he shrugged. “I needed a new start.”

“And you chose here or all places?”

“It’s slower than what I’m used to, for sure, but the welcome hasn’t been too bad so far,” he winked, making her blush. “Besides, I knew a few people here already. Well one person.”

“Mmkay, I guess I’ll accept that.”

“What about you? How long have you been here?”

“All my life, unfortunately,” Kiyanne sighed. “I hate that I’ve never left.”

“I don’t,” Shameek swiftly replied.

Kiyanne’s cheeks warmed as she reached for her plate again, unintentionally revealing the scarred skin just about her left wrist. Quickly covering the old wound, she grabbed her phone and keys and shot to her feet.

“Um, I have to go,” her words were a jumbled mess as she tucked her hair behind her ear.  “Thanks again for the pizza.”

Shameek’s face was a mask of confusion as he stood as well. “Wait—”

Kiyanne didn’t stick around to hear him out. Pivoting, she nearly ran out of the pizza place, leaving him behind.