Unfiltered Dialogues
Copyright© 2026 by SilkStories
Chapter 12
8 1/2 Years ago:
Narrative: Kiara Washington
I was in Tyrone’s dorm, his powerful athlete’s body covering me completely as he drove himself inside me. My fingers dug into the solid muscles of his back, feeling every ripple beneath his sweat-slicked skin. With each forceful thrust forward, a guttural “Huh!” burst from deep in his chest – a raw, physical punctuation marking his relentless rhythm.
He was impressively hung and the sex was undeniably satisfying, yet something nagged at me—some intangible absence. My gaze drifted up to the ceiling as he pumped into me, each thrust driving deeper. Suddenly, a low groan rumbled in his chest, and I felt that familiar tension coiling in his body. “Tyrone! Don’t cum in me!” I cried out, but it was too late; I could feel his hot release filling me.
I shoved him off me, my voice dripping venom as I spat out, “You fucking prick!” My furious gaze dropped instinctively between my thighs where his release glistened in damning evidence against my skin. The realization struck me like a physical blow—I’d need to take a morning-after pill immediately.
With venom, I demanded, “Who gave you permission to do that?” Tyrone lay back on the bed, unfazed. “Sorry,” he shrugged casually, “I couldn’t hold back—you know how it gets.”
I rose angrily, yanking my clothes back on. “Don’t be like that, babe,” Tyrone said casually. “Fuck you,” I shot back. “Go find some brainless bimbo to fuck next time—we’re finished.”
I slammed the door behind me without a second thought, seething. What had ever made me believe he’d be any good for me just because he played sports and looked good?
Back in my dorm, I collapsed onto my bed still fuming. It was a relief to have Jessica as my roommate now instead of Ava. That white girl’s ignorant views had become unbearable, so I’d made the switch last semester.
“What’s wrong?” Jessica asked. “That asshole Tyrone,” I fumed, “we just fucked and he came inside me even though I warned him not to.” Jessica raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Wait, you actually slept with Tyrone? And you’re upset about it?” I rolled my eyes, exasperated by her reaction.
“What?” I retorted sharply. “What’s so great about him anyway?” Jessica smirked knowingly before delivering her punchline: “Oh he’s so dreamy, I’d have his baby.” My temper flared as I snapped back at her, “Then go ahead—maybe you’re exactly the kind of girl for him.” Jessica chuckled, tossing out casually, “Hey, I’ve been trying.”
Damn, I need a new roommate, I thought bitterly to myself. Jessica just wasn’t the type for intellectual discussions, and I sure as hell wouldn’t count on her to handle important tasks.
The following day, I sat in my Business Class still stewing over everything. I’d gone to the campus health center that morning for the morning-after pill. The whole thing felt awkward, but the nurse acted completely unfazed—like handing out those pills was routine as giving out candy.
As I sat there listening to the professor, my mind kept drifting back to Tyrone. Around me, girls whispered about him like he was some kind of god. But why couldn’t I see what all the fuss was about? Every day I noticed other students glancing sideways at me with envy in their eyes, as if they wished they could be in my position.
Regardless, I doubted he would care whether I stayed or left. The Circle remained significant in my college life, yet I sensed subtle changes taking shape.
The group kept prattling on about trivial nonsense—some white person’s latest remark. It infuriated me to see so much wasted potential; all they ever did was lounge around spouting empty chatter.
Amara, someone I deeply respected, had once cautioned me to hold back when I dared speak up about their inaction.
After class, I resolved to talk with Zuri, the only person I’d grown genuinely close to. I’d messaged her repeatedly with no reply, so I figured she might be in her dorm.
I approached her dorm, my hand raised to knock when I heard a commotion. The unmistakable creaking of a bed filled the air, leaving little doubt about what was happening behind that door. A smirk tugged at my lips as I turned the knob and stepped inside.
As I opened the door, Zuri’s muffled voice came from beneath the sheets. She lifted her head abruptly, her expression shifting from surprise to annoyance. “Kiara! What the hell?” she exclaimed, just as Tyler emerged from the covers beside her. My mouth dropped open in disbelief as I took in the unexpected scene before me.
“You can’t just barge in here like that!” Zuri snapped, but fury surged through me. Zuri—the fierce voice of The Circle—caught up with Tyler, that white boy from the team.
“You’re a fucking hypocrite Zuri, and a whore for white cock,” I hissed, venom dripping from each syllable. Tyler’s eyes widened in shock as he pulled the sheet tighter around his waist. “Whoa, Kiara, what the hell has gotten into you?” he stammered, clearly caught off guard by my outburst.
“It’s just a bit of fun,” Zuri said, her voice laced with irritation. “What’s the big deal?” she repeated, her tone challenging my obvious anger.
“What’s the big deal,” I hissed, stepping closer. “You call yourself a member of The Circle?”
Zuri glared, her voice cutting through the tension. “Get the fuck out of my room!”
Her eyes flashed with defiance as she continued, “You don’t get to judge me with your shit, not after you and Nathan. So fuck off!”
As I stormed away, she hurled one final insult. “Holier than thou bitch!” she spat contemptuously as I slammed the door behind me with a resounding thud.
I was seething, feeling utterly betrayed. There had been an unspoken understanding among us - no fraternizing with white boys, certainly not welcoming them into our beds. That this hypocrisy came from Zuri, of all people, left me reeling with anger.
That evening, I sat with The Circle in the lobby, Amara’s voice droning on about the same old topics that had long since lost their impact. What was I even doing there? My mind drifted to the oppressive university policies I’d researched; they were a constant reminder of the systemic issues we faced. But instead of confronting those challenges head-on, I found myself trapped in another endless discussion that yielded no progress.
Zuri entered the lobby and took a seat directly across from me, her gaze burning into mine with pure disdain. I refused to meet her eyes, turning my attention elsewhere instead. At that moment, I simply couldn’t find the energy to engage with her any further.
Amara: “Yo yo yo welcome to TC-Pooowwerr, with your host Amara Bennet and Kiara washington, say hey Kiara?”
Kiara: “Hey y’all”
Amara: “I’m hearing a whole lot of repetitive chatter coming from white folks lately. It’s like y’all keep recycling the same tired lines without bringing anything fresh to the table. Where’s the originality in that?”
I rolled my eyes, thinking how ironic it was that Amara could call out others for being repetitive when she’d been delivering the exact same rhetoric for months.
Kiara: “What are they saying girl?”
Amara: “I’ll tell you Kiara, shit like ‘I don’t even see you as Black’, or ‘you’re not like the other black people’”
Kiara: “Do they say that to you?”
Amara: “Nah, I’m their stereotypical black woman, they stay clear of me. Thank fuck for that.”
I responded sarcastically.
Kiara: “Well, that’s great Amara, but I have something that would blow your mind.”
Amara: “Okay! Do tell”
I pulled out the clause I had written down.
Kiara: “Are you aware that the building names at Ivy Towers are named after historical figures who were slave owners or segregationists?”
Amara: “Of course”
Kiara: “There had been many attempts to change them, not just by protests from black people but also councils, political figures and still they refused to change them. Do you know what the university said?”
Amara: “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
Kiara: “They claimed they couldn’t just erase their god-given right to be celebrated as shining lights of history, and this was said only a few years back.”
Amara stared at me, her expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. I couldn’t tell whether she hadn’t known about the university’s refusal or if she simply hadn’t considered taking action against it. Either way, her stunned silence spoke volumes.
Kiara: “It wasn’t hard to find, simply Googling it was enough.”
Amara: “What do you want to do with that?”
Kiara: “Here’s what I propose—we organize a demonstration, compile every damning detail, then confront them with the truth of their bigotry, since they’ve made no effort to conceal it.”
Amara chuckled nervously into the microphone, acutely aware that university officials might be eavesdropping. The subject clearly made her uneasy, as though handling a dangerously hot potato.
Amara: “I’m not sure that’s a good use of our time”
Kiara: “Really? So we should get back to chatting about what white folks say then? Very original!”
I was sick and tired of The Circle, weary of the broadcast, that stupid TC-Power name forever irking me. To me, those members were nothing but cowardly Uncle Toms parading around and boasting about how black they were—clueless as ever.
I had begun looking for a different organization or at least someone with greater fire for fighting the oppression of Black people.
Stepping onto the campus grounds, I scrutinized everyone around me. Disgust coiled in my gut as I watched them go about their lives, oblivious to the injustices festering beneath the surface. How could they simply let such wrongs slide by unnoticed?
Noticing a group of three black students, two guys and a girl, their clothing stood out sharply from everyone else’s attire—almost military in its precision. I approached them as the girl eyed me up with disdain.
“Look who it is,” she remarked with a smirk, then added condescendingly, “If it ain’t the great Kiara—the diet coke of militancy.” The guys laughed.
“What’s your problem with me?” I snapped, she chuckled, “Don’t you have something to bitch about and tell the whole world how black you think you are?”
I moved in close to her face. “I’ve heard about you,” I stated flatly. “You act like you’re the real deal, but here you are too—at this white university, following their rules just so they’ll hand you a degree and a career. What makes you so different?”
She glanced at one of the guys. “Well,” she said with a sneer, “it appears Kiara does know how to bite back. Almost ... charming, wouldn’t you agree?”
I scoffed as I started walking away, determined to leave that pretentious group behind. But before I could take more than a few steps, her mocking voice called out again. “Do you really think you’re making any difference?” Turning back, I met her challenging gaze as she continued, “The name changing of the buildings?”
“It’s a start,” I countered, trying to steady my voice. She scoffed, “It’s pointless. You think changing names on buildings matters? To spark real revolution, you need bodies in the streets—marching by the hundreds, thousands even.”
My mind churned over her words, envisioning myself guiding a sea of protesters through city streets. Leading thousands would demand meticulous planning and unwavering coordination.
“If you’re serious, you know where to find us,” she said with a smirk, then added, “Just ask for Jade.” Without another word, I turned and walked away.
After my last class of the day, I retreated to my dorm room and settled at my desk. With Jade’s words still echoing in my mind, I opened my laptop and began searching for information about recent marches and protests. Though her comments had been vague, I suspected she might have been involved with events in Boston. Determined to uncover any connections, I dug into news articles and social media posts mentioning local demonstrations, wondering if Jade had played a role in organizing them nearby.
As I scanned the search results, a pattern emerged. It appeared that both Boston and New York had seen significant demonstrations organized around the Eric Garner case. The chilling reports detailed how police had used an illegal chokehold, causing him to collapse unconscious after gasping “I can’t breathe” eleven agonizing times during the 2014 incident. He died an hour later.
The Black Lives Matter movement mobilized swiftly, and I found footage of the protest. The sheer scale of it took my breath away. Scanning through images, my pulse quickened when I spotted a much younger version of Jade near the front lines, brandishing a sign.
As I continued reading, my gaze fell upon article after article documenting the senseless loss of life at the hands of those sworn to protect. The names blurred together yet each one seared itself into my memory: Michael Brown, an unarmed teenager gunned down; Akai Gurley, another innocent man whose life was extinguished by a rookie cop’s bullet; Freddie Gray and Walter Scott, both murdered by police.
Each report chipped away at my composure until tears silently streamed down my face—a quiet testament to the overwhelming tide of injustice.
After shutting my laptop, I sank into stillness, my thoughts heavy with the weight of what I’d uncovered. These tragedies weren’t isolated incidents—they were threads in a vast tapestry of systemic oppression woven through our society.
I’d known about these, the news covered them as I watched with my parents; we allowed it to recede into the background after. Why had I dismissed it all so readily?
I rummaged through my bag for my diary, fingers sifting past the usual disarray—odd how I keep everything else in order except what’s inside this purse. As I pulled it free, my hand brushed against something tucked within its pages.
I unearthed an actual photograph of Nathan and me, one we’d had developed so I could hold onto something more tangible than fleeting digital images on my phone.
For a long moment I held the photo, studying our expressions—the unmistakable joy etched on both our faces. Yes, I had been genuinely happy then. A part of me insisted I should discard it, yet some deeper impulse made me tuck it back into my bag.
That evening, I took my usual place among The Circle, yet my thoughts drifted elsewhere as conversations buzzed around me.
They were talking about some party again, Amara jumping in with, “Yo, crashing that thing will be wild—it’ll really stir up those white folks.”
“I see where your priorities are,” a voice cut through the chatter as I turned to find Jade and two unfamiliar men approaching.
As my eyes moved between them, I sensed the tension crackling in the air—the palpable disdain that passed between Amara and Jade. Their glares locked, a silent battle of wills playing out before me.
“Crashing parties,” Jade said with a smirk, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Very heroic.” Amara shot back, her eyes flashing defiance. “I’m sorry if all of us brothers and sisters don’t live up to your Black Panther ideals.”
Ethan’s voice broke through the tension, earnest and pleading. “We’re all fighting the same fight, why separate ourselves?” he asked, glancing between us. Before I could process his words, Jade whipped her head toward him, eyes blazing with contempt. “You’re one to talk,” she spat bitterly. “You’ll never be accepted among us—you’re diluted.” Her words hung heavy in the air as Ethan flinched.
My gaze shifted to Ethan, watching as Jade’s cutting words sliced deep beneath the surface. Unlike our usual playful sparring, this felt raw and unforgiving. My pulse quickened, my mind racing to intervene—until Zuri stepped in.
“How dare you judge! It’s not just about the color of our skin that defines us,” Zuri retorted fiercely. Jade met her defiance with cold certainty. “It’s all about our skin,” she declared.
At that moment Kofi rose abruptly, his stance signaling readiness for confrontation. One of Jade’s companions narrowed his eyes and challenged, “You got a fucking problem, brother?” He held Kofi’s gaze until Kofi reluctantly lowered himself back into his seat. The man sneered triumphantly, “Yeah, that’s what I thought, fucking coward,” as Kofi sat seething in silence, frustration etching lines across his face.
It felt like a standoff, even though we had them outnumbered. Yet somehow, Jade’s presence commanded the room, shrinking everyone around her. The force she wielded seemed to instill fear in anyone who crossed her path.
“I’ll catch you ladies later,” Jade called out dismissively, her fingers fluttering in a derisive wave. They spun on their heels and strode off, but not before her eyes locked with mine—a silent challenge lingering in her gaze. And just like that, they vanished into the shadows.
After they left, Ethan was clearly shaken by Jade’s accusation. Without hesitation, Zuri moved to his side, draping an arm around his shoulder as tears welled in his eyes.
Amara snapped, “Holier-than-thou motherfuckers.” Kofi clenched his fists and muttered, “I should have smashed that fool’s teeth in.” I scoffed bitterly, “Then why didn’t you?” The question hung between us, my tone dripping with disdain for what I saw as his moment of weakness.
Narrative: Nathan Ellis
In class, I took a seat beside Connor. We’d grown close through our studies, and our friendship was comfortable enough that we often hung out together. Still, his whiteness and privilege sometimes gave him an air of snobbishness.
That contrast with Connor couldn’t have been starker. While my family had provided well for me, enabling my education here, there remained a chasm between us—his sense of entitlement, as though every advantage granted him was unquestionably deserved.
Even with all that, hanging out with Connor could still be a real hoot, just as he always claimed it was.
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