“Maybe not, but it’s true.”
“Nah,” Tink replied, and there was something in his voice that made me pause. “You say it every time I come by. Every single time, Ko. And every time, you look a little more crazed than before.”
I closed the fridge and turned to face him. “You think I’m crazy?”
He shook his head. “Nah. I think you're paranoid,” he said, and I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up.
The words he’d thrown my way hit harder than he probably intended, mostly because they were true. I could lie to myself all day long about why I kept the blinds closed, why I checked the locks obsessively, or why my hand stayed on a gun more often than not, but doing that would be pointless.
“And I get it. Something’s got you spooked. But hiding in here won’t help. Momma said the only thing we should fear is God. Man can’t do no more to you than what you can do to them. We all bleed the same.”
I turned away from him, not because I agreed, but because I couldn’t stand the look on his face. The concern. The pity. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it aimed at me.
“I’m not paranoid,” I said, lying, and I could tell Tink knew it too.
The paranoia had teeth. It had been gnawing at me for weeks, maybe longer. I couldn’t remember anymore. Every shadow inthe hallway felt like a threat. Every sound outside my door sent my hand reaching for the gun. Every moment I spent in this apartment was another moment I wasn’t moving, wasn’t thinking, wasn’t doing anything but waiting for something bad to happen.
And the longer I waited, the more certain I became that it would.
Tink chose not to say anything else. Instead, he twisted the doorknob and opened the door.
“What time does the barbecue start?” I asked, stopping him at the threshold.
Tink glanced back at me, surprise flickering across his face before he tried to play it off.
“Three. Why?”
I shrugged. “Just asking.”
He didn’t buy it. “You can come. Ain’t nobody gonna bother you there. My stepdaddy and his people some gangstas, but they don’t play about women. They’ll fuc—” he caught himself. “I mean, they’ll light this place up if anybody steps out of line with you.”
I let out a quiet breath through my nose and leaned my shoulder against the counter, crossing my arms.
“Okay. I’ll be there,” I replied.
“Aight.” Tink nodded, already halfway through the door. “I’ll let my momma know.” He paused with his hand still on the frame. “Don’t forget to lock your door.”
“I never do.”
He gave me one last look, then walked off, his footsteps fading as he headed down the hall.
I closed the door and pushed it shut until it dragged the way it was supposed to. Then I locked it.
Once.
Twice.
I stood there after, listening until the apartment fell back into its usual rhythm.
It should have been enough, but it wasn’t.
My gaze drifted to the counter, landing on the second container I’d set aside.
Booda’s order.
I walked over to it and stared down at it. The chili oil had started to separate, leaving a thin red layer pooling along the edges under the lid.
I shouldn’t have touched it. I knew that. Still, I lifted the lid.
