“I don’t know but I’m not excited about that Alex kid right about now.”
“I know what you mean. It’s funny that he ain’t say nothing to me when I got home that night,” Jermaine responded. “Jordan was up all night hollaing about it.”
“He told y’all he was sleep, right?”
What do I do now?
It’s obvious that I don’t have the option of rewinding this for it all to make more sense, but I have to do something. Yet, so far, I was still lying on his chest as it moved a small, shaky bit. The only way I knew that he wasn’t gone or unconscious was by that…
I LOVE you all for being patient! That’s great at a time like this. And so you know, I’ve finished one part of it but due to the feedback I got about one of the shorter chapters I’ve posted before, I’ll wait until it’s done so that you have something long to read.
And btw, if you could just reblog the post below this, that would be great.
Prayers and positivity to those struggling.
I climbed into bed with an already sleeping Chris, trying to get myself to do the same. I was exhausted from the day and my arm was throbbing from Meagan’s blows. I laid flat out, facing the ceiling, with my eyes shut tight. I kept reliving the day in my head - the fighting and secret…
I suppressed the jitters I was experiencing because I knew they were signalling something negative. My decision was to not stress it any further. If I ignored it, with some luck, nothing bad would happen.
But again I thought, “I’m tired.”
Alex took his time up the first…
Mya was fussing and crying from the moment I told her to get into the car to the time that we pulled up to her building. I didn’t find any of this funny or enjoyable, but it was something I needed to do. The whole journey was stressful and I wished that she’d just make it easy for…
“Rita,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “Come down from there. We need to talk.”
She just looked at me, not saying a word.
“Rita,” I said again. “I’m s-sorry. I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t even get the words to come out right. I was all choked up.
“Who told you?” she asked,…
“What’s wrong?” He half yelled over Rick Ross shouting about niggas that can’t hold him back. I looked out of the window, the tower blocks of the projects hanging over us.
“Nothing,” I mumbled, the strong base from the stereo vibrating up my feet to my chest and arms.