He paused their game, making his friend suck his teeth and frown. “Nah, mane, for real though. You ain’t been checking on nobody. When’s the last time you asked if we had food in this bitch? When’s the last time you gave a fuck if we ate or not, Trecee?”
His friend watched the interaction between the both of us.
I took a deep breath. I was too tired for this bullshit, but Monterrius needed a fucking reality check.
“I’m not responsible for you. I ain’t yo fucking mama. You shouldn’t be so quick to jump down my throat because the one who pushed you out is half-stepping. I don’t owe ya’ll shit. That’s where you’ve always had shit confused. Your beef should be with your guardian, not me!”
He stared at me for a second, clenching down on his jaw.
“Mane, whatever,” he muttered, then turned back around and unpaused their game.
“Exactly.”
Instead of going further into the apartment, I plopped down on the loveseat, seated opposite of them, and pulled my phone from my jacket pocket.
“Where’s Moriah nem at?” I asked Monterrius about my sister.
“In their room sleep?” he responded with attitude.
My stomach twisted on knots as I walked over to the love seat and plopped down.
What the fuck did I do to deserve this?
I was good to Romelo. Too good.
My hands were shaking so badly and the breath I was holding I finally released, but it was no good. He shouldn’t killed me. He was better off killing me. How the fuck can I live without him? How can I go on when there was no existence without him? It’s impossible. Romelo’s been the love of my life. I wouldn’t dare blink at another nigga.
None of it made sense.
I couldn’t stop my heart from racing. It was hammering in my chest. My mind was racing too. I didn’t want to live. There was no purpose in living a life without the love of my life. Romelo was my heart beat and there was no use for that either.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ROMELO “ROME” JONES
The blunt was halfway gone when I finally felt my shoulders drop. The storm had passed through, leaving the sky grey and heavy with clouds that ain’t have the energy to do shit lingering. I stood on the balcony, smoke curling from my lips, watching it disappear into the air.
I haven’t had a blunt in a while, but I needed it the most right now. Trecee shook the fucking table, but her bullshit can get put on the back burner. I almost lost the love of my fucking life. In the blink of an eye, shit was crashing down on me. I’ve made my bed and now it’s time for me to lay in it. Gladly. I’ll do it and get cozy as fuck in it. I don’t regret shit because if God gave me an opportunity in another lifetime to get shit right the first time, I’ll choose Synthia again.
Trecee leaving is a breath of fresh air for me. She was annoying — like a tick in my ass — bugging the fuck out of me. If she thought I was gon’ feel a pang of hurt by her packing her shit and getting the fuck on down, then she was wrong. As fucked up as it sounds, I don’t feel remorseful for shit I did.
I took another pull, held it in my lungs, and exhaled slow. I felt like I’d shed a few pounds without her weighing me down. Being able to finally breathe without her suffocating me withexpectations and bullshit is a fucking relief. All that pretending, fake-ass smiling and kissing on me — shit was exhausting. I’d grown tired of that shit.
The last few months with her were disappointing, but I can’t say that I didn’t try to get it right. She was used to being coaxed with the finer lifestyle I offered her while only doing the bare minimum to afford what I provided on her own. She wanted to be primped and polished and didn’t want to reciprocate that energy financially. Trecee wanted to paint an image of us that no longer existed — a version that turned to ashes a long time ago.
The way she screamed at me when I choked her. When her eyes rolled to the back of her head didn’t hurt me. It made me turn cold. For a while now, I was sacrificing my peace for her comfort, and that shit was draining me.
Toking the blunt one last time, I exhaled then flicked the ash over the railing before putting the blunt out. The villa was quiet now. No nagging ass attitude — huffing and puffing. No walking on eggshells around somebody who ain’t never appreciated shit.
Putting the blunt behind my ear, I heard the soft pad of footsteps behind me. Bare feet on the tile. I didn’t have to turn around, but I felt her presence. I smelled the sweet scent of peaches too, lingering heavy in the air. Then her arms wrapped around my waist and I felt her cheek smashed into my bare back. Then her warm breath rushed down my spine before she kissed it. Then her hands splayed across my stomach and I could feel her running her hands along the ridges of my six-pack, tracing the squares.
“You’ve been out here for a while. What are you out here doing?” she asked.
I craned my neck to glance over my shoulder. “I’m gone to the moon,” I joked, getting a giggle out of her. “Ain’t no way had I flown traditionally they’d allowed me to stash this fye ass shit.” I grabbed the blunt from behind my ear and glanced down atit, holding it between my index finger and thumb. My eyes were low now, but the aftereffects had kicked in a while ago.
This shit was lethal. If selling phones wasn’t my main hobby, I could become a dope dealer and bring generational wealth — enough money to become the president if I wanted to.
“I smelled it all the way out here,” Synthia mentioned, taking the blunt from between my fingertips. “Where’s the lighter?”
