Made sure she was fed, her bank account stayed laced, and her ass stayed in the latest, flyest shit, but I wasn’t a good nigga. I kept Jada around for convenience and because I felt like looking out for her was an obligation. Like I said, she was loyal. Held a nigga down. Was there for me when I was at my lowest. Did a short bid with me too. But there wasn’t any love attached there. Not on my end.
Anyway.
After going through every room in the house, I made it back to the front door where she had her phone pressed against her ear.
“Yeah. The house on Lanchester. You cleaned it a couple of weeks ago. When can you—huh?You don’t want to? I’ll triple—okay, fuck it then. Unprofessional ass bitch!” She hung up andlooked up at me with dipped brows, tears staining her makeup covered face.
“He ain’t here,” I flatly told her, unmoved by her emotions.
“Can we?—”
“Yeah, come on.”
“The bitch don’t want to clean the house. I was ready to give her triple what I paid her before. You think you can get a company from Wildermere to come down?—”
As we walked out of the door, I shot her a look over my shoulder. Fuck no. I couldn’t get anybody from Wildermere to come down here.
“Hell naw. You know them muthafuckas ain’t coming across the bridge for shit. They don’t give a fuck about money. They laced. You need to just let this shit go.”
She looked up at me with pleading eyes, sighed, and looked away, scratching at the back of her head. “I can’t let it go, Exodus.”
Of course she couldn’t.
Despite growing up in the trenches, with crackhead parents, Jada was hopeful. That clinging… it kept her delusional, low key. Clinging, and wanting to live a certain lifestyle was why she got into that social media shit in the first place. When we were younger, before Instagram and TikTok were a thing, she stayed with her face in magazines like Vogue, Home and Design, and Autotrader, talking about the life she was going to live. She didn’t strive for it though. Not academically, anyway.
Jada talked about getting with a white man from Wildermere who would fund her entire life and put her parents in good rehabs. I sat back and listened to her, barely saying shit, thinking like… this bitch out her mind. Them white muthafuckas in Wildermere wouldn’t look in her direction. They didn’t have to though, apparently. Because as soon as I came up, most of her dreams came true.Iput her in a crib in Wildermere.Iput herin a Benz. The only thing I hadn’t done and wouldn’t do is put her people in rehab. Well… her pops. Her momma, Justine, died from an overdose when we were little. I wasn’t one for clinging. Johnny didn’t want help. Fuck was I supposed to do with that?
When we made it back outside, Jada asked the neighbors if they had seen her daddy. Ms. Ethel told her she saw him at the gas station a couple of hours ago with Buddy and Brenda, up to no good. Hussein, the gas station owner, put them out for panhandling and trying to steal.
We walked around the hood, heading to the next destination in silence. Every now and then, I’d glance over at her and she’d be crying.
“I’m sorry,” Jada mumbled, as we climbed the creaky, wobbly steps to the crack house Johnny was usually at.
“Ain’t got shit to be sorry about,” I said, looking over my shoulder at her.
I wasn’t into what she had going on where Johnny was concerned. I hated the shit, for real. But despite how I felt about it, her tears started to fuck with me a little. If she wanted to go to four, five more houses, I’d take her if it meant satisfying her in whatever way.
I stood at the door, twisted the doorknob and gave the door a push. When I pushed it, it didn’t open. There was some resistance, like there was something behind it, so I pushed it again with my shoulder. Once the door was a little wider, I looked down at the pair of boney legs, and dirty Adidas blocking the path.
“Hold up, muthafucka,” said the fiend laid out on the floor.
I sucked my teeth and gave the door another hard push, making my way in.
“Wait,” I tossed over my shoulder at Jada who stood there with her arms crossed over a chest and a frown on her face.
Stepping over the pair of legs, I crossed the threshold over into the crib. Like the crib before, there was a stench. Except this one was heavier. It littered the air, damn near suffocating me.
I stood at the front of the room, scanning it, looking for Johnny’s skinny, cracked out ass. The house was packed. Crowded with fiends laid out on the couch and on the floor, some moaning and groaning, others passed out. I shook my head, with a deep breath after spotting him sitting at a card table in the dining room, head tossed back, eyes closed.
I walked further into the crib, stepping over a couple of bodies and trash. When I made it to the dining area, I snatched him up by the collar of his dingy, holey, white tee. His body was limp. He didn’t respond at all to me yoking him up. When I got him on his wobbly legs, I went across his face with my hand.
“Johnny!” I yelled.
His yellow-tinted eyes lazily opened. “Huh?” He slurred.
I went across his face with my hand again. “Tighten up, bitch ass nigga. Jada here.”
“J-Jada?” he stuttered, coming to a bit more.
