When The Sun Rises | ✔

18 | Thugs Have Feelings Too

     Chapter 18 | Thugs Have Feelings Too

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        Impatient is never a word I would have described myself with. Shit, with all the time I had to bide living in other people's houses and going up against random episodes of hyperventilation, my patience levels should be off the damn charts. I even had all them ass-numbing hours tucked between Sheila's knees getting my hair done to thank for it.

        But waiting for Ms. Miranda to pull up is clearing my patience out faster than a house party after bullets slice through the clouds of marijuana, cutting over the blare of the latest rap track.

        I know she'll want me to tell her what happened with Sheila, but those aren't details I'm ready to relive yet.

        Tired of holding my breath at every sound that drifts through my window, I turn on the TV and go to Netflix. The familiar da-doom greets me, red block letters flashing across the black screen.

        Scrolling through the original films, a low rumbling noise bleeds through my door. Listening closer, I make out the unmistakable croon of Alicia Keys' voice paired with a tone-deaf tenor.

        It can't be but one or two explanations.

        Either Ice JJ Fish is somewhere warming up for a comeback or Donovan non-singing ass is having another karaoke moment.

        Grinning, I grab my phone from the nightstand and tiptoe down the hall to his room. I inch the door open to find him with his eyes pinched like freshly squeezed lemons, standing in front of his mirror belting into an empty water bottle.

        I open the camera and press record before he notices me standing here. He's clutching the front of his gray sweats, navy blue briefs peeking from beneath the waistband. The black wife-beater he has on stretches with his exaggerated movements. I almost burst out laughing when he grips the bottle with both hands and rises to the tips of his toes, voice cracking on a high note.

        This nigga really think he killing it.

       "Some peopleee want it allll, but I don't want nothing at allll, if it ain't you baby if I ain't got you, baby."

        I zoom in on the veins bulging from his neck like brown lightning bolts and end the recording. The song loops back around to the beginning of the chorus and I join in.

        He jumps – crushing the bottle in the process – and whips the crumpled plastic at me.

        "Damn, Keila," he shouts.

        Smacking it before it can hit me, I mimic his motions, screwing up my face and grabbing at my pants.

        Pausing to catch his reaction, I let out the laugh I've been holding in. "Having a whole ass concert up in here, ain't you?"

        He swipes his forehead on his shoulder and waves me off.

        "Whatever, man. The hell you lurking for anyway? Must be tryna steal my moves," he grumbles, shuffling over to his dresser to lower the volume. Pulling his sweats up, he says, "Killed me and Alicia whole lil vibe, ya know."

        "Since when do you vibe to Alicia Keys?" I scoff and post up on the doorframe. My eyes drag across the room, lingering briefly on the stack of video games on his dresser and the row of shoe boxes jutting from under his bed frame. The cool gray walls are bare outside of the three framed basketball jerseys above his bed that he practically begged Ms. Corrine to let him hang a couple of weeks ago.