Page 20

Ninety-one days later…

You know how much thinking you get done if that’s all you’re permitted to do? I thought. A lot. Especially for the first forty-five days of this program at Limitless Rehabilitation and Recovery Center. No computer, no phone, no television, shit, not even a gym. Just four walls, group therapy, and my brain.

Oh, and taking my antidepressant.

I ain’t wanna take nothing. Besides the fact that taking it meant something was foreal wrong with me, and made my condition tangible, I didn't want it to block my creative flow, or my dick. Hey, I read the side effects. Lil dy still needs to report for duty.

But I’d be lying if I said my lil blue pill didn’t lift the heavy weight off my shoulders. And judging by the five comp books filled with lyrics, and my palm damn near growing hair, nothing has been blocked.

Day forty-six I was approved for a computer. I mean, I still had shit to do. And being clear-headed, and shedding two and a half decades of big feelings every day in group and individual therapy meant my mind was clear enough to keep an eye on shit back home. Just because I was taking a sabbatical didn’t mean the world stopped. I had to keep an eye on my family, make sure my shorty and lil shorty were straight. Make sure Sincere not tryna pop up and take out my bro or anyone else. Dig up as much info as I can.

And you know, my usual hobby of spying on niggas.

Sometimes it was the homies. Most of the time it was Mace. Sometimes it was whoever I felt like she knew based off her social media.

After I seen some shit I ain’t like, I calmed down on that though. I knew I’d get up with her once I completed my program.

But that allowed me to fine tune my plan. See, when Set, Nut, Turk and I would do our shit, serving our country, I mostly played intel. Creating dossiers, staying out the way, making sure my brothers were good. Not only am I not one for blood, but Set has always been protective of me in his own lil way. Turk and Nut mostly did logistics and planning and shit.

So this has been a lil treat for me. Getting my mental right, and meticulously planning exactly how I’ma wipe a couple muthafuckas off the planet. It would be the first thing I thought about when I woke up, and the last thing I thought about when I went to sleep. Niggas who don’t deserve in the same timeline on the same earth as my shorty and my lil shorty.

I rub the back of my neck like I do any time I think about my daughter. No one has posted a picture of her, anywhere. Not even a status update. I only know she’s healthy because I hacked into her medical records when Mace took her for her appointments and shots. But as far as what she looks like? I don’t have a clue.

I guess I’ll find out today.

Dr. Bell is in the lobby to greet me when it’s time for me to go. I got my computer in one bag, and my comp books in the other. I would have the clothes I came here in, but Day fifty-nine I was approved to start working out, and between the nightly six-mile jogs around the facility, and heavy lighting until I passed out, I don’t even fit that shit.

I may not have ED, but I didn’t totally escape the side effects of getting my mind right. Niggas gained ten pounds in two weeks, and I’m lucky if I get six hours of sleep.

Still, I’m not tryna off myself. I take my Ws where I can.

“I’m very proud of you, Rahshad. You came and you saw it through.”

She smiles as shakes my hand firmly. Dr. Bell is a short, petite woman with an inch-long gray afro, but she’s the toughest person I know.

“Thank you Dr. Bell.”

“We’re all set for our weekly sessions to resume, and I emailed you some group times as well. And if you need any help, you know my cell is always on, no matter the time.”

That’s another reason I fuck with her. She actually cares, and don’t be blowing hot air. I don’t know if she has a life outside of this facility and her practice, but shit, once I got comfortable sharing with her, it was nice knowing if I slide back or not feeling like myself, she’s here.

She knows the stigma our community has on mental health, and fights every day to break that shit down. Most of the people in group were people of color, and we saw and felt firsthand how she cultivated a safe space for us to at least confront and acknowledge the storms in our minds.

I smirk at the short woman.

“I know, doc. I’ll see you next week. If my ride comes in here y’all prolly gone try to keep her.”

I salute her and go through the glass doors, going back into the real world feeling more hopeful than I’ve ever felt.

YT is perched on the hood of her turquoise 1964 Mustang parked in front of the fountain. I know her eyes have been trained on the door because before I hear it close behind me, she takes off her shades and beams at me for a flash, before scowling.

When I make it to the car, she slides off the hood and folds her arms.

“What bitch you had doing yo hair? Do they know you married to my godsister? Do I need to–”

I throw my shit into the window and pull YT into a hug. She’s not wearing heels, but we still eye level.

“I did my own plaits, sis. Ain’t no bitch but mine touching my shit. I miss you too, YT.”

She scoffs but hugs me back.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, nigga.”

We get into the car and she pulls off, toward the city. The Center is in Henderson, only about forty-five minutes away from Kenton.

“That’s your phone in the cupholder. Fully charged and everything.”

I grab it and go into my ghost app to sync all that I’ve been working on to my phone. It’ll beep in about ten minutes when it’s done, so I set it on my lap and turn down the music.

“How you been? We talked, yeah, but not about you.”

She shakes her head as she gets on the freeway.

“You’ve been gone three months and you still worried about everyone else.”

“Niggas can’t care? Besides the fact you Mace’s godsister and Brina’s cousin, we been plotting on these muthafuckas, building a rapport. Thought we were at least friends by now. I mean, you told me your full name.”

I smirk when she stiffens. As much as she and her brothers hate their names, none of them have made moves to change them, so all this extra shit just be making me weak, to be honest.

“You might wanna be nice to me. The way you in Deezy’s doghouse, I doubt she’d be upset if you come up missing.”

She cuts her eyes to me but my phone pinging saves her.

Once my phone is synced, I double check the shit I asked her to do for me.

“The Atrium? You don’t think that’s too big?”

I ask her. The Atrium is a venue some R it’s obviously not the original engine, but still. Her ass is zooming.

“Kareem will accept that I’m Big YT, not the little one… we’re in my mustang because he somehow got Angel’s shit into my range’s gas tank and ran me into a coffee shop. But that’s only after I had YP hack into his phone and switch up the meet times. He barely escaped the Triad meeting in one piece.”

I shake my head at her and silence her phone before it freezes.

“When are y’all gonna stop trying to kill each other?”

She just shrugs.

“When he dies. He called himself turning Deezy against me, so it’s forever beef.”

She glances at me as we enter the city limits.

“You going to Turk’s in your jailhouse grays?”

My heart jumps. I haven’t talked to anyone but YT in three months. She’s the one who told everyone I’m alive, but that’s it. I know that’s part of the reason she and Mace are on the outs, but as much as I watch over my people, I needed to do this for myself. I didn’t need the pressure of them knowing, of me feeling like I had to succeed. I’m glad I did, don’t get me wrong; but my blue pill really started working foreal two weeks ago from being built up in my system. And even then, those first few weeks… let’s just say it was hit or miss.

I didn’t need their well wishes or good vibes. I needed to do this on my own, while also being able to think through this shit and end all this once and for all. We all growing, thriving and finding love and shit. These ghosts and past beefs need to be deaded.

“Nah. Let’s go to the mall first.”

YT hands me my wallet when we get to the Galleria, and a few hundred dollars later YT called herself styling me in a blue Essentials short set and some snakeskin 4s. She was real adamant on this color, but shit, it kept my mind from thinking about seeing everyone. I have another prescription, one for when I feel too overwhelmed, that would mellow my mood out immediately, but I didn’t wanna get on those. I ain’t wanna be on nothing addicting, shit I barely wanted to be on what I was on now.

I counted to a hundred while we were in the car, and that was cool, until we pulled up to Turk’s, and I saw all the cars.

Dal’s gonna be so mad her and Denver’s birthday will be about me.

“Ready? It’s all gas no breaks once you officially back.”

Something like concern colors YT’s face as she rubs her arm.

We never ventured too far off our plots, but every morning she did ask me if I felt better than the day before, followed by a graphic gif of a sassy black woman wishing me a good day that she had to have gotten from a text chain.

And the first time I told her I did, she hearted the instant message, and started the tradition of sending me animated scripture gifs when I didn’t reply that I did.

From my own files on YT, I know she doesn’t have any friends that aren’t related to her outside of Mace.

And not because she was unpopular in school or anything–no, YT was a cheerleader, always had a heavy social media presence when she was free, all that.

From an old video online, she thought anyone that wasn’t a Young or Davenport wasn’t worth listening to.

And yeah, I’ve claimed Mace and we got our lil shorty, but it’s not lost on me that when I was ready to give up, YT threw the line in the sea just in case I needed it.

She thought I was worth it when I didn’t even think so.

For that, like all the other people in my life I’ve collected that are purehearted, she’s forever in my favor.

“I’m ready.”