The binding

Chapter 4 — The Binding

It started with a text from my cousin Mya:

Come by Aunt Dee’s tonight. Family dinner. No excuses.

I almost said no. Malik didn’t like me being out without him. But that afternoon he was standing at the window, head tilted like he was listening to something miles away. His reflection didn’t move when he turned to me.

“Go,” he said. “Let them look at you.”

So I went.

The moment I walked into Aunt Dee’s apartment, the air felt heavy.

Every light was on. Gospel music blasted too loud, too forced. The whole family was there—Mya, Aunt Dee, even Tasha—sitting around the table like they were waiting for a verdict.

“Sit down, baby,” Aunt Dee said. But her voice didn’t match her eyes.

I sat, keeping my hoodie on, my fingers twitching for Malik’s cold touch. I felt stripped without it.

Tasha leaned forward first. “Renaye… we’re worried. You don’t answer calls. You look—”

“Different,” Mya interrupted. “Like you got somethin’ in your eyes that ain’t you.”

I tried to laugh it off. “Y’all dramatic. I’m fine.”

That’s when Aunt Dee reached under the table and pulled out a small glass bottle filled with oil. Her hand shook.

“Baby,” she whispered, “I’m gonna pray over you.”

The words hit like a gunshot in my chest.

The lights flickered. My pulse stuttered. The heat crawled up my spine like something waking inside me.

Then I heard him. Malik.

They think they can wash me out of you. Let’s show them who you belong to.

The shadows in the corners of the room stretched longer, darker. The gospel track twisted, voices dragging slow like syrup. Aunt Dee took one trembling step closer.

“Jesus, cover this child—”

The bottle shattered in her hand.

Glass and oil spilled across the floor. The scent of anointing filled the room—sweet, heavy, choking.

And then he was there.

Malik.

Standing behind me, one hand on each of my shoulders, eyes glowing red enough to paint the walls.

“They called me,” he said, voice low and deep enough to rattle the glasses on the table. “And now they want to send me away?”

Aunt Dee stumbled back, clutching her bleeding hand. Mya froze. Tasha’s phone slipped from her fingers.

No one else could see him, not clearly—but they felt him. The air pressed down. The scent of smoke, cedar, and iron filled the room until no one dared breathe.

“Say the word,” Malik whispered against my ear. “And they’ll never try this again.”

I swallowed hard. Looked around the table. The people who raised me, fed me, prayed for me. Every face twisted between fear and love.

“They’re just scared,” I said softly.

Malik’s smile curved slow, dangerous. “Good. Fear keeps them quiet.”

He vanished as quickly as he’d come—but the air stayed cold. The lights never came back fully bright. And no one could meet my eyes for the rest of the night.

When I finally left, the hallway light flickered as I passed, like it knew what followed me home.

Malik was waiting in my room, sitting on the edge of my bed, eyes calm.

He didn’t ask what they said. Didn’t have to.

He just pulled me close, his lips cold, the kiss deep enough to steal breath.

“They’ll learn,” he murmured. “You’re mine. And the more they push, the deeper I go.”

And I knew then—whatever piece of me my family tried to save tonight, they’d buried it instead.

The old me was gone.

And the new me didn’t want saving.

⸻