"I hurt on the daily. Be my peace, I'm tired of the pain."
*
If you want a love story about two happy people thuggin', this ain't that.
SHORT story based on Youngboy Never Broke Again's verse in: On Me
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"I walk alone—I miss lil Dave. I think about dying everyday."
The day after that felt like an eternity to Kentrell. The night before, him and Ivette had talked all night about his pinned up rage. She suggested he see somebody about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Telling him to go to the doctor would usually be like a slug to the face, but Eve was quite gentle with it. She didn't make him feel like he was crazy.
But him walking down the summer streets of Baton Rouge in the middle of the night with all black on had made passerby's think he was.
Mental. Crazy. Insane.
The words buzzed around his head like bees. Aggressive, annoying, shaming bees. It was three times worse now.
He dug his hands in his deep pockets as he walked along the yellow lines in the road. The neighborhood he was passing through was quiet. Not a porch light on in sight. He was fully aware of his labored breathing as his feet hit the tarred pavement with a crackling tap.
He hadn't talked to Ivette all day. He wasn't mad, neither was she. They just hadn't contacted each other since he left her hotel room. Giving each other a little space? Alone time? Kentrell wasn't really sure. He just knew it didn't sit too nice with him.
He didn't like being alone.
That's what him and Jania had in common.
But of course, he didn't wanna think of Jania's cheating ass. He never wanted to see her again.
He couldn't help but think of how disloyal she was to him, even though he was in no way a saint. All he asked of her was to not make him look stupid. But with her pictures and videos being leaked to a thousand shaderooms, he couldn't look any more dumb. Unless he went back to her.
He shook Jania from his thoughts as he turned the corner onto a darker street he was familiar with. This street was more livelier than the last, old porch lights flickering as high school boys played and gambled on some and older women gossiped on others.
Kentrell stepped up onto the creaking wooden porch with a smile on his face. His little cousin, Malik, was posted up with his friends shooting dice.
"Waddup lil nigga." His raspy voice could barely be heard above the shouts from the boys. Malik dapped up his big cousin and looked back at the game. "Where Auntie?"
"Kitchen, I think." This late? Kentrell shrugged his shoulders and clicked open the screen door, stepping into the warm house. Reporters droned on about the fire that burned a house on Cherry St. to a crisp, grease bubbled loudly, and pots hit the stove with clangs as his aunt hummed Life and Favor...or maybe Karma. They sounded too much alike.
