Right Behind You

Chapter Two: When I see It

"Spent the whole summer

Tryna be at the wrong place at the right time

But I know what's mine when I see it

I know, I know, I know when I see it."

-When I see It (Kanye West)

Kae:

I never thought my aunt would be this stupid, I didn't think her final moments would be at the hands of a man she said she was going to spend the rest of her life with. She wasn't always like this, it only happened after she married Camden and became my legal guardian. Then I watched as she changed right in front of my eyes.

Aunt Roselle was no more.

Her vacant eyes were drained of life and energy, they were the only things I saw as I told the officers what had happened last night. Eron had convinced me to tell the police about the murder, I said I would only do it if he was there with me.

Selfish, I know he was needed at the hospital but so was I.

"Okay, Ms. Francisque we'll contact you if we have any further questions." The officer said to me ending our session.

I nodded and stood up feeling weak and stripped of energy, I barely slept since I spent most of the night in the station. My feet dragged me towards the door and exit where Eron was waiting with a cup of coffee.

He handed it to me and smiled, "I figured you would need it." He stated.

My lips lifted into a weak smile as I took the cup from him. "Thanks," I whispered.

He nodded and ushered me out the door where his car was waiting to take us back to his place.

The ride back to his home was silent and my mind was constantly drifting off to my aunt and her dead body, freshly stained with blood.

She was supposed to come with me. We were supposed to run away from Camden.

From West-Englewood.

Not like this.

What was the last thing I ever said to her?

Flashback:

We had been sitting at the kitchen counter, just the two of us, Camden was out drinking with his disgusting pig friends and there was finally silence in the house.

Aunt Roselle was smoking her third cigarette and I was holding my breath hoping not to inhale the repulsive smell into my nostrils. My eyes were glued onto her bruised and battered face, filled with scars and cuts. She once had perfect skin that women on the block envied just like my mother, or what I used to remember of her. I was only seven when she overdosed on heroin at the back of one of the hoe rooms down the street.

"What the hell are you looking at?!" She barked at me once she noticed that I was consistently staring at her.

"Nothing." I turned back around avoiding eye contact with her red-brimmed eyes and cut lips.

She scoffed, "If you got something to say, just say it. I swear you're like your goddamned mother always holding something back." She took a puff of her smoke and coughed, "Guess that's why she overdosed so early into her prostitution career." She added.

I flinched at the mention of my mother's death, it wasn't something I was necessarily proud of.

"Why do you always mention my mother in bad taste?" I spurted out without thinking.