[You Got My Soul]

5°

» "a piece of mind, baby, come and get a piece of mine..."

Tiller Household;

Bryson rose from his bed and stretched before looking over and seeing that Paris was still fast asleep.

He readjusted the blanket to fully cover her body before leaving his bedroom and going downstairs.

"Morning, Hattie." Bryson yawned as he passed his great-aunt's bedroom door.

Ever since his mother went to prison, Bryson had lived with his father's youngest aunt, Hattie. Being that she wasn't too much older than his father, Hattie thought it would be best for Bryson to move in with her rather than an older family member.

"Good morning, my sweet angel. Did you sleep good?" She beamed, a smile forming her lips.

"Yes, ma'am. Paris is here, just to let you know." He added, pointing in the direction of his room.

"Oh, ok. I hope she let her step-father know, you know how he can be."

Paris had a very distant relationship with her step-father. After her mother died when she was 14— being that she had never father, she was forced into continuing to live with him.

He was man that was definitely not meant to care for children— resulting in Paris having to take care of him more than the other way around.

He tried to parent Paris correctly, causing the first and only encounter he'd ever had with Hattie. It was a meaningless attempt to keep Bryson and Paris from getting too close.

It was a failure and every since then, he's just let Paris go her way and he goes his.

Bryson understood that there was a hole in her heart, where unconditional love should and he didn't hesitate fill the void.

"I don't think he minds." Bryson shook his head. His aunt nodded, patting the area beside her on her bed.

"Come sit down, baby boy." She instructed with a warm smile. He followed her orders, taking a seat right beside her.

"What's up, Hattie?"

"How are you doing, Bryson?" She asked with a small bit of concern laced in her voice.

"I'm fine," he answered with a confused chuckle, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, I just worry about you sometimes. You're so quiet and to yourself it's hard to know if you're alright or not. I don't have kids of my own; you're like a son to me."

He nodded, "I appreciate that, Hattie. You're like a second mama." She smiled at her nephew and touched his face.

Just then, Paris appeared at the frame of the door, a morning time drag to her face.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt, I just— Bryson, your bathroom has no soap in it. Good morning, Ms. Hattie."

"Good morning, sweetheart. Go help her, I'm finished with you." She smiled, patting his back softly.

Bryson rose from his aunt's bed and walked out of the room with Paris following behind.