Page 4 of In Too Deep

“Naw, because I really don’t give a fuck who said it, but nine times out of ten, it was probably said from a hating ass nigga or a bitch who couldn’t be pacified.

I wasn’t put on this earth to please a mothafucka, and if I did some fuck shit to them, then believe they did some fuck shit to me first. I’m only problematic when I’m given a reason to be. ”

I felt the need to explain to her. Synthia walked around like there was a chip on her shoulder.

From what I learned from Trecee, she didn’t have much, and her aunt treated her like shit growing up.

It was also rumored that she stole. Anything Synthia did, Trecee frowned upon, other than when it was time for Trecee to do her hair.

“It’s right here,” she spoke softly, pointing at a worn down ass house.

It didn’t suit her. The living conditions were poor as hell, and the house didn’t look livable. The grass was knee length. Windows on the side were boarded up, and there was a dusty Nissan Altima in the driveway.

“Thank you,” she muttered, and put her hand on the handle, preparing to exit, but I placed my hand on her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Aye.”

“Huh,” she glanced over at me, lifting her head a little bit. The Nike fitted cap obscured her vision.

“This yo spot?”

She responded hesitantly, parting her mouth like she was about to speak, but she nodded her head instead. “It’s not what you’re used to, but I’m comfortable. Don’t judge me…”

“What a nigga like look like judging you. I’m just saying, noticing the grass and the windows boarded up. You rent from a private owner?”

“Yeah, some old nigga I met from Facebook Marketplace. My house got broken into and instead of putting bars around my window, he opted for them to be boarded up. Code enforcement comes by, and I have to deal with that, but…” she shrugged her shoulders mid-sentence. “That’s his problem and not mine.”

Stroking the hairs on my beard, I was pedaling on my thoughts, observing the neighborhood, and listening to her speak.

“How much is yo rent?”

“$1200,” she sighed.

“Twelve hun—” My eyes grew wide before my brows dipped into a frown. “That nigga getting over.”

“It’s the only thing I could move into as soon as possible. It wasn’t too many people looking to rent a place to an eighteen year old girl, with bad credit and shitty income.”

“I feel you on that, but you don’t need to be staying in shit like this.”

“I agree,” she grinned, revealing a pretty model smile and a deep dimple in her left cheek. “Everybody doesn’t have a prince charming like Trecee. Some of us bitches have to get it out the mud as we climb our way to the top.”

“Yo cousin…Y’all always into and shit.”

“When she starts smelling herself, I bring her back to earth. I love my cousin dearly and would give her the shirt off my back, but I can’t say that she’d do the same for me. Trecee has always dreamed of living this ghetto fabulous lifestyle with a selfish mindset.”

Licking my lips, I took everything she was saying in.

Girls like Synthia are rare, most of the time coming from tumultuous backgrounds trying to level shit out.

I’ve always respected a girl with a hustle versus a girl looking for a handout without bringing anything to the table.

Society ruled women like that as a common dominator, so it makes it strange when pretty girls like Synthia, living like this.

“Yeah, I feel you, that’s your car?”

“Yeah, I purchased it from an auction. It gave me a good run, until I couldn’t keep up with the maintenance.”

“So how you be getting around and shit, Trecee?”

She scrunched her face and threw her head back, releasing a sarcastic laugh.

“Trecee wouldn’t give me a ride to the store if I was around the corner. She has her days, but I don’t bother nobody who likes to give me the third degree about it.”

“So how you be getting around and shit?”

“Mimi, when she has her car, I catch the bus, Uber, or I walk. Sometimes I catch rides from coworkers, if I don’t have any other options.”

“Damn you to fucking pretty to be living like this,” I said out loud, dwelling on my thoughts again.

“That’s the thing, I tell Trecee, being pretty doesn’t limit you from going through hard times. I don’t like the idea of using what I got to get what I want . I’d rather hustle and do what I can.”

“I feel you on that, but you don’t think it’s a nigga out here who’d rather trick off, shower you with shit that you deserve, and spoil you?”

“Then I’d be in the same position that Trecee’s in,” she glowered.

“And what position is that?”

“Depending on a nigga hand and foot to take care of her, with nothing to show for it. Those may be her dreams, but they aren’t mine.”

“Damn, you really built different,” I stated, more so shocked by her difference in opinion.

“I just have a different thought process.”

There were a few moments of silence before she thanked me for the ride and prepared to get out of the car until I stopped her.

“Hold on, let me get that for you.”

“It’s okay, Rome, I’m not handicapped.”

“It ain’t about you being handicapped, Synthia, it’s about being in the presence of a real nigga. When you’re with me, you don’t open doors, you don’t do masculine shit. I’ll treat you like a Princess, none of that hard body shit you’re used to. You were born soft, and you need to remain that way.”

With a subtle smile, she nodded and stated, "I guess you’re built different too.”

Stepping aside, I opened the door a little wider for her. “I told you I’m not the bad guy in everybody’s story.”

“I heard you when you said it, but what does that have to do with me?”

“Because.” I reached out and poked her stomach. “I’m trying to be the good guy in yours.”

“Oh really,” stepping out of the car, I extended my hand and helped her onto the sidewalk.

The pavement had a high ass dip, and it was easy for anybody to stumble if they weren’t careful.

Tilting her head, she glanced up at me, looking into my eyes.

“And what does being the good guy in my story look like?”

Chuckling lowly, I grabbed the cusp of her chin and stroked it.

Her face felt like velvet between my fingertips.

Aside from me telling her she was pretty as fuck, I’m sure she’s heard that a million times, and only an insecure ass bitch would point out her flaws because she walks around as if she doesn’t have any.

I’m not trying to run game because from the sound of it, it doesn’t sound like she’d be gullible to anything.

However, I want to be a stepping stone, investing in her dreams, treating her like a franchise.

Releasing her chin, I dug in my pocket and passed her the stack of bills. She looked at it like it was an infectious disease under a microscope.

“I can’t take this,” she held it out, trying to give it back.

Towering over her, I clasped my hand around her small ones and pushed them back. “You got two hands, and you can take anything I give you.”

“You know what I mean and Trecee?—”

I interjected, “Don’t run shit. She don’t jump unless I tell her to.”

“I don’t even know what to do with this, where to put it.”

“You’re smart, and I know you ain’t gone blow it. Do you have a bank account?”

She nodded her head while twisting her mouth to the side. “I’m with Regions.”

“Okay, cool. Don’t deposit all the shit at once, unless you have big transactions that’ll match it. Regions be with the shit and they’ll flag your account for fraud, so do little by little—a few hunnid here and a few hunnid there, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah. Here you are giving me rides and money, and the only thing I can offer you is a thank you,” she simmered down.

“You know how to cook?”

“Do I?” she giggled. “I’m the one who taught Trecee how to cook. I know how to throw down in the kitchen. I’m trusted with Thanksgiving dinner.”

We shared a laugh. “Oh shit, look at you!”

“As lanky as you are, you don’t look like you eat much no way,” she teased.

I rubbed my stomach, shook my head, and spoke when my laughter subsided. “I been a lanky nigga all my life. My body fat only goes to one spot though.”

Pushing my flirtatious mannerism to the side, she shook her head and looked off for a minute before diverting her gaze back to me.

“I can cook, just tell me what you have a taste for and I’ll make it for you.”

“Soul food on Sundays, like my granny used to make—turkey necks, collard greens, candied yams, baked macaroni and cheese, cornbread and not that Jiffy shit, I’m talking ‘bout homemade—from scratch,” I grinned.

“That’s a big meal, Rome.”

Reaching down, I swiped my finger under her chin as I bit down on the bottom of my lip. “You think you can handle that?”

“I got it. I’ll have to look at my schedule. Usually I’m off on Sundays, but I’ll double check again tomorrow though.”

“Cool, I’ll pull up on you. Let me see your phone so I can lock my number in.”

“Rome,” she sighed. “The ride home, the money, I’m only cooking for you to thank you, but me having your number is?—”

“Harmless,” I cut her off to say. “Don’t be so quick to ruin a good thing.”

Hesitantly, she thought about it for a second before passing her iPhone to me. I locked my number in and saved the contact as RJ, then shot myself a text and saved her contact as Juicy in mine, then passed her phone back.

“If you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to hit me up. I mean that shit, that goes for anything, money, a ride, hit me up. Don’t be too quick to figure shit out on your own in survival mode. Use me for something.”

“I hear you, thank you again, Rome. I really appreciate you.”

“No problem, ma.”

Synthia gave me a light smile before walking up the driveway. I waited for her to make sure she was safely inside the house before pulling off and heading back home to my spot in Midtown.