Page 21 of ‘Til I Say When

T wo days after the cookout at Wilde’s grandmother’s house, he hit me up and asked me to come over. It had also been two days since I drank lean, and after we had sex, I was getting dressed to go home, when I gave him a bashful look.

“Can I get a bottle of syrup? I’m going to pay for it. I promise.”

“Nah,” Wilde stood up and walked towards the bathroom. “You need to slow down on that shit.”

My brows furrowed, but I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I waited for a few moments to see if he was joking. When I heard him peeing, I walked into the bathroom. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah, I am. You bought the last bottle, what? Two weeks ago. You on that shit heavy.”

“And so the fuck what?” I snapped. “When did drug dealers become the moral police? Do you worry about everyone else that buys it and how often they use it?”

“I’m not sticking dick in them.”

“Nigga, and what does that mean?!” I screeched. “You stuck your dick in a woman and got her pregnant, and you don’t even check on your own child. But you’re trying to tell me what to do?”

Wilde flushed the toilet and tossed a bored look my way. “See how mad you are because I said no? That’s addict behavior. You need to take a break from that shit.”

“I’m an addict?” I recoiled from his words. “Bet. Since you’re judging and acting all high and mighty, you must be a saint. So, how I about I flush your weed down the toilet? Or throw it in the trash? ‘Cus you can do without it right?”

Still, Wilde remained calm. “I can admit I’m addicted to weed, and I’m not judging you.

I’m just telling you that you don’t want to let that shit get out of control.

I only have three bottles left, and I don’t know when I’m going to get my next case.

You might have to go without it for a week or two anyway.

Go ahead and start weaning yourself off the shit. ”

“You care about me being addicted to lean, but you’re framing me for a murder that I didn’t commit?!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “This is crazy.” I stormed back into his bedroom and got dressed faster than I ever had in life. I was pissed and didn’t want to be around him.

He was right. I was acting like an addict because I was one.

Of course, I needed to chill out with the lean, but I wanted to do it by choice and not by force.

I was tired of people that smoked weed and drank alcohol telling me that I shouldn’t be drinking lean.

We all had something we were addicted to, and they weren’t any better than me.

Wilde was just as stubborn as me so no matter how badly I wanted him to stop me from leaving and give me the syrup, I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t.

Of course, his tough ass wouldn’t be moved by me having a bitch fit.

He stood his ground, and I didn’t get any syrup.

I didn’t want to call KoKo and ask if she knew where I could get some because she would more than likely give me a lecture, too.

I was annoyed, but there was nothing that I could do besides quit.

I needed something. I wouldn’t be able to sleep without it.

I stopped by the ABC store and got some tequila.

After four shots and a shower, I was tipsy and ready for bed.

I knew replacing the lean with alcohol wasn’t good, either.

Shit. How did I even get addicted to lean in the first place?

It didn’t take long to remember. Drew brought some home one night and mixed it up.

He gave me some, and I liked the way it made me feel.

Back then, I didn’t drink it every day or even every week.

Just a couple of times a month. If Drew bought two bottles, they would last for two to three months.

After my third miscarriage, I started drinking it several times a week, and I ended up getting Mazi’s number from Tyrese.

I started buying it from him without Drew knowing.

He was never home, and it was easy for me to hide.

I’d sip it while he was gone and be knocked out by the time he made it in for the night.

The more we argued, and the more verbally abusive he became, I found solace in lean.

He didn’t even comfort me while I mourned my loss.

In his mind, I miscarried early in the pregnancy, so there was nothing for me to be attached to.

But I had spent each pregnancy, wanting my child.

Wondering the gender, thinking of names.

Each time, I miscarried before twelve weeks.

The longest I stayed pregnant was ten weeks, and that was the last pregnancy.

I was hopeful that I’d make it, but nope.

One trip to the bathroom shattered that dream.

I told myself I just had to accept the fact that it wasn’t meant for me to have a child, and I tried to move on.

But, it still made me mad. KoKo and my mom both told me that maybe it wasn’t meant to have a child by Drew.

And I could get that, but I would rather have not gotten pregnant at all than to keep getting my hopes up and miscarrying.

I sighed as I traveled down memory lane.

Thanks to Wilde, I was going to have to find a new plug, or I was going to have to find a new way to cope.

I didn’t want to be addicted to anything.

Snuggling underneath my covers, I closed my eyes and prayed that withdrawing from codeine wouldn’t do me dirty.

I had a car to wrap the next day, and I couldn’t be at work going through it.

My prayers went unanswered. When I woke up the next morning, my stomach was cramping so bad, and I had diarrhea.

I was real close to not going to work, but if I sat in the house all day, I felt like I’d go crazy.

That was a big mistake because I had only been there for an hour when my legs began to ache.

I hadn’t had muscle aches since I had the flu when I was nineteen.

Squatting to work on the car I was wrapping was torture.

The air was blasting in the garage, but a thin layer of sweat still covered my forehead.

I felt like death, and I told myself after I wrapped sixty percent of the car, I’d leave for the day. I just couldn’t do it.

I had to thank God that Tyrese was busy.

He had several cars to detail and within my first hour at work, he’d done three state inspections.

Tyrese could be chatty, and I wasn’t in the mood to hear him talk about dumb shit.

I had to check myself for almost going off on somebody on the phone that was asking a bunch of unnecessary questions rather than going to the website where all the information was located.

I was irritable and moody as hell. I refused to do a rush job, no matter how bad I felt.

The car that I was wrapping belonged to a big time dope boy out of Durham, North Carolina.

He also had a lounge and a few other businesses.

He had at least four cars, and I hoped he would get more than one of his cars wrapped.

Business had been booming lately, and all I could do was pray that it would continue.

I refused to do a bad job and lose potential customers or a repeat customer.

When I stood up and saw Drew in the door of my garage, I wanted to scream. It wasn’t the day to be dealing with BS. I was trying to get a large portion of the car done, so I could go home and be miserable in peace. I didn’t need stupid, uninvited distractions.

“You really fucking with a nigga that’s trying to kill me? Him and his people killed Boone and his baby mama, and you’re fucking with him?” Drew had the nerve to look hurt.

“Please leave me alone,” I snapped. “I don’t check to see who niggas are beefing with before I start dealing with them.

I don’t owe you anything except the same hard disrespectful time that you used to give me.

Fuck out my shop,” I snapped. I didn’t need to be feeling bad to go in on Drew, but he had truly picked the wrong time to bother me.

I began to feel nauseous, and I just wanted to cry. I was over it all.

“You got a real slick mouth.” Drew’s eyes were blazing with anger, and I couldn’t care less. “I did and said some foul shit, and I can be man enough to apologize for that.”

I snorted. “Man enough? I’m not going to ask you again to leave.

I swear to God I’m not. Don’t come in here crying to me ‘cus them niggas on yo’ ass.

I give not one fuck. Die, nigga!” I was so irritated, I was beginning to shock my damn self.

I’d never disliked anyone enough to wish death on them, but I was going through codeine withdrawals and sweating like a stripper in church.

I was uncomfortable and in the worst mood.

“Wow,” Drew chuckled angrily. “Okay. I’ll leave. I hope you don’t like that nigga too much because if so, you just might be crying over his casket. I’ll see you around. Barren ass bitch.”

His words didn’t even hurt. In the moment, emotional pain was nothing compared to what I was feeling physically.

Drew left the garage, and I spent another five minutes finishing up my work for the day.

When Wilde ambled into the garage looking pissed, my head would have spun around if it was possible.

“You still be talking to that nigga?” he asked calmly.

“You are not my daddy!” I yelled, way louder than I intended to. “Just leave me the hell alone. You got what you wanted. Drew is mad. Mission accomplished. You can leave me alone now.”

Wilde stared at me for a moment then he pushed out a small sigh.

“You need some syrup?” his tone was gentle, which shocked me.

Cough syrup would have been the answer to my prayers.

It would have made the cramping, muscle aches, and sweating disappear.

I wanted it. No, I needed it, but I had already started the process.

Going back would be stupid. I wanted to say yes, but I couldn’t.