Tink shuffled over to me, and up close, without the gun between us, he looked even younger. He was just a kid who’dmade a stupid decision and nearly paid for it with his life. I almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
“Where’s your stuff?” he asked, glancing at the box in my hands.
“In my car,” I said, nodding toward the beat-up Toyota parked two parking spaces down.
I’d been living in that thing for six months. I slept in the back seat and washed up in gas station bathrooms, while continuously praying that things would change for me.
Tink followed me without another word, and I could feel him stealing glances at me every few seconds, probably trying to figure out who the hell I was and where I’d come from.
Unfortunately for him, that would make two of us. I only remembered bits and pieces of my backstory. The rest was a blank.
Ain’t life a bitch.
CHAPTER 2
“Ooh, wee. This muthafucka stank,” the lil’ bastard said after dropping the last box on the living room floor.
My head snapped in his direction, and I sneered, “You better watch your mouth. Do I look like one of your lil’ friends?”
Tink straightened up quickly. “No, ma’am. Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, bobbing his head as if he’d suddenly remembered what had happened outside.
“Good. Show me respect, and I’ll do the same. Got it?”
“Got it,” he replied, dragging his hand over his nose. “You need me to do anything else, or can I go?” He gagged slightly between words.
Rolling my eyes, I shooed him away. “Hurry up and leave before I find something else for you to do.”
“Thank God,” he mumbled, did an about-face, and darted for the door.
Could I blame him? Not at all. My apartment smelled like mildew, a can of bounce that ass, and straight feet. I could tell ithadn’t been cleaned in ages. The landlord probably hadn’t even done a make-ready before I moved in here.
Cheap muthafucka.
Still, it wasn’t worse than some of the public restrooms I’d used. I could deal with this smell for a little while if I had to.
But I didn’t.
As soon as everything was unloaded from my car, I headed back out for cleaning supplies. But first, I opened the windows to let some fresh air in, then grabbed my keys, and walked out the door.
On my way to my car, I checked my MyChart to see if my doctor had sent over my prescription. I could feel an intense migraine creeping in, and needed to have it filled before it got out of hand.
The closest Mega Mart was over twenty minutes away, so I decided I’d go to a hood store to handle my business. As long as they had a pharmacy, I was good to go.
The further I drove, the more the neighborhood started to feel familiar. It wasn’t full memories, just quick flashes that hit without warning. I saw myself sitting in a car that wasn’t mine, heard a voice I should’ve recognized, and caught the outline of a face that slipped away before I could place it.
I found myself slowing down before certain turns and looking at places a little longer than I needed to, expecting something to come back to me. I tried to piece it together, but nothing lined up. I knew I had been over there before. I just couldn’t remember when or why.
Ten minutes later, a pharmacy sign came into view, and I damn near cried. What had started as a dull ache was now a steady pound, and my vision was beginning to blur at the edges. I had to take something fast, or things were going to get a lot worse.
I whipped into the lot and snatched up the first space I saw. Didn’t even wait for the car to stop rolling before I cut the engine and shoved the door open. The bumper was still hanging out in the driving lane, but with my head the way it was, that was somebody else’s problem.
I jumped out and rushed inside, squinting against the harsh sunlight until the doors slid shut behind me. The pharmacy counter was empty. Nobody was in line, nobody was waiting. I thanked God out loud as I ran for it.
I gave the pharmacist my name and planted both elbows on the counter, pressing my fingers into my temple while she pulled up my prescription.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I muttered, my patience growing much thinner than before.
