Page 48 of 4 Corinthians

“So y’all names are numbers now?” December asked.

**

I stood in the corner of the room, watching Corinthians. She started taking barber classes a few weeks ago. Her instructor was showing her how to cut a line properly. Her dark eyes watched his every movement, and even from the distance between us, I could see the excitement in her pretty eyes. When he was done, he stepped aside so she could try it herself. It wasn’t perfect, but there was no doubt she would get better and master the art of cutting hair.

Keeping an eye on her from a safe distance only felt right. There was no doubt that Robert kept tabs on her. No matter how much time had passed, I knew he would never be able to let her go. I only hoped that I was around when he tried to approach her.

“You can't be here,” a voice said from behind me. I turned around to see Psalms standing in the doorway. Her dark eyes took me in with both caution and determination.

“I-“

“You can't be here,” she said again, taking a step into the room. She looked over my shoulder to see Corinthians and sighed. “I’ve seen you here too many times; that means she’s eventually going to see you if she hasn’t already.”

I looked back at Corinthians and stepped away from the window. The glass was tinted, but I didn’t want to take the chance. I doubted she wanted to see me. I was too much of a reminder of Robert, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to be around her. To see her smile, hear her laugh. Her being happy was all that mattered to me.

“I won’t hurt her,” I finally told Psalms. “I won't let him hurt her.”

“Seeing you will hurt her,” Psalms replied. “Knowing that you’re around means that he’s around too.”

I quickly shook my head. “I’m not with Robert.” I ran my hand over my hair. “I haven’t been with him in years. My Uncle found out about the abuse. He took Kenbral and me in.”

“I’m glad you got away.” The sincerity in her voice made me pause. “You didn’t deserve anything Robert put you through.”

“Neither did y’all,” I told her, and she nodded. “I saw y’all a few years ago. At the hospital, y’all were coming into the cafeteria. Cori’s arm was bandaged.”

Psalms' head tilted to the side, and she smiled sadly. “You look like him,” she reminded me. “Your features. The way you carry yourself. The fact that you are Robert Strong’s son. His second born, the child he tried to make perfect. She doesn’t know I know. She thinks I forgot, and to a degree I have, but there are some things I will never forget no matter how hard I try. I remember how she came home, how she cried when she thought I was asleep. I remember her saying your name in her sleep. Sometimes she still does it. It’s always soft, low, almost a whimper. But she says it and cries in her sleep. She cried for you to save her, and you couldn’t because you were a kid too.” She looked over at her sister. “It took a while and a lot of damn therapy, but she’s happy. For the first time in a long time, she’s happy.” She shook her head and sighed. “You can't be here.” She looked back at me, and that’s when I saw the tears in her eyes.

“I promised her that I wouldn’t let anything happen to her,” I replied. “But I failed.”

“Uri, you were a kid,” Psalms said as if I didn’t know that. But it didn’t matter. I vowed to protect her, and I failed countless times. Just like Psalms remembered, so did I. I still heard her screams and then the silence. I remembered the day she stopped crying. I remember the way her eyes dimmed when Robert forced himself on her. I remembered everything. “We were all kids. Our lives were fucked up. We did things…” she visibly swallowed, then wiped the tears from her eyes. “We were forced to do the unthinkable by the people that were supposed to love and protect us. What I went through, what y’all went through.” She laughed humorlessly and dropped her head. “What we experienced wasn’t fair, but we aren’t there anymore. We aren’t those kids anymore. She’s happy.” She lifted her head and pointed at her sister. “She’s happy and seeing you will put her right back in that mindset. I can’t let her go back. You shouldn’t want her back there.”

“I don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I want her happy.”

“Seeing you will scare her, take away her happiness. You will remind her of the pain she is learning to let go.”

“I’d break her again,” I said, and Psalms looked away. Her sister, unable to look at me, told me everything I needed to know. “I get it. I understand.” I looked at Corinthians again. This time she took her time cutting as her instructor told her, and I saw the moment she got it. Her eyes lit up with excitement, and she smiled proudly. Psalms was right. I wasn’t supposed to be here. She didn’t need a reminder of everything she’d been through. She deserved to move on, and she wouldn’t be able to do that if she saw me. “Okay.”

“I remember seeing you. That day at the hospital. I remember how she reacted. The countless nights she didn’t sleep. I remember the way she looked over her shoulder for months afterward, how she was so afraid that Robert would come back. That he would take her,” Psalms said as I turned to walk away. “I remember it all, Uri.”

“Four,” I corrected her. “I go by Four now.” I wanted her to know I wasn’t Uri, not anymore. I’d been Four for a long time, I thought, just before the door closed behind me.

I walked to my car, got in, started it, but didn’t pull off. Corinthians’ class ended, and after she gathered her things, she walked out of the building. Psalms came out of the building I was in just as Corinthians got to her car. She called her sister’s name, and Corinthians turned around. She immediately smiled at the sight of her sister, then opened her car door and threw her things inside. From my car, I couldn’t really hear what they were saying, but the conversation was quick. Psalms rounded the car, went to the passenger door, and opened it. Psalms got into the car while Corinthians stood with the door open, looking around. When her eyes landed on my car, she stopped and just stared. I knew she couldn’t see me, but it felt like she was staring into my eyes. Psalms got out of the car, tapped the hood to get her sisters' attention, and that’s when Corinthians finally looked away. They said a few more words, Corinthians pointed at my car, and Psalms shook her head. Corinthians looked back at my car for a few seconds, then got into her car and drove away.

Early Twenties

Corinthians

My alarm blasted through the air, and I sat up, dizzy and confused. I hit my head on the wall of my closet, and I groaned in pain as I moved. I got to my phone, swiped the screen to turn off the alarm, then looked around. I needed to get ready; Mercy had a game. I was running on fumes, but I knew I couldn’t stop. I wanted success, could see the finish line, and was ready to get to it. Originally, I’d gone to college for business and was going to help Psalms open her own flower shop, but I knew my heart wasn’t going to be in it. After a long talk with my grandparents, I decided to step back from helping my sister and open my own barbershop. Granddaddy promised that when I graduated, he would help me buy my building to open my own shop, and I’d recently started looking into those as well. To say I was excited was an understatement. I was ready to start my career. Seeing my cousins and sister do what they love was the motivation that I needed.

I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and then turned on the water to shower. I couldn’t start my day without a shower. I walked back to my room, went to my closet, and grabbed what I planned to wear. After showering, I got myself together and was out the door before my second alarm went off, reminding me that I needed to leave.

“Hello?” I answered my phone as I got into my car.

“I was just making sure you were on the move,” Exodus chuckled.

I started my car, checked my surroundings, put on my seat belt, and pulled off. “I said I would be there and I meant it.”

“Man, ain’t no doubt you would be there; we know how you roll. We didn’t think you’d be on time,” he replied.