Page 4 of Own It

At the end of the day, though, I had to own it. That was the motto and the same one I made sure Josias and Zaire adhered to. No cop-outs, no fucking excuses.

Whatever I did in life, I owned it. Whether it was handling business, winning, losing, making mistakes, diving in pussy, or even just walking into a room—Rakim Godfrey was gon’ own it. Accountability was king to me. Only a pussy made an attempt to mitigate the unfavorable shit he did.

Removing my attention from my pops, I darted my eyes away toward my twin, Ayan. We were definitely fraternal in every sense of the word.

The nigga looked nothing like me aside from our size, which was mainly due to the fact that we had a six-foot, eight-inch father and five-foot, eleven-inch mother which resulted in Ayan and me coming in six feet, five inches.

Our personalities, though, were so stark that people often gaped at the fact that we were fucking twins.

That nigga Ayan loved attention, spotlight, and was hella talkative when comfortable, while I preferred to be low-key and would much rather observe the room than be caught up in conversation, jokes, and shit.

He and I beefed often due to his jealousy, but it was simple brother shit I hoped he would grow the fuck out of since it was small shit to me. For example, while I always excelled in sports with the grades to match, Ayan struggled in both, becoming so hyper focused on what the fuck I was doing that he couldn’t keep eyes on his own shit. I always attempted to help his ass or look out, but he would never want the assistance.

Even when it came down to women, Ayan would be pissed if a bitch latched onto me instead of him, especially if he was checking for her first. And naturally, he hated when people mistakenly addressed me as his older brother, assuming I was years older and not simply five minutes.

He hadn’t ventured into boxing yet, though, so that was a possible sign of his maturity and getting over always trying to compete with a nigga. I prayed for that. Maybe us being apart for the next three years plus would do wonders for us. I had no interest in beefing with my own blood, especially in the climate I was living in currently.

“Good luck,” Ayan threw out to me dryly before making an about face and walking off behind Josias and Zaire to meet LaMia and my pops by the exit of the courtroom.

“I love you,” I mouthed to LaMia as we locked eyes.

She blushed the same way she did whenever I said that shit just before mouthing it right back.

ONE

rakim godfrey

THREE YEARS LATER . . .

I did my best to keep calm, but it was a difficult task knowing I would be leaving the place I’d been calling home, also known as California State Prison, in just a few damn weeks.

My plan had been to simply get out and surprise everybody, especially LaMia, but because my lady had been waiting forever for me and I wanted to give her a little something to hold onto, I was gon’ let her know the good news ASAP.

“Can’t hold it in, huh?” Joe, one of the niggas I’d become somewhat cool with during his time here, asked.

Joe had two life sentences for a murder committed similarly to the one I’d done—out of love. Only difference was when Joe found out his wife had been fucking his homeboy, he took forty-eight hours to make his move, and therefore, the charge was for first degree murder instead of the voluntary manslaughter I’d been convicted of. Premeditation made a huge difference in the name of sixty fucking years.

“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head and unable to hide the smirk spilling onto my face.

I knew from being held here that niggas could sniff out when an inmate was close to release and would test you out of jealousy. A person serving the rest of their lives in this bitch didn’t wanna watch the next muthafucka get out and move on with their lives.

Joe was different, though, being older and having committed his murder back in the early 2000s, so he couldn’t fathom a life outside of these walls and was therefore perfectly content where he was. That shit was unfathomable to me, but when he expounded on how he wouldn’t be able to cope on the outside, I understood the shit.

Me only being down for three years made an older black man like Joe happy to see someone my age get some rehabilitation and a chance at a new life. By saying that, he was the only one I confided in.

Sitting down, I held the phone to my ear, leg bouncing impatiently as my free hand rested upon my fade. Like always, I kept my back to the phone receiver, never being one to leave myself exposed, while I waited for LaMia to pick up. I didn’t know why I felt so much fucking anxiety, but I did.

“Hey,” she answered after accepting the charges, tone a little less enthusiastic than it was a few days ago when we’d spoken.

My anxious ass thoughts multiplied at the sound of her voice.

“What’s up, baby. You aight?” I quizzed, brows bunching.

I hated this shit, being locked away, but the worst fucking part was leaving my baby out there in a world full of wolves.

Same time, I made sure LaMia was well taken care of in all ways financially. Her bank account stayed full, I still paid all the bills, and did all the same shit I had when a nigga was free.

Only difference was I couldn’t lay up with her. I shut my eyes at the thought, eager to bury my fucking face into LaMia’s neck to smell her sweet perfume, feel her soft skin, and most importantly, be back inside of her. I needed my baby.