M͓̽y͓̽ c͓̽o͓̽n͓̽v͓̽i͓̽c͓̽t͓̽ [B͓̽W͓̽W͓̽M͓̽]

7-Plan✔

+Brandy

My mind is blank as the soft sound of music plays through the speaker of my car. I'm parked outside of an old apartment complex, watching the rusty building like a hawk.

From across the street, I watch as the man known as JD sells a couple of Percocets to some teenager. The action causes me to shake my head, he could've told them, no, but like any other drug dealer money was everything. It didn't matter who they got it from. They'd most likely end up selling to a six-year-old if they were to cough up a good amount of money, which was sickening.

It's crazy how our world works.

The government makes the drugs, puts it in low-income communities, which mainly have blacks and Latinos and from there on these idiot drug dealers sell it, fuck up the community some more. Have addicts running up and down the place, fuck up the mentality of kids. And while all this is happening, the government is sitting back, making laws to keep us incarcerated for half our lives.

And the sad part is, you can tell these idiot drug dealers this and they'll still sell.

Why?

Because money is everything. It makes the world go round. But I don't blame them as much. They get arrested and do more time than they should in prison, let's not forget, they get charged with the most outrageous things. And once they get out, they can't get a job because of their record. Which leads them to become drug dealers, because it's the quickest way to make bread.

Then the cycle continues... over and over again.

My eyes linger on the dark skin girl with red hair, that walks up to JD after the teens buying from him left. She was a petite thing and had a body on her. From the 'I love JD' tattoo on her right arm, I already knew it was Yonnie.

It looks like it was true what my girls had said, she does have bruises all over her face. JD must have not liked the words that came out her mouth, because just as soon as she finished talking, he grabbed her by the arm and quickly pulled her inside of her apartment.

That was my cue.

Reaching into my glove compartment, I take out the unregistered 9MM Pistol that I got from some kid who tried to use it on his stepdad. His stepfather was beating him and his mother and all he wanted to do was make it stop. So he bought a gun from off the streets and before he planned on using it, he called me.

Before I could open the car door, the sound of my phone ringing stops me. Letting out a breath, I pick up my phone from the seat and stare at it as Tyson's picture pops up. "Hey, Tyson," I say, cooly answering the phone.

"Where are you?" He questions, not even saying hello.

I lie. "I'm at home. Why you asking?"

He scoffs. "At home." He repeats. "That's funny because I just stopped by your house." My heart rises. "No one picked up." I sigh in relief. "But then I got a call from Mia. She said to call you before you get yourself hurt," he pauses. "Just like last time." From the indication of his voice, it didn't take long for me to know that he knew what I was up too. "Let me handle it, Brandy."

I frown. "You mean how you were supposed to handle it last time?" My voice hardens. "You didn't handle it last time, which was the reason why I got hurt in the first place. And that's fine Tyson, it really is. But now, I'm gonna put on my big girl pants and I'm gonna handle it, just the way that I please. Since your way didn't work."

"You," he clears his throat. "You can't do it your way Brandy. Two wrongs don't make a right." He pauses, before continuing. "As a friend, I'll go to the police."