Tia Williams

Do Black women exist in your world?”

“I said I can’t talk to normal people.” He eyed her. “You’re not normal.”

“I’m Shane,” he said, a spark of triumph in his eye. And walked away.

“Did you have to make me an adorable runaway with a heart of gold?”

“I didn’t make you that. You were that.”

“Did you have to make me an adorable runaway with a heart of gold?”

“I didn’t make you that. You were that.”

“Oh, so you contact me when you’re ready? You’re arrogant enough to think I want to talk to you?”

Shane looked her squarely in the eye. “Yeah. I am.”

“Eight’s lovable because you were.” His voice was firm, definite. “You can’t imagine what you were like then.”

“Eight’s lovable because you were.” His voice was firm, definite. “You can’t imagine what you were like then.”

“You don’t.” Shane went dead serious. “You burst into my solitude, demanding to be seen. You were overwhelming. Just wild and weird and brilliant, and I never had a choice. I liked everything about you. Even the scary parts. I wanted to drown in your fucking bathwater.”

“I idealize you in fiction because I idealized you in real life,” he continued. “It is male-gazing, you’re right. And I’m sorry. But I can only write my shit my way.”