Like I’d done that shit before.
“Booda,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I looked at him through the mirror, my ducts filling with tears. “What’s wrong with me?”
I needed to know because part of me had enjoyed finally being the one in control again.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “What the fuck…” I whispered.
Booda’s hands settled against my shoulders. “Nothing is wrong with you, bae. You just spiraling.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “That nigga begged me not to do it, and that made me want to do it more.”
“And?”
I looked up at my reflection in the mirror. Blood stained the side of my shirt. Tiny droplets speckled my neck. My mascara had smudged beneath my eyes at some point during the drive home, making me look crazier than I already felt.
“And I didn’t care,” I admitted softly. “But I thought I was a good person, despite some of the things I had been told about myself.” My throat tightened. “Am I supposed to be dead?”
Booda’s eyes stayed locked on mine through the mirror. “Nah. If it was your time, God would’ve let you die,” he replied with conviction.
I swallowed hard.
“I don’t know.” My voice cracked. “That shit is fucking me up.”
Because the truth was ugly.
The entire time G5 cried and begged for his life, all I could think about was how much I loved the sound. The control it gave me. I wanted to get back every piece of myself people stole from me while I was lying in a coma.
I dropped my head forward and stared at my trembling hands beneath the running water again. Memory wasn’t just bringing back faces anymore. It was bringing back instincts.
Booda moved closer behind me until his chest brushed my back. I felt the warmth of his body, so comforting, yet it made me want to recoil. I didn’t deserve his kindness.
“Fuck that nigga, Koko.”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t wanna be this person. I wanna be normal.”
“What is that?” Booda asked, his eyes boring into mine as his hands slowly slid down my arms before wrapping around me.
The warmth of his body grounded me just enough to keep my thoughts from spinning completely out of control.
For a second, neither of us spoke. Then his eyes dropped toward the blood staining my clothes.
“Take this shit off.”
I looked down at myself, realizing how much blood I still had on me. My shirt, my jeans, and even my shoes were smeared with blood.
A fresh wave of nausea rolled through my stomach, and Booda turned me gently toward him before reaching for the bottom of my shirt. His movements were slow and careful as if he knew I was one bad thought away from falling apart completely.
The fabric peeled away from my skin before dropping onto the floor beside us, and I stood there silently while his eyes traveled over me, checking for injuries.
“You hurt?”
“Only my hands from me scrubbing them so hard,” I admitted quietly. “And my chest feels like my heart’s about to explode.”
“That’s adrenaline.” His fingers brushed lightly across my ribs before moving toward the button of my jeans. “You’re shaking,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“You still here though. That’s all that matters to me,” he reminded me, and that almost broke me.
