Page 17

“Damn,”

Nut says, coughing out a lung.

“it’s gone be hard as fuck to top this when y’all get married.”

We smoking out his groom’s suite as the reception dies down. We’ve all shed our tux jackets, with Nut coming all the way out his shirt, too, like the ghetto nigga he is.

It’s me, Nut, Set, Turk, Rico, Reem, Ty, and a few other niggas from Foe Dub we grew up with. Eventually, they leave, and it’s only our main crew, blowing big buds and reminiscing.

“Never thought a nigga who’s quicker to call a female a bitch than her name would be married first,”

Ty chuckles.

“Cap.”

Set blows smoke out the side of his mouth before grinning, diamonds dancing in the light.

“Me and B got married last October.”

“Man, you lying,”

Nut grunts, pulling on his paper.

“You always tryna upstage a nigga.”

“Here you go. We ain’t have no wedding, so you still did yo big one. I’m just saying, you ain’t the first one to be married, muthafucka.”

We all give our congrats to Set, who grins like he does every time he thinks of Brina. It’s not that surprising though, that they just went to the courthouse. He told me as much when I mentioned everyone should have the same name before Cody and Cam got here.

“We ain’t see it, so it don’t count, nigga. And I should fuck you up for keeping it a secret so long. Nigga it’s June.”

“You always wanna know everything. Yo head too big to be tryna store more shit in it,”

Ty cackles. He daps up Turk, who smirks.

“How does it feel though? Being married?”

he asks Nut.

He smiles wide as fuck, platinum grill showing.

“This shit so fucking lit, Dub. Being official like a whistle, I mean.”

He glances at his black wedding band before smirking at Turk.

“Yo ass next huh?”

“I gotta marry Pay in a First Nations thing but it’s more ceremonial, so I’m devoting myself to both my women closer to the end of the year. Y’all should get the invite soon.”

“Big Turk having two wives. Somehow I’m not surprised,”

Ty shakes his head.

“Nah, Big Haze got a wife and a husband,”

Reem mumbles, making us all laugh.

“I seen you dancing with Macy, Shad. Wassup with that?”

Turk asks.

I wave him off.

“She danced with Reem and you ain’t ask him nothing.”

“Reem ain’t thinking about Mace. He too busy tryna kill YT.”

Ty cackles, making Reem shove him and grumble under his breath.

“You know she shot her baby daddy,”

Nut eyes me.

“YT?”

“Nah, Macy,”

Set says.

“Shot that nigga in the leg at the hospital like it was nothing. And you be pushing up on her.”

“I ain’t–”

“Not what I heard… now that I’m thinking about it, Van mentioned something about perineal massages?”

Ty wiggles his eyebrows at me.

I turn to my bro and smirk.

“Did she mention the date she went on last week?”

Ty’s ears turn red, a telltale sign that he’s pissed. My boy’s a hothead like Nut, but Nut be giving niggas time to back down. Ty will rush you, no hesitation.

And shit, the emptiness I feel, knowing I probably broke shorty’s heart… I deserve to get my ass beat.

But as soon as Reem reaches out to grab Ty, the doors to the suite open, and YC and YP walk in.

The tension rises exponentially as they both stare Nut down. We’re all armed, no doubt, but we’re all also technically family now. And who wants to end a wedding with a murder?

YC’s shirt strains when he pockets his hands.

“I was going to kill you at Mo’s memorial. Snap your neck right there on the lawn… I’m glad I didn’t.”

Uhhhh.

YP chuckles and cuts his eyes at YC before looking around the room.

“We really ain’t know much about Kenton, other than Tiny ran off here and made a whole other family. And then our lil cousin came here, too, and then our godsister. We taught to only trust our own, but from what we’ve seen, y’all niggas thurl.”

“Where you learn to drive like that? I seen you whippin’ when YT was blasting at this nigga,”

Ty says, pointing his thumb at Reem.

YP grins, showing silver open faced fangs.

“I been driving since I was eight. My first lil stint in juvie was off a GTA.”

“You need to leave my fucking sister alone, nigga,”

YC growls, pointing at Reem.

“She the one tryna remove me, Foe.”

YP checks his phone before grinning.

“That’s how she be flirting with niggas. Don’t drive yo car home, I think I seen her messing with it earlier. Congrats again, Peanut. Many blessings on y’all union.”

YP bows and backs out the room, leaving his brother, who only has eyes for me.

I blow smoke out the side of my mouth. “Yes?”

He just flicks his nose before shaking his head and walking out.

“All them Youngs are mental patients. I see why Tre kept B away from they asses,”

Turk expresses.

“Eh, they aight… what? I mean, besides YT tryna kill us every week, the big nigga and Prince cool as fuck,”

Ty shrugs.

They all start putting their two cents in about just how crazy the Triplets are, but I zone out, like I always do when we shoot the breeze like this. Compared to other niggas we’ve beefed with, we haven’t lost many, but the two we have are felt every day.

Especially when I’m still doing the shit we talked about.

Sean would have been the main one cheering Nut on. He always talked about me making sure everyone straight, but that was really him. Nut was like his personal god, and would know just like we knew Tati would want that nigga happy above all else.

We all deserve happiness, but Nut deserves it the most.

I glance at Rico, who hasn’t said much either. He’s been holding his soda can, staring a hole into the wood floor. His hair isn’t blond anymore, but he doesn’t let his hair get longer than an inch before cutting it now, and I know it’s because Fredo kept his hair long.

I stand and grab a champagne bottle, and start pouring some in everyone but Rico’s and Set’s cups. I pour some in mine and sit down, while the conversation dies down and everyone peers at me.

I look around at my brothers, and not for the first time, I rethink my decision. I know it’ll hurt them when I’m gone, and they won’t understand. Shit, prolly curse my name. But I hope when they get the emails I scheduled to send them they’ll try.

It’s not that I meant to hurt them. I just want my hurt to go away.

I clear my throat and raise my cup.

“To Fredo and Sean,”

I call out, locking eyes with Rico.

“We love y’all, and we miss y’all foreal. On Foe.”

“And to Tati,”

Nut says. I whip my head around to him.

“I felt you all around today, and I know you and my mama sent Choc and my lil nigga to me fasho. Me and Ana?s are in good hands, but you knew that.”

We all cheers and take a sip of our drinks.

“So first Set, then Nut, Turk is next. I wonder who after that,”

Ty mutters, scratching his chin.

“Shit, not you if you keep playing up with Van.”

Reem takes a sip of his drink while they all cackle and start roasting each other.

Knowing I finally made a decision on joining my family brings me the peace I’ve been yearning for, for years. Taking a break from working allowed me to get everything together. Set and Nut split forty percent of my liquid assets. Another ten goes to the Center. Mace gets twenty-five and the last twenty-five is in a trust for Beanie. My studio will go to Turk. I already sold my highrise to add to my account and moved everything to the one where Set is an authorized user. The emails are scheduled to go after the sleeping pills take effect.

I’ve thought of everything.

The only thing that’s left is this meeting and my last therapy appointment.

Might as well give her something so I didn’t totally waste her time.

I do a double take when YT sits next to me on the bench I’m occupying at the riverwalk.

She’s wearing an oversized navy blue hoodie with the hood pulled tight over her head, only showing her face. The gray sweats are loose and baggie, too, and her platform Pumas look a little dirty.

“What did I tell you about staring, Shad?”

she whines, before pulling her twenty-two out of her pocket.

“Girl, put that away. Why you so dressed down?”

She rolls her eyes but keeps her piece on her lap.

“Everyone has their days, Rahshad. Especially in June. I believe it’s called, June Gloom.”

She turns and aims her gun behind us just as I hear the click of a safety.

“Never have your back facing everyone else, cuz. I know P-Nutty taught you better than that.”

When I stand and turn, Grimey’s smirking at me, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. The nigga looks a little rough.

But I mean, his little brother stole his childhood sweetheart, so I’m a little understanding.

“I’ve always wondered if you were really about that rah rah in your raps. My daddy banned my little brother from listening to you.”

Grimey does a double take before lowering his gun and smirking.

“Why you hiding, baby? I just know under them clothes is a problem.”

YT scoffs and turns around.

“Save your breath.”

“This is YT. When it’s time to make a move on Sincere, she’ll be your contact. I just wanted y’all to have a face to face.”

“YT huh? What’s that stand for, beautiful?”

She glances before her before her lip curls.

“Your Trachea, which is what I aim for.”

Grimey just grins wider before dropping it as he focuses on me.

“She been straight? Her and her baby?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“What about Turk?”

“Yeah. I know shit is still fresh, but you should make amends and call him. Y’all all y’all got foreal.”

“I’ll think about it, cuz.”

He leans into YT’s shoulder.

“I’m looking forward to your call, beautiful.”

He jumps back when she shoots blindly at him, and cackles as he walks back to wherever he appeared from.

“He’s too much like me. That’s how I ended up in jail the first time,”

she grumbles as I take the seat next to her again.

She turns, and folds her legs onto the bench.

“Shaddy. Why did you bring me to meet Grimey?”

I glance at her, and she looks like a kid with her hood tied around her face like that. Almost innocent, and not the cold blooded killer I know she is.

Still, as much as I’ve accepted my fate, I can’t bring myself to say it aloud.

YT’s face scowls up at my silence, and in a flash she’s holding her gun to my temple.

“You know, I’ve had my suspicions… even thought about asking Deeze and DW. I mean, the more I looked into you–well, your brother, since you’ve wiped the internet of your existence–the sadder I got, so I could only imagine how you feel. But then you got so close to Deeze, I thought I was wrong. Guess not… You wanna die so bad? Let me do it. I can even make it look like an accident so no one will know. Because you think because they don’t notice, that they won’t care, but you’re wrong. They will care.”

Pressure builds in my eyes as I clench and unclench my jaw.

“It’s not about them caring,”

I whisper.

“For the first time in my life, it’s not about anyone else but me, YT. I’m tired bro… I just wanna be with my family. I just wanna stop–”

“Feeling like this? Right? You want the pain to go away, right? Yeah, dying is one way for that to happen. But living is another way, too.”

She lowers her gun to her lap.

“It’s the harder way. But it’s another way.”

She unties her hood and lets it down, running her hands through her blonde hair. My eyes zero in on the jagged scar that runs along the base of her throat. She touches her fingertips to it, as a lone tear travels down her cheek.

“I killed five people before I tried to hang myself. That was the most I’d ever done in twenty-four hours. I didn’t have rope, so I used serrated wiring, which is how I got these scars… the wiring broke at the last second. And I bawled my eyes out, peeling it from my skin. I was so sloppy with my last kill because I just knew I was going to die, that the police found me, but my neck got me put on suicide watch, and my lawyer was able to get me in the psych wing in prison. My family thinks it’s because my ex beat my baby out of me, since he was the murder I got popped for. They don’t know about the other four.”

She blinks away tears as she massages her neck.

“Anyway, I’m here today because I found a reason to live. One single reason that kept me going, that I didn’t have before. And then one became two, and two became three, and now I have a bunch of reasons.”

She wipes her face and ties her hood back up so only her eyes, nose and lips are visible.

“You just need one reason, Shaddy.”

I wipe my own face and look away.

“What was yours?”

YT is quiet for a long moment. When I look, she’s unfolding her legs and getting up.

“Getting to know my little sister.”

She squeezes my shoulder before walking off, leaving me with my thoughts.

By the time I make it to my therapy appointment, my once steel resolve is quickly crumbling.

I thought I’d come in here, tell this bitch something, and then go off to my grandparents’ house to off myself. Nut and Dal are in Fiji, and Mace blocked me on everything. I had about thirty-six hours before Set and Brina call to check on me, so I was kind of on a time crunch.

Now though, after seeing YT’s neck, and finding a little bit more about her, I don’t know what to think.

“Why are you here?”

my therapist asks after five minutes of silence. It’s the first time she’s spoken to me. An older black woman with long thin locs pulled up on her head and secured with some African headscarf.

“What you mean?”

“I mean just that: why are you here Rahshad?”

I shrug.

“I said it on the form. I be having stress seizures, and my friends think–”

“What do you think?”

I take a moment, and then shrug.

“I don’t think I need to be here. I don’t need a shrink.”

She folds her hands in her lap, and for some reason, the words just come out.

“I don’t need a fucking shrink. I’ve always had my bad days. Days I ain’t wanna do shit. Days at a time where I’d cry, and sleep, and stay home from daycare or school, but I ain’t need a shrink. I just got big feelings. I don’t get why that’s so bad, you know? My OG told me everyone has those days, I just feel them more than other people. So I stay busy. I was always programming, or working out, or making beats. If I did something from sun up to sun down, I ain’t have to think about why I was so sad and angry all the time.

“Then, when bad shit started happening, I’d just stay busy to not focus on that. Okay, Granddad died. I take a couple days, be sad as fuck, then work on some beats or a new program. Work on a special project or some shit. Then okay, OG got a new nigga, she disappear. No problem. Be sad a couple days, but I’m cool. Even if it’s once a week. Make myself get back up. I can do it. Or shit, if you can’t shake it, just hide it. It’ll go away eventually.

“Even when my OG washed her hands of me. I was down for a while. Three, four weeks. But I got back up. I always do that. Granny get cancer–fasho. My b-best friend getting shot right in front of me. I got it. I eat that. I got to. I take it all to the chin. I can do it.”

My voice cracks as my nose starts running, but I wipe it off and keep going because I can’t stop. Not now.

“I gotta hold it all in. Because that’s what I been doing. I work out until I pass out. I make as many programs, take on as many projects, make five, six beats a night if I need to, to not think about how everyone is dropping like fucking flies around me. Even when my pops is killed. Sure, we on bad terms when he passes. He a fuck nigga, that should trump the years I spent thinking he was Superman. I can’t show that even though he turned out the way he did, he was still my pops, and I miss him. My middle name is his first name. Kaleel. It means friend in Arabic. Shaddy is everyone’s friend. Shaddy can’t possibly be drowning, because everyone else is too, and Shaddy grew up with a loving OG, even though she signed away her rights to me at sixteen over one mistake. Shaddy grew up with a granddad and a grandma. Shaddy grew up in a cool sized house with his own room.”

I feel my voice rising, but I can’t lower my tone. I can’t stop. I don’t even know if I want to.

“Shaddy didn’t go to bed hungry, and went to computer camp, so Shaddy can’t possibly know what real pain is, real struggle. Noooo, Shaddy had it good, better than most of his friends. So I eat every L. I take everything to the chin, and I don’t mourn my pops. I don’t do SHIT!

“Besides, I’m building a name for myself right? A Shotta beat is an automatic gold record. Never mind that this was my best friend’s dream with me. Never mind he’s the one who even got me on that, and I had to watch the light fade from his eyes when someone rolled up and shot him in the head in front of his crib. Let’s not forget my pops is responsible. So again, why the fuck would I mourn him?

“But you asked why I’m here, doc. Because as much as that is, that’s not why I’m here. No, I’m here because my OG, who for some reason, started hating me overnight, wouldn’t accept no money from me, started letting her punk ass nigga abuse my baby sister, his own seed. She asked me to keep her, so she could get away from him. So I took her, but I filed for emergency custody and won. Then being the nice person I am, let my OG have supervised visits with her. Those went well, so they became unsupervised. You know what happened, the first one? HUH?!”

The shrink flinches only slightly as she flutters her lashes.

“Raya dies of a fucking asthma attack,”

I whisper, letting tears flow freely down my face.

“Her dad beat her so bad it triggered one, and no one had her inhaler, so she died. Don’t worry, he got hit in county waiting for arraignment. Niggas take child abuse seriously. My OG though, she didn’t take his death well. Couldn’t care less about her daughter, her p-p-perfect, little girl. Nah, she fucked up over the nigga that killed her… She… left a message on my phone, telling me I deserved to be alone, before she hung herself, leaving me to find her.”

I wipe my face and glare at the shrink.

“I have seizures because through it all, through everything she’s said and did to me, to Raya, I still m-m-miss her… so no, doc, I don’t need a shrink. I need a whole fucking factory reset.”

We sit there for minutes, hours, I don’t know… me glaring, her peering. Soon, my chest stops heaving. Tiredness settles in again. And my mind calms to a simmer.

The therapist folds her lips into her mouth before taking her notepad and scribbling on it. She tears the piece of paper and places it on the coffee table in front of me.

“This is the number to an in-patient facility where I hold group therapy. I want you to think about how you feel after letting all of that go, since we’re out of time, and if you feel even a fraction better, I want you to call that number. The program is rigorous, and at least ninety days, but it’ll give you real tools and language to manage your triggers and your depression, Rahshad.”

I wipe my face again and stick the piece of paper in my pocket, because even in the midst of a psychotic break I have to people please. Shit, I’m just glad she didn't put me in a psych hold.

“Even if you don’t call, I’ll see you next week.”

I lift my chin and breeze out, holding in the rest of my tears until I’m safely behind the tinted windows of my car.