Page 4 of You Deserve Good Things

The Helpless Protector

I wasn’t there when it happened.

And that shit? That shit ate me alive every damn day.

I wasn’t talking about guilt that faded after a while. I was talking about the kind that woke you up in cold sweats. The kind that made you look at your phone three times an hour hoping maybe that call never came.

But it did.

I got the call from Chase.

His voice was shaking, and if you knew Chase, then you’d know—that boy didn’t shake . Not even when shit got ugly. But that night?

“J . . . Silas gone.”

My whole body went cold like the blood in my veins hit a brick wall.

“What?” I whispered, already standing up, heart pounding.

“He got shot, bro.” Chase breathed. “Shaniya was with him.”

That was all it took.

I didn’t ask no questions. I didn’t let another word fall out his mouth.

I just hung up and ran— literally —out the damn door like my feet had a mind of their own.

I didn’t remember grabbing my keys. I didn’t remember the drive.

I just remembered the way my chest felt like it was being pulled apart, piece by piece, with every turn I made.

And then I saw her.

Shaniya.

My baby. My best friend. The girl I’d loved since we were damn near in diapers.

She was on her knees in the middle of it all, her hands drenched in blood—Silas’s blood.

I froze. My feet hit the pavement like they forgot how to move. Everything in me locked up.

Then I ran.

“Shaniya!” I dropped beside her, knees crashing hard against the asphalt.

She didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were stuck on Silas’s body like her soul was still begging him to get up. Her hands shook, her breathing was shallow, lips were trembling, but no sound came out.

“Baby, please,” I whispered, taking her face in my hands. “Look at me.”

Nothing. Not even a blink.

It was like the light in her went out.

I pulled her into me, cradling her like she was made of glass, and I was already holding her broken pieces. Blood soaked into my hoodie, but I didn’t care. I would’ve taken all of it if it meant she’d come back to me.

Chase was somewhere behind me, screaming, cussing, ready to crash out.

I could hear the thuds of his boots stomping the pavement, hear him cussing out the cops for being late, for not caring.

And I didn’t blame him one bit. I could see the flashing lights—red and blue spinning across the block like a siren was mourning with us.

The smell in the air was heavy. Thick. Gunpowder and blood. Death.

But me?

I didn’t want revenge.

I didn’t want justice.

I just wanted her to be okay.

I kept wiping the blood off her hands, over and over, like I could erase what happened. But it was still there. Everywhere.

The police tried talking to her. Asked me if she could give a statement. Statement? She didn’t even look like she remembered how to breathe. I snapped. Told them if they didn’t back the hell up off her, we were gonna have a bigger problem than bullets.

I picked her up—literally—put her in my car, and drove. I didn’t ask nobody permission. I didn’t care what the rules were.

She sat in the passenger seat like a doll, seat belt on, hands folded in her lap. Her eyes stuck straight ahead, unmoving.

“Baby, say something,” I murmured. “Anything.”

Nothing.

I reached over, slid my fingers through hers. Her hand was cold. Limp. Like she wasn’t even in her own body anymore.

And me?

I was begging God to take me back five minutes.

Five minutes before Silas pulled into that lot.

Five minutes before those bullets found him.

Five minutes before everything changed.

I had never felt more useless in my life. Not when my pops walked out and left me and Mama to figure it out. Not when we had to boil water to bathe ’cause the gas was off. Not even when I caught my first L in the streets and had to learn what real pain felt like.

No, this was different.

This was watchin’ the one person I’d do anything for slip away from me and not being able to pull her back.

She didn’t speak for two days.

Two whole days.

No words. No eye contact. No food unless we damn near forced it.

Mama Shari was breaking apart in real time—running her fingers through Shaniya’s locs, tryin’ to coax words outta her with soft songs and childhood stories. Samuel, her daddy, just sat in the kitchen sometimes, head in his hands, grief wrapped around him like a straitjacket.

I spent every second I could at her side. Slept on the couch. Ate whatever leftovers they offered. Didn’t go home. Didn’t wanna go home. Home didn’t mean nothing if she wasn’t okay.

“Shaniya, please,” I whispered one night, sitting next to her on the couch. Her hand was in mine, but it felt like I was holding air.

She stared forward like I wasn’t even there.

And I swear on everything, it broke me in ways I didn’t even have words for.

Then came the bomb I ain’t see coming—they were leaving.

Mama Shari pulled me aside, her voice soft and cracked. “We’re moving to Houston, Jacory.”

My knees buckled. I damn near dropped.

“What?”

“She needs a fresh start,” she said, her eyes red and swollen. “We all do.”

A fresh start?

So, what—we just leave Silas in the ground and act like that was enough? Just leave me behind?

I fought back tears. “She needs me.”

“I know, baby. But she needs space more.”

I couldn’t even speak. I just walked out the kitchen and sat on the porch, fists clenched, trying not to punch a hole in my chest.

The day before they left, I asked—no, demanded—to see her.

Shari nodded and led me inside. The house was packed up. Photos off the walls. Boxes stacked by the door.

But Shaniya was still on the couch. Same hoodie. Same blank stare.

I sat down next to her.

Close, but not too close.

“Yaya, Ma said y’all leaving tomorrow,” I said softly, my voice catching in my throat. She didn’t move.

Nothing. I looked at her, eyes filling.

“You really gon’ leave me like this, baby? Without sayin’ nothin’?”

Still silence. Still heartbreak.

I touched her fingers. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t squeeze back either.

“You ain’t even gon’ say goodbye?”

Her jaw flexed. That was the first time I’d seen any emotion from her in days.

“I love you,” I said, tears spilling. “And I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do without you.”

She finally looked at me. And what I saw in her eyes?

Wasn’t anger.

Wasn’t sadness.

It was emptiness.

I begged. Pleaded. “Say something, Yaya. Please. Anything.”

She shook her head. Tears slid down her cheeks, and her lips trembled, but no sound came.

And that was when I knew.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to speak.

She couldn’t.

I pulled her close, holding on like she was all I had left.

“I got you, baby. You hear me? Always. I don’t care where you go, I’m yours. You’re mine. My Yaya.”

She nodded, barely. But I needed more.

“Say it,” I whispered. “Say you mine.”

She opened her mouth. Tried. But no sound came.

She just looked at me, gripped my hand, and let a single tear fall.

And that was it.

The next day, they were gone.

And I stood on that porch alone, watching the car drive away, knowing I’d just lost the only girl I ever truly loved.

But I also knew something else.

This wasn’t the end.

Not even close.