a girl drenched in emotional scars and a rapper tangled by toxic demons are forced to face their legal issues together. Little did they know of the sparks they'd electrify within each other.
warning: profanity/drugs/death referrences
highest rank: #...
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|JASMINE SANDERS|
I was tired of worrying about Gavin. I wanted to forget about him. His existence needed to vanish for a moment. With Uzi that was possible.
We jumped out of the limo and into a grocery store. Uzi was craving for some blueberry pop tarts while I wanted a bag of Lays chips.
Country music played from somewhere above. The long aisles made of food shelves and checkered tiles smelled of clorox bleach.
"Damn, they got the lamest flavour of poptarts up in this bitch." Uzi grumbled, inspecting every box of poptarts the store owned.
I kept quiet. Instead I studied him, noticing all the details I had failed to see before.
"I like your hair." I muttered, not expecting him to hear.
"Last time I checked I was a grapefruit. " He smirked.
"Well, yeah you are but---what's wrong?"
All of a sudden, Uzi stopped. He looked tense, his eyes were locked on something---or someone. That someone was Offset. Offset was givinf Uzi a sneaky grin, showing off his gold grill. He ran his hand through his black tied up dreads. Then, he fluffed his red jacket.
I looked back and forth between the two. They stared at each other with stern, angry faces. They seemed ready to pop off at any moment. I nudged Uzi but he didn't bother to move.
"You mad you can't keep ya' girl?" Offset threw his head back and laughed, his chains glistening.
Uzi threw himself at Offset's direction. His fist crashed into Offset's face so hard that there was a loud crunch. Everyone twisted their heads in our direction as blood dripped from his face. Uzi clenched his bloody fist, panting heavily.
I stared at him wide eyed. Poor Offset was sprawled out on the floor over a simple sentence. I had never seen this side of Uzi. This dangerous, reckless side. This side that for whatever reason made me scared of him and what he could do. But, right then and there, my opinion on his actions didnt matter, I just knew we had to leave.
I immediately grabbed him by the arm and we took off running. People in the store called out after us; we didn't care.
And as we dashed, I wondered, what was this feeling called? When you were running away from something other than the grim secrets of your life. When your pulse was ringing in your ears but you could care less. What was it called when you were scared but in a good, thrilling kind of way?
