Ⅰ giselle's story Ⅰ

giselle's pov

 Giselle's Journal (1984)

setember 12, 1984Some days, I feel like I'm running in place. The salon, the same faces, Mom breathing down my neck, the city never slowing down. I don't hate my life, but I don't love it either. It's like I'm waiting for something to happen... but what?

Maybe I just need to dance.

Giselle sighed, clicking her pen shut and closing her leather-bound journal. She slid it beneath her pillow, then leaned back against the floral-patterned sheets of her small bedroom. The dim glow of her bedside lamp flickered slightly, barely illuminating the posters of  Sade pinned to her walls. Across the room, a stack of cassette tapes sat next to her stereo—Madonna's Everybody, and some mixtapes she and Solange had made together.

Through the thin apartment walls, she could hear her younger sister laughing, probably twisting the phone cord around her finger while flirting with some guy. A faint whiff of Solange's Chanel No. 5 perfume drifted in from the hallway, mixing with the lingering scent of hairspray from the salon earlier that day.

Then came the knock on her door—sharp, impatient.

"Giselle, open up!" Solange's voice was muffled but demanding.

Giselle groaned, rolling off the bed and pulling open the door. Solange stood there in tight acid-wash jeans, a cropped off-the-shoulder sweater, and big hoop earrings, her glossy lips pursed in amusement. Her teased curls framed her face perfectly, her signature red nails tapping against the doorframe.

"Get dressed. We're going out. No excuses."

*"Solange..." Giselle started, rubbing her temples.

*"Nope." Solange pushed past her and flopped onto the bed. "Come on, you need this. We're hitting up the club tonight."

Giselle hesitated, glancing at her closet. Sequins, off-the-shoulder tops, high-waisted skirts... the usual clubwear. She bit her lip. She wanted to say no, to curl up with her journal and let the night pass, but a part of her—the part tired of routine—was tempted. Solange had a way of pulling her into things.

*"Fine," she sighed. "But I'm not staying out all night."

"Sure, sure," Solange smirked. "Now, let's find you something that'll turn heads."

Just as Solange reached for a dress, a voice cut through the air like a whip.

"Where the hell do you think y'all are going?"

Both sisters froze. Tina stood in the doorway, arms crossed, rollers still in her hair from the long day at the salon. She wore her usual floral house dress, but there was no softness in her eyes.

*"the cub," Solange answered, not missing a beat. "We won't be out late, Mama."

"The hell you won't," Tina scoffed. "I don't care how grown you think you are, but I hear things. The streets are gettin' worse, especially at night. And there's a man out there—one y'all need to stay far away from."

Giselle furrowed her brows. "What man?"

Tina shook her head. "Don't matter. Just stay away from the clubs in the south side. That's all I'm sayin'."

Solange rolled her eyes. "Mama, we ain't stupid."

"Didn't say you were. But trouble don't care how smart you are. It finds you anyway." Tina's eyes landed on Giselle. "Especially you. You got a soft heart, bey bey. That kind of heart don't last long out there."

Giselle swallowed, looking away. She knew her mother worried, but she also knew that staying in the same place forever wasn't an option.

"Mama, we'll be fine," she said softly. "I promise."

Tina sighed, rubbing her temples. "Lord, give me strength. Just don't make me regret lettin' y'all walk out that door."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving a heavy silence behind her.

Solange shook her head. "Girl, don't let her get in your head. Now hurry up, or we're gonna be late."

Giselle nodded, but as she slipped into her dress, Tina's warning echoed in the back of her mind.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Giselle adjusted the strap of her dress as she followed Solange and Aaliyah into the dimly lit club, the neon lights casting a hazy glow over the crowded dance floor. The bass pulsed through her body, the air thick with cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. Solange, in her element, immediately led them to the bar, grinning as she ordered drinks.

"Loosen up, bey bey! You need this," Solange shouted over the music, handing Giselle a drink. Aaliyah laughed, already swaying to the beat.

Giselle tried to relax, sipping her drink and taking in the scene. The energy was electric—people dancing, flirting, living in the moment. For a while, she let herself be caught up in it, letting Aaliyah pull her to the dance floor. The music was intoxicating, and for the first time in a long while, she felt free.

But the feeling didn't last.

After a while, the heat and noise became overwhelming. She excused herself, pushing through the crowd toward the exit. The alley behind the club was quieter, the cool night air a relief against her flushed skin. She leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.

Then she saw her.

A girl, barely older than Solange, slumped against the brick wall, her eyes half-lidded, her body limp. Two men stood over her, laughing, nudging her with their feet.

"She's out cold, man. You sure she'll be alright?"

"She'll be fine. Just had a little too much fun, that's all."

Giselle's stomach turned. She knew that look, that helplessness. She had seen it before, in stories whispered among women, in warnings exchanged between friends. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to do something.

"Hey!" she called out, her voice shaking but firm.

The men turned, eyeing her up and down. "Mind your business, sweetheart."

But Giselle couldn't just walk away. She stepped closer, heart hammering. "She needs help."

One of the men sneered. "And you gonna help her?"

Before she could say another word, the club's back door swung open, and the bouncer stepped out, eyeing the scene. The men immediately backed off, muttering curses as they disappeared down the alley. The bouncer barely spared Giselle a glance before hauling the girl up like a ragdoll and dragging her inside.

Like nothing had happened.

Like this was normal.

Giselle stood frozen, her breath shallow. Her hands trembled as she backed away, the night suddenly suffocating. The thought hit her like a punch to the gut—Solange was part of this world. This wasn't just a club. This was danger. And she had just stepped into it.

When she reentered the club, she found Solange and Aaliyah laughing at the bar, unaware. Solange turned, waving her over. "Where'd you go? Come on, let's dance!"

But Giselle couldn't. She shook her head, voice barely above a whisper. "I want to go home."

That night, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying the scene over and over. The girl. The laughter. The indifference. A darkness settled over her, pressing against her chest, making it hard to breathe.

For the first time in years, the familiar weight of her depression returned. And she knew—she wasn't coming back to places like that again. Not for a long, long time.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

oh myyyyyy should i dive in more in bey bey story, let me know in the comments

dont forget to vote. 🩷🩷