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Beyonce Knowles☆

Graduation day.

Caps and gowns, polished smiles, and fake small talk this was supposed to be the moment every parent dreamed about. The moment they sat in the crowd, tears in their eyes, thinking we made it.

But not mine.

And definitely not Onika's.

My father sat in the third row, clean-cut, proud, and far too quiet. He clapped when they called my name, but I could still feel the weight behind his eyes. He hadn't looked at me the same since our kitchen conversation weeks ago. The question he never asked out loud still lingered: Who are you really becoming?

But he came.

And for me, that was enough.

It was more than I could say for Onika's mother.

She sat on the other side of the auditorium, arms crossed, spine stiff, lips pressed together in a thin, judgmental line. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.

Which is why I planned this perfectly.

I adjusted my cap, slipped my tassel to the right, and scanned the crowd again.

Onika was only a few feet away, walking up from the row behind me. She looked like a vision—black gown clinging to her curves, eyes shining, lips glossed and perfect. She was glowing.

My girl.

And I wanted the world especially her mother to know it.

As she reached me, I grinned and stepped slightly into her path.

"Excuse me," she whispered playfully, trying to slide past.

I leaned in, brushing my lips near her ear, my voice low enough to be swallowed by the cheers echoing around us.

"You look too damn good to walk past me like that."

She laughed softly.

And then I did it.

I let my hand fall to her waist then slipped lower.

A soft squeeze. Slow. Deliberate.

Right on her ass.

Onika gasped under her breath, swatting my hand, but I was already glancing over her shoulder locking eyes with her mother.

There it was.

Her jaw clenched. Her eyes narrowed. Her hands tightened around her program.

Bullseye.

I gave her the smallest, coldest smile and winked

Then turned my attention right back to Onika. She was blushing now, trying not to laugh, smacking my arm like I'd told the dirtiest joke during church.

"Bey, we're in public," she whispered.

"Exactly." I winked. "The perfect place to remind people what's mine."

She rolled her eyes, but the way she leaned into me said she loved it.

The crowd shifted again, the principal taking the stage to begin the speech. The kind where they talk about growth and new beginnings, pretending everyone has the same clean-slate future.

We sat down.

My hand never left Onika's.

And every so often, I'd glance across the auditorium and catch her mother still watching.

Good.

I hoped she choked on the image of her daughter wrapped around a girl she thought would ruin her.

Because the truth?

I did ruin her. And she ruined me.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.

After the ceremony, we stood in the courtyard surrounded by families. Cameras clicked. Bouquets exchanged hands.

I felt her mother approaching before I saw her.

The air shifted. Onika stiffened beside me, fingers twitching in mine.

And then there she was. Looking down her nose like we weren't worth the air around us.

"You really had to make a show of it, didn't you?" she hissed, her voice low and sharp, meant for us and no one else.

I didn't even blink. "Would've been rude not to," I replied sweetly. "It's a celebration."

She glared at me, then turned to her daughter. "You're still young, Onika. There's still time to get help."

Onika's grip on my hand tightened.
I didn't speak. Not yet. I wanted her to.

And she did.

"No," Onika said, loud enough for her mother to flinch. "I don't need help. I need you to stop pretending I'm someone I'm not...I am gay...i am I love with Bey."

"You were never—"

"I was always this way," Onika cut her off. "You just didn't want to see it."

People nearby turned their heads. I didn't care. Neither did she.

I leaned in again, my voice a whisper for only her mother to hear.

"You can hate me all you want," I said. "But you'll never change her. And you'll never break what we have."

Her face twisted.

"You don't deserve her."

I smiled. "You're right." Then I looked at Onika, my voice softer. "But she chose me anyway."

That was the final blow. Her mother stormed off without another word, her heels clicking hard against the pavement.

And as Onika turned toward me, face flushed with adrenaline and something like freedom, I felt it again this sharp, overwhelming love.

The kind that destroys.
The kind that claims.

We had graduated. But this wasn't a new beginning. This was the continuation of something deeper.

☆★