His Thing

Chapter 4

WARNING: Mentions of beer; police brutality/the thing the po po does bc they think they can idk

I took a very long nap and missed half of the day🙃
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Jack lay on his bed in his makeshift room at Medda's theater, where he kept his cans of paint, pencils, and projects. He lay around all of them, but his mind was elsewhere.

He couldn't believe he jumped out of a window—sure he could, he's done worse—because he was mad. He let his feelings get the best of him.

He listened to the chants outside his window, closing his eyes as they started to fade away. His worries and frustration faded with it, being overtaken by the face of his soulmate.

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Jack woke up at 11:34pm. There was no point in him going back to sleep, so swung his legs over his bed, rubbing his eyes awake. He saw a kicked over can in the corner of the room, exactly how it had been, meaning no one had come in. Crutch must've told the boys not to come over.

Jack walked out of his room, opening the door quietly as to not wake Medda. She'd probably be awake anyway, seeming to run on little sleep, but still look as young as the day he'd met her.

He walked to the small snack room, a room full of food and drinks that Medda stashed away for her actors. Jack opened the refrigerator, grabbing a beer.

"You know you shouldn't be drinkin' that", Medda says, walking into the room. "At least not this late."

Jack chuckled as he sat down at the small table, watching as Medda walked in further, grabbing herself a beer. He always admired that about her, how she always walked around with the confidence of a queen, hair wrap and all.

It definitely helped that she threw some bitchin' parties.

"What's on your mind, kid?" She passed the drink to Jack, silently asking him to open it. "You got that thinkin' look on your face."

Jack smiled, popping off the top with his own drink. "What do you do when you's in love, Miss Larkin?"

Medda chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. There was no real answer to this question, just the simple actions that were part of it. "You fight for it, I'd guess. That's what my daddy told me, and that's what he did. All the way until the end."

Jack smiled, taking a sip. "So you're folks were some pretty good role models, huh?"

"I ain't say all that", Medda replied, staring at the table. "My daddy was a good man, though."

"I bet", Jack muttered, his lips curling into a thin line. The short memories he had of his father began to pop into his head. "Seems like it."

"Why?"

"I's in love, Medda", Jack says seriously, looking at her directly. "Passionate, wonderful, hard love. The one you used to have."

"Oh, ain't no love like the one I used to have, honey", Medda laughed, clinking her beer with Jack's. "But I get it. What's his name?"

"Who said it's a guy?"

"The young man that spent the night up in your room", Medda responded slyly. "And you know Crutchie can't keep a secret."

Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "Damn that kid."

"So?"

"I got into a argument with his sister", Jack sipped, swallowing hard. "Nothin' too bad, just a few choice words on both ends. 'Fraid he hates me."