Loud

Chapter Twelve

I stare at my laptop screen as tears roll down my cheeks. It's hard to write music when you feel like it doesn't have a purpose anymore.

A hand touches my shoulder and I jump out of surprise. I was so absorbed in my music and grief I got scared of Jessimae's touch.

"I didn't mean to scare you," she says massaging my shoulders.

"No...no, it's fine." I wipe my eyes and force a smile.

"Come here."

Jessimae puts her arms out and I don't waste time in accepting her embrace. I don't try to hide my tears either; it's obvious that I'm upset.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she whispers as she begins crying herself. "What happened to him was wrong and I know you know that."

I didn't reply.

"What are you going to do about the music?" she asks, releasing me from the embrace.

"I don't know," I reply, wiping my tears. "I'm talking to Krizelle about it today."

"Don't you think this is the perfect opportunity-"

"I knew someone would say that!" I yell, slamming my laptop closed. "I can't believe anyone would think I'd take my friend's death as a time to take the spotlight. Malik died!"

"I understand that-"

"I'm not rapping these songs, I'm not going to have a solo career, I'm not going to get famous off my friend's death. It's not happening so you can forget about it." I zip up my backpack and sling it over my shoulder before storming away.

"Daveed, wait!" Jessimae nearly runs to catch up to me. "Daveed," she pants, "you can't let this music die on your laptop."

"Watch me."

"Listen to me for a second. Please."

I ignore her.

"Daveed." Jessimae grips my arm until I can feel her nails digging into my skin. "Listen."

I have no choice now. It takes everything in me to look her in the eye.

"I'm not saying that you're using Malik's death as a ticket to the top but I think it's a sign," she explains.

"A sign?" I chuckle. "A sign from who about what? I'm not rapping, Jessimae."

"Daveed-"

"I said I'm not rapping!"

She takes a step back and the fear in her eyes is enough to make me cry again. I inhale a shaky breath before repeating, "I'm not rapping."

***

Yolanda hasn't stopped crying since the day Malik died and it breaks my heart to see her so sad again. After her husband's death, she hasn't been the same. Now that she's lost her son, however, I don't know what to expect.

"Hey," I greet, walking into the living room of her apartment. She literally sits there all day and cries.

"Hi, baby," she says, pulling a couple tissues from a nearby tissue box. "How are you?"

"I'm okay." I sit next to her on the couch and pull her in close. "How are you?"

"Alive," she replies.

I press a kiss to the top of head and squeeze her as tight as I can. "You should come with me to talk to Krizelle. You need to get out of the house," I suggest.

"No, I can't."

"You need to. It's not good for you to sit inside all day. I want you come with me. Please?"