“Y’all act so fucking stupid sometimes I swear to fucking God, mane. What if you burned the house down? Do you think before you do shit at all?”
Having heard enough, I grabbed her by the shoulder, roughly pushing her back and got on her ass, putting Moriah down.
“The fuck you think yelling at them is gonna do right now? It ain’t helping, and watch how the fuck you talk to them, mane! You ain’t got to do all that bullshit! Shit, they got more common sense than yo spaghetti brain headed ass! You ain’t want toanswer the phone and see what the fuck was up from the get go, no way!” I spat, craning my neck to get in her face.
If I hit women, her jaw would be as good as gone right now. Trecee didn’t give a fuck about her sisters and brothers. Being around her, early on, I noticed that a lot, and they hated her ass too, and rarely asked her for shit. Only when their mama didn’t step up or when she lacked on doing certain shit. Synthia was their backbone, and if I didn’t know them, from the outside looking in, I’d think she was their older sister. She was the perfect placeholder, and they loved her to the moon. It wasn’t anything that girl wouldn’t do for her cousins—always putting them first and doing whatever she had to do so they could have what they needed. Trecee was a lazy ass motherfucker, and seeing her treat her brothers and sisters how she was doing ignited a fire in me.
Though I was the middle child, Roxx looked out for us, and I looked out for Reese. Niggas knew not to fuck with the Jones brothers growing up. We didn’t play that shit. We were blessed enough to grow up wealthy and didn’t have to endure a struggle. We had a solid brotherhood that I’m very proud of. I’m confident enough to say that if I need a kidney, my brothers wouldn’t hesitate to step forward.
I entered Trecee’s life at a change of selfishness because she always complained about having to do this and that for them, but it was always the small shit, like running their bathwater, heating their dinner up, or helping them with homework. Her mama was barely at home, which is normal in the black household for the mother to leave her children at home with the oldest, while she goes to work, but Yolanda was lazy. She ain’t never have a job and couldn’t keep one. The only time she docked hours was when her food stamp case workers got on her ass at the end of the year so she wouldn’t lose her stamps. To keep them, docking thirty hours was one of the requirements.She was also collecting unemployment checks as well because instead of quitting those jobs, she got fired and knew she could file for unemployment, and she’d get approved. Yolanda was a trifling ass mama, and I ain’t never seen nothing like it, and Trecee was a trifling ass sister following in her footsteps.
“You better off dead, than sitting here carrying on like this. Grow the fuck up, bruh,” I continued to snap on her.
“Romelo,” Monterrius called out after me, jarring my attention away from Trecee.
I squinted my eyes to see Yolanda pulling up in a Nissan. Whoever was in the driver’s side parked under the flickering streetlight. Staggering over to her, I pulled up my joggers to keep from showing my boxer briefs.
“What happened?” She was clueless, darting her eyes past me and at her kids, then noticing the smoke in the air and the burnt stench. “What did y’all bad asses do?” Charging towards them, she grilled them just like Trecee had done a second ago and I chewed her ass out too.
The nigga in the driver’s side wanted smoke, but I grabbed my gun from my waistband and put it in his face, ready to murk his Rick James looking ass. ‘Ole nigga had jerry curl juice dripping on my Dior sneakers. “Bitch, the only thing keepin’ me from puttin’ a hot one in yo ass is these kids. Don’t you need to go file yo AARP or some shit? Scram yo old ass outta here bitch!”
He stuck his chest out, feeling bold as he poked at his cheek with his tongue, eyeballing me with a menacing glare before walking off, choosing his battles. It didn’t help that the kids were crying and Moriah calling me a monster. This shit was all bad, and I was riddled with guilt for snapping off in front of them like that. They’d been through enough, but shit just kept popping off further making me tick off.
“Don’t be scared of me, baby girl,” I bent down and smiled at Moriah who was hiding behind one of her sisters. I hadalready returned my gun to my waistband. “You want to the tickle monster?” I asked her gently, trying to sooth her. That got a smile out of her and when she rushed toward me, I swung her arms around my neck, I scooped her up for a tight embrace, rubbed her back and began to sooth her.
My eyes turned to slits, glancing at Trecee, mouthing,put them in the car.Quick on her feet, she trotted over to her brothers and sisters, and they headed in the direction of the car. Yolanda decided to show her ass and scream at Trecee, until I shut that shit down. Still holding Moriah tightly, I grabbed Yolanda by her shoulder and swung her around to face me.
“What the fuck do I look like lettin’ them stay here and this house smokey as fuck, mane? Are you crazy? They can’t stay here, bruh!”
I dipped down and settled Moriah inside. The eyes I felt on me were hard and were from nosy ass neighbors who decided to come outside and view the commotion. Listening to my better judgement, I pulled off in utter silence. The only thing heard was the kids sniffling in the back seat. It was only right for me to take them to my house rather than paying for a room at a hotel, where they’d be trampling over each other.
They’ve never been here, so they were gawking over how big it was. Trecee was against it, but I didn’t give a fuck how she felt about it. Her birthday trip was in two days, but that shit was canceled on my watch. There was already enough shit going on, and I knew she’d bitch about that too. She’d rather her siblings get put in a foster home than looking after them because their mama wouldn’t. They were safer here where I could monitor them.
Putting the car in park, they got out and trailed behind Trecee to the front door. “Don’t be in there cutting up,” I yelled out after them. I made sure they were inside safely beforeputting my car in drive so I could pull off, not caring that Trecee was trotting towards my car, pouting.
“Romelo,” she yelled. “Romelo!” She sounded like a mad woman. “What about my birthday trip?!”
“You worried ‘bout a fuckin’ birthday trip when yo folks could’ve died back there. Yo priorities fucked up fa sho and you’re selfish as hell,” I spat at her before revving my engine and pulling off.
I was pissed and needed to release some steam. Synthia was becoming my safe space, and I needed something to suck on that would cool me down.
Why didthat turn you on?
In another realm, I’d call him a creep for invading my privacy, but I was intrigued, and something unusual ignited a fire within me, sparking a flame. I was turned on, envisioning Romelo in front of me, seated on the leather couch, with his legs gaped open, looking at me with low and cherry red eyes, with the aroma of weed lingering heavy in the air. He was taking control of my body, leaving me captivated, sending signals from my mind down to my pussy. It felt good, with him guiding me, talking me through a gut wrenching orgasm, one that I badly needed.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a man as I bad as I craved him. Romelo Jones was no good for me, but I couldn’t push him to the back of my mind. I felt trapped, like a caged bird. This shit was so intense. Daily, since I’ve been here, he was the first person I thought about when I opened my eyes, and it wasn’t theatrical. I was happy with him because I could be myself, peeling back new layers of me, unveiling myself, living and not just existing anymore. I no longer wanted him to release the shackles. The more reality sank in was the moment I allowed the truth to settle over my burning agony. I was enjoying this shit.
Fully dressed now, the loose cotton crop top and shorts felt good against my moisturized skin. I was in the dark, on top of the covers, facing the ceiling. I didn’t flinch when I heard the door open, but my breathing remained steady. Hearing his heavy footsteps felt like a pounding in my ear. I could smell him too. His woodsy cologne filled my nostrils, heavy with his signature scent. It had become my favorite one over the course of time.
Without glancing over at the door, I knew he was standing in the doorway, his eyes dancing over my body, taking me all in, noticing my flaws. Neither of us spoke, but the room felt small. I could feel his energy pouring into me. He looked stressed, unlike the chippy fellow who busted a nut, eyeing me through a camera. Something else was on his mind—something deep and heavy. Here I was thinking money is the root of all my problems, and he was millions of dollars richer than me, with shit heavy, pulling him down like the weight of an anchor.
“Juicy.” His deep and raspy voice sent shivers down my spine when he called me by that nickname.
The ceiling no longer had my attention captivated. I blinked, then turned my head to face him, our eyes meeting. He uttered, “I need you.”
“You need me,” I spoke barely above a whisper.
“I need you, baby. I been feenin’ for you all day, baby,” his voice reeked of desperation. “I can’t shake this shit.”
