Page 29 of In Too Deep

“I still don’t see why you have me getting in the trunk of your car now, after all of this. I’m claustrophobic. Why can’t you just blind fold me?” Synthia pouted after I carried the bags of food into the house.

“I got to keep the pressure off of me when it comes to you. One look in them pretty ass eyes and you’ll be beggin’ me to remove the blind fold and I’ll get weak,” I admitted.

“That’s absurd,” she mumbled and leaned on the island, watching me. “I’m sure if I had any plans to escape, you’d find me. I wouldn’t get far.”

“You’re right,” I agreed with her as I reached inside the plastic bag for our food.

“But tell me,” she started, reaching for her plate of wings.

We both ordered honey hot wings and seasoned fries with a fruit punch and lemonade mixed to drink.

“When do you decide that this is over?”

I shrugged, not wanting to think about that shit right now.

The thought of letting her go put a bad taste in my mouth and ruined my appetite.

She was always thinking of shit that put me in a fucked up mood.

I ain’t never felt this way about a woman, not even my own.

I’m starting to think Synthia put a root on me, or for lack of better words, had me pussy whipped.

It was difficult to wrap my head around, and I couldn’t talk to anyone who I figured would understand well enough not to judge me.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you the answer to that,” I answered, before opening the lid and gulping down my drink while eyeing her pop a fry in her mouth with her face all screwed up.

“Why didn’t you just sip it from the straw?”

“Cause that shit gay. Niggas don’t sip, they need to be drinking. If I catch a nigga sippin’ from a straw, I’m chin checking him.” I frowned back, matching her expression before placing the lid back on my cup.

“Oh my God,” she giggled, while shaking her head. “No one thinks of shit like that but you.”

“That’s how my father raised me and my brothers,” I defended my actions.

“Oh, so it’s a bunch of other psychos,” her brow rose. “That makes sense.”

“I go for what I know, Synthia.”

“I bet you do,” she muttered with a mouthful of fries. “I’m sure you need to add kidnapper to your resume, unless this isn’t your first time.”

“Do I look like one?”

She stale faced me. “What do kidnappers look like?”

“I don’t go around kidnappin’ bitches if that’s what you’re getting at. I ain’t got bitches hogtied on some R.Kelly shit.”

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you,” she chastised me, licking ketchup off her fingers.

“It ain’t that deep you need to be thankful for your life. I can still kill your fine ass while I have the chance to do so. Standin’ over there fine as fuck,” I grimaced, then bit down on my lip, still able to taste her sap on my tongue.

I ain’t never in my life nutted from eating pussy.

Synthia was having me act like a simp ass nigga who’d gotten his first taste of some pussy.

That shit was wild. The shit she had me doing was unapologetic and I would admit to doing it, if I had to.

Her vibe was different than most women. I’m starting to like this shit though—getting off of work, rushing over here before heading home just to see her.

She’s like a breath of fresh air, and I don’t even say corny shit like that, but there wasn’t a better way to describe it.

She was raw and unfiltered, top shelf, unreachable—Ms. Can’t Be Fucked With.

Being with her, I could kick back and be me.

I don’t have to come here, hearing her nagging and shit, holding her hand out begging.

The service trade we had was ideal, but it was something I’d never agree to—ever.

I was breaking the rules and going against shit I’d clown my niggas for.

“You wouldn’t kill me nigga because I’m too much like you,” she boasted. “That’s like killing yourself.”

With a wide grin, I leaned off the island and reached for the gun tucked in my waist. Putting it to my head, I pulled the trigger and clicked it, then showed her one bullet in the chamber.

“I ain’t never been afraid to die, Synthia.”

“You’re a fucking lunatic!”

“You just now figuring that out about me. You don’t know me.

How you think you do? I ain’t a carbon copy baby.

There ain’t a nigga walkin’ this earth, got shit on me.

When niggas see me, they bow down or they get the fuck out of my way.

This shit ain’t a joke. I ain’t got shit to live for,” I spat while putting the gun back in my waistband, after making sure the safety was on it.

Synthia tilted her head to the side and folded her arms over her breasts.

“I don’t care about any of that. If you want to play Russian roulette with your life, that’s fine, but don’t do it with me here with you,” she responded, brushing past me with her food in tow.

Her shoes slapped against the hardwood floors.

My eyes remained glued to her ass as she trotted down through the living room, until she rounded the corner and up the stairs.

Her ass was round, plump, and fat in the dress I ordered for her from the TikTok shop, per her request. Against my wishes, it filled her out nicely, revealing her curves, smoothing her mini gut too.

The color was peach, fitting her nickname.

It meshed well with her toasted bread skin complexion.

Before leaving the house earlier today, I thought about telling her to go change, but decided not to.

The thought crept into my mind to go after her, but I decided not to.

I figured I’d give her a breather for a minute without smothering her.

I picked over my wings and fries. My appetite was nonexistent, so I was basically forcing myself to eat.

I still needed to shower. My drawers were sticking to my dick from that nut I busted earlier, and I felt that area getting hard, making it uncomfortable.

Just as I was getting undressed, my phone began to chime in my back pocket, shifting my attention.

Looking at the contact, seeing it was Trecee, I rolled my eyes and declined it, but she called again.

I declined it again, then she called right back, leaving me with no choice but to either answer the phone or ignore her.

“What,” I answered, choosing my battles.

“Romelo,” she answered inquisitively, as if she dialed the wrong number.

“Mane, who the fuck else is it? You know who the fuck you called. What you want?”

Trecee scoffed, like I was the one blowing her shit up, getting on her nerves and shit.

“You’re answering the phone like I’m bothering you.”

“Because you is, bruh, damn!”

“I thought the talk we had cleared up the beef between us. This is crazy.”

“Yeah, ‘bout as crazy as you look blowin’ up somebody phone after they done declined the call twice.”

“Your mama called me,” she responded.

“ Okay.”

“She wants to invite us to dinner tonight.”

I took the phone away from my ear and scrunched up my face in confusion, then exited out of the call and went to my messages.

My mama was blowing me up in our family group chat, talking shit.

There are times when I’m busy working that I keep my phone on Do Not Disturb, so I didn’t get those messages.

The way I have my settings set up makes me lack communication skills and seem like an asshole to the people I care about the most. If my parents called or texted me, I usually responded back as soon as possible, especially to my mama.

She didn’t care for Trecee and only tolerated her because of me.

She called Trecee a bird because she wasn’t modern like her or didn’t have modern thoughts about certain shit.

Everybody knew Trecee couldn’t cook, and it’s not like she couldn’t learn: she didn’t want to.

My mama judged her for that, and the fact that she didn’t clean gave my mama more room to talk about her.

My mama wasn’t hard to please but Trecee wasn’t her cup of tea at all.

I’d bet the only reason she called her was to get through to me because she couldn’t.

“My mama doesn’t like you, and you know it. I don’t feel like sitting through an episode of that shit tonight,” I spat into the speaker.

“I’m sure I can deal with her antics,” Trecee answered.

“You don’t have to deal with shit. Don’t put yourself in a position to go where you’re not wanted Trecee.”

“Your mama probably doesn’t like me because of something you told her anyway.”

“Nah, you fucked that up yourself, baby.”

“Look,” she sighed. “Do you want to go or not?”

“Be dressed by the time I get there,” I responded, then ended the call.

6:30 P.M

“Well, honey, do you at least set the table?” my mama asked Trecee with a look of disgust on her face.

She was seated beside me, her body lazily thrown over my lap as she scrolled on her phone.

My father and Roxx were seated on the opposite side of the sectional talking to me about sports and whatever we could bounce the conversation around.

They didn’t give a fuck about Trecee, but they didn’t showcase that either way, but she swore they loved her.

Truth be told, they were fake as fuck and would grin at whatever bitch I bought around them. Their loyalty was to me, not her.

Trecee sat up, glancing at me while doing so. I staled faced her, urging her to speak for herself.

“Um, sure,” she stated, followed by a nervous chuckle. “I’ll be back.”

My eyes followed her before she turned around the corner and disappeared. She was out of earshot when Roxx chuckled. “Nigga you a fool.”

“I’m so sick of her shit.”

“Pass her to me, I’ll make sure she douche that funky ass pussy since you don’t,” he snickered.

“Boy ,chill out,” our father, Royce warned him, fighting the smile that was tugging at his lips.