Ecstasy- Rapper imagines

Homeless- nle choppa

"And don't bring ya ass back here," my mama yells as she throws my booksack full of clothes at me. How she mad at me because her husband raped me? How that work? So I gotta live on the streets because ha coochie too loose.

Not to mention I'm traumatized at this point. My legs hurt and every time I see a man that look like her husband I catch a panic attack. She ain't even help me clean up the blood or let me properly clean myself. She just started yelling and screaming at me to get out her house, calling me a slut. Acting as if she just ain't come from getting her back broken at my dad's house.

It's cold outside, but thankfully I dressed warm. I got my dad's big north face hoodie on and some Nike sweats. I only got one pair of shoes on me and it's my dirty Air Forces. Them bitches been through it. You do not wanna be in my shoes but I guess it's my turn. I keep walking, slow as hell.

Im limping so people probably think im a premature crack head in the making. I don't care, I just want something to drink. And a shower. And a bath. And some donuts. I should walk my ass to the hospital but it's too far and I don't have a phone to call nobody. Plus, if I do they gon put me in a orphanage. And I'm too old to be Annie.

"Something wrong wit yo leg or sum," I hear a nigga yell. No, nigga. Because I'm not limping, right? I turn around to see Bryson.

"No shit Bry," I tell him, leaning on him for balance. Finally can give this leg a break. He lifts me up and carries me to where him and the boys were sitting.

"Yo, what happened to you shorty," Brady asks, sitting farther from me so I can elevate my leg.

"Nothing," I lie, flinching as Chris touches my thigh. I smack his hand away.

"That look like a whole lot of something," he says, putting his hands up to surrender.

I may be homeless, hungry, thirst, cold and cripple but I ain't stupid. I tell Bryson and them what happened, it's like hiring a hitman. They gon kill my mama too. Shit, they might kill the rest of my family and the neighbors for not stopping it from happening.

"Why you wasn't answering the phone? I was finna come getchu," Bryson says, laying his head on my shoulder.

"My mama took it." I didn't lie. She did take it and then she broke it but that's besides the point.

"Damn, what you did?"

"Oh shit. It makes sense why you limping now," Chris laughs. "Yo mama whipped. That. Ass."

Everybody joins in, and I smack them behind their heads.

"Nah but what happened, be serious," Brady asks. I look at all of them, and then back to Bryson. I need a place to stay and I know Angela gon let me stay with them, shit she been wanting me to move in for the longest. I wish she was my real mama.

I glance at Bryson and grab his hand, squeezing it. He squeezes it back and gives me a confusing look. "Wassam ma?"

"I got kicked out," I finally spit out.

"You got kicked out cuz you was fucking in house?!"

"That's why she limping y'all," Chris laughs like a hyena. Bryson pulls his hand out of mine and stands up, mugging the fuck outta me.

"Why she kicked you out?"

"I wasn't fuck- well it was something like that-"

"Fuck you mean 'something like that'? Who you fucking," he angrily gets in my face as he says this. I start to shake, not because of the cold but because of the heat falling from Brysons body. We're not dating but we're something, and me fucking somebody else compromises that.

"My stepdad," I whisper.

"Aw shit," Chris says holding his stomach, laughing harder. Brady falls off the bench and rolls on the ground.

"Double homicide!"

"She stole ha mama man!"

Bryson kicks Brady in the back.

"Ain't shit funny bruh," Bryson yells, clearly about to kill me. I stand up but wince at the pain in my leg.

"Shit it hurts."

"Shoulda thought about that before you fucked ya daddy. Omg did you call him daddy? I swear to God," Brady continues causing Chris to fall out this time.

"I didn't fuck him he raped me idiot," I yell, pissed off. I finnaly gain the ability to stand and walk away from the three of them. I know Chris and Brady been like this, and trust me, Bryson is worse than the both of them. He just don't play bout me.

"What the fuck did you just say," Bryson yells, pulling my arm to turn me around. I see Chris and Brady already on the phone, cussing at whoever is on the other side.

"He raped me, Bry," I say, breaking down. He catches me and holds me tight in his arms. "And she kicked me out. Me! I get raped and she kicks me out. Her own fucking daughter!"

"We got him," Brady yells from where we were. "Got niggas tracking his shit."

"I got him and that bitchass mama of yours. I'm making sure I pull that fucking trigger my damn self," Chris follows up.

I just continue to cry and Bryson rubs my back. My head lies in his chest so I look up to see him pissed as hell.

"Imma fuck that nigga up man," he whispers in an angry tone. "On my grandma grave I'm busting a cap in his shit. Wanna hurt my girl. Ight nigga watch."

"Please," I say, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I just wanna go to sleep. I don't wanna worry about that shit. I just want a hot shower and something to eat."

"Lemme take you to my mama house," Bryson says, picking me up once again. He carries me to the car, waving bye to the boys. I know the moment I fall asleep he going with them. I know my stepdad ain't gon be alive. But I don't care.

Because I also know Bryson got me.

I hold his hand as we ride back to his house and drift off to sleep, praying that when I wake up, my bath water will be ran and I'll have crispy cream donuts waiting for me.  Praying that I have a roof over my head, and Bryson, still alive and not in jail- after what I know he's gonna do.