“Yeah, I'll grab you something. Give me a second.”
I went to my bedroom and opened my closet. Rows of black tees and designer sneakers lined the walls. Everything inside was neat, folded, and color coordinated just how I liked my shit. Half the clothes still had tags because for the most part, I walked around comfortable and not worried about dripping since I was the drip. I grabbed one of my white muscle shirts and a pair of gym shorts from the drawer, then went and placed the clothes on the sink.
“Hey, your clothes are out here. When you are done in there, come in the kitchen.”
“Okay. Thank you,”
While she finished in the restroom, I went back into the kitchen and filled the sink with steaming hot water and poured in bleach with dish soap until the smell punched through the air. Steam lifted and fogged the microwave window above the counter, but that's how I knew it was just right.
Having to remove gun powder from my hands was almost a routine once a week thing thing with me, so I have the science down on how to do it.
“You wanted me to come in here?”
When, I looked up, she was standing in my kitchen wearing my shirt and shorts, with her damp hair sticking to her neck and the sides of her face. Even with her eyes red and her skin pale, she still looked gorgeous as fuck. She didn't need those fancy ass clothes, or her hair curled the way she wore it to be one of the prettiest bitches I've ever seen in my life. New York breeds some beautiful ass females, which is why I’ve had plenty in my day. It was like a buffet up here. All I can eat.
“Yeah, come on in.” I signaled for her to walk closer.
“Okay, you sure you got everything handled back there?” she asked.
“Of course I did. We just have to do one more thing tonight, and you can officially put that shit behind you. Put your hands in here.” I motioned for her to come closer. When she did, I took her wrist gently, feeling her trembling, so I was sure to handle her with caution.
"What is this for?"
“To get the gun residue off you.”
She nodded, barely breathing, as she let me dip her hands into the hot water. She winced at the heat but didn’t pull away because I’m sure she knew she needed this. I grabbed a Scrub Daddy from under the sink and started cleaning her palms and the spaces between her fingers with precision and pressure.
She was jerking a little, her breath uneven. I could tell that her mind was somewhere else entirely, caught between guilt and shock. I’d seen that look before. It was that first-time killer look that she had. I wanted to save her from herself, and to be honest, I'm not sure why. I was only told to help her get rid of the body and away with murder, but for some reason, I cared how she felt now. About where her mind would be for the next few days, even weeks.
“Do you have any kids, Bria?”
“No. Just a niece that I care about a lot,” she said, her voice cracking just slightly.
“Oh, I bet her ass is expensive. All of my nieces are always hitting me up for money. Shit, them, and their begging ass mamas too. They ask for the wildest shit, because they know I got it.”
“I'm sure they do. You and Hov wear your money so well that everyone around you probably knows you are rich.”
“How so?” I laughed.
“Well, for instance, your apartment is really nice. Very spacious and modern without doing too much.”
“You can say my shit is plain and empty, it’s alright. I’ve heard it from a few people before. I know I need more shit in here.”
“No, I’m not saying that at all. It’s still very nice, Crew. It seems like it suits you well.”
“I appreciate it. I rarely have visitors here, so it's good to hear. What side of town do you live on?”
“The Upper East Side. My place isn’t half as big as yours, however.”
“Still nice though, right?”
“Yeah, it's nice. Really nice. I worked really, really hard for it.”
She nodded, but her eyes were gone again, drifting off into a daze. That’s how those murder demons first sneak up on you. It’s during moments like this, when the guilt is still fresh, and the silence in between words feels too loud. The echo of what you did then takes over, and eventually, what those voices start telling you, you believe.
“You alright?”
“Under the circumstances, I’m okay.” She nodded her head, but I knew that wasn’t the truth.
