Page 19 of The Spirit Of My Savage

I had my girls with me all dressed up, and they pulled out the weed, Casamigos, and these little ghost decorated cupcakes. Justine swore she baked them, but everybody knew she bought from Walmart. The headstone looked cleaner than it ever did as I squatted down in front of it, passing the blunt to Unique.

“He hated this kind of weather,” I said quietly. “Used to say cold air made his bones ache.”

Sheena laughed. “That man hated everything cold. Ice, snow, everything. A hoodie hated to see him coming.”

I smiled at that. It felt good to laugh. We poured a shot for him and one for each of us. The liquor burned smoothly. The smoke circled up through the candlelight, twisting around the headstone like it belonged there. It had been a year, but some days it still felt like last week. That night in the hotel, the noise, the rain, the police. Everything changed after that.

Rome survived the gunshot but just barely. His lawyers tried to spin it like I was the one who attacked him. Surprisingly enough, a recording popped up a month after the shooting of Rome’s confession in that hotel room when he admitted he set up King’s murder.

Then came the phone taps from the night King died and phone records. His whole story unraveled piece by piece. Paralyzed from the neck down, he’s been locked up ever since with a fifteen-year minimum sentence. King’s old crew was dismantled, and everybody started doing their own thing.

As for me, well, I lied to the police and my lawyers like King told me to do that night. I told them what I had to, and it worked. The case was ruled self-defense, and I walked out free. But freedom didn’t feel like peace right away, so weekly therapy helped with that. The nightmares stopped after a few months. The guilt started to fade once the truth came out. Now, it’s just memories. Some heavy ones, yeah, but they don’t crush me anymore. I can breathe. I can sleep. I can stand tall without falling apart.

Asia nudged me. “You zonin’ out again.”

“I’m thinkin’,” I said, smiling. “It’s been a long year.”

Justine flicked ash off the blunt and passed it back. “And look at you now. Bouta open up a luxury boutique. You got a new place. New peace. No nigga stressin’ you. We proud of you, sis.”

“Damn right,” Unique added, raising her cup. “To peace and pumpkin spiced margaritas.”

We all laughed and clinked plastic cups. Our laughter echoed across the cemetery. I looked down at King’s headstone again. The candle flame danced low. “I’m finally good, King,” I whispered. “You got your justice. I got my peace.”

The breeze picked up, cool and sweet, pushing my hair back off my face. For a second, I swore I smelled his YSL cologne and I got chills.

Asia glanced at her phone. “Aight, y’all, we gotta roll. Club is ladies free before nine and I ain’t missin’ that costume contest.”

They started heading toward the car, laughing and bickering about who was going to win the contest. I stayed a step behind, looking over my shoulder one last time. The candles flickered harder, then steadied. The air went still. And then, I felt smack on my ass.

I jumped, and my head whipped around, eyes wide, and nobody was there. But I heard him right in my ear, low and smooth like always. “Still fine as fuck. I’m proud of you. Now, go be happy, baby.”

A chill ran down my spine, but it wasn’t fear. It was warmth and familiarity. I smiled to myself, whispering back, “I will, babe.”

As I approached the car, I heard Cardi’s new album bumping, my girls talking shit, and the faint whisper of King’s voice one last time. “Happy Halloween, Sky Pie.”