Delirium

Chapter 8 #3

“I’m good,” she said, looking down at her black socks before wiggling her toes.

With a deep breath she said, “I’m not taking another step until you tell me why I’m here.

All the way across the bridge in some… mansion.

That’s,” she paused and looked around. “Clearly not yours. You don’t give floral wallpaper. ”

I stared at her briefly, studying her. Brushing my hand over my cheek, I put my eyes on the accent wall she noticed.

It was a custom piece. Designed by an artist that went by L.

Johnson. She didn’t design wallpaper but after seeing one of her paintings at an associate's spot, I had to speak with her directly. The wallpaper wasn’t just floral.

It was of a botanical garden and some more shit.

It was layered. The way my moms used to be.

I looked away from the wall and put my attention back on Sereia. “You lack patience.”

“I do,” she admitted, boldly, like it was a good thing. Or rather a character trait she owned.

“I need you to look after my ma,” I said.

She drew back. “What?”

“My ma. I need you to—

“No, I heard you. I work at Coney Island, Exodus. I’m a cashier. At. Coney.”

I laughed and walked away, gesturing for her to follow me. “I’m hip. You don’t need to have a certificate or none of that extra shit.”

“How? I can’t do that. I don’t know anything about taking care of people. I don’t—

I looked over my shoulder at her. “Relax. Can you do that for me?”

She eyed me up and down again. This time with a little fire behind her eyes. “You’re not about to keep telling me to relax.”

“I don’t mean it in a disrespectful way, sweetheart. I just want you to chill. You jump to conclusions a lot.”

Her energy was busy. Frantic. Nervous. Shit made me a little uncomfortable, low key.

“What have you heard about her?” I asked, as we made our way to the living room.

“About your momma?” She questioned with dipped brows.

I nodded, brushing my hand down the back of my neck.

Because we were who we were, you know… prominent in the hood, known around the community, Marietta’s declining mental health was known.

It wasn’t something I wanted out there. It made me uncomfortable as hell, knowing that other muthafuckas knew what was going on within our family.

But shit, what could I do about it? Nothing.

Just deal. I just wanted moms to be talked about in a good light.

I wanted what she’d done for the community to be the topic of discussion.

Wanted people to remember her as Mari before Isaiah’s death.

She shrugged. “That she took your dad’s death hard. That’s it, really.”

“That’s it, really?” I asked with a light huff. “Yeah, aight.”

“What you want me to say? Tell you every rumor I heard? You know people talk in Brickhaven. They said a few things. Unimportant things. What I know is that she took Pastor Isaiah’s death hard.”

I looked over, nodded and continued through the house. My ma was a sore spot for me. I caught a couple bodies behind her name. Might’ve been erratic, going after niggas who’d said something about her mental health, but I did it. I hadn’t always kept my emotions intact. That was a skill I learned.

“Aight, look,” I said through a sigh. “She don’t require much. Her brain ain’t mush or no shit like—

“Exodus,” she calmly said. “I know her brain isn’t mush. I know grief—okay?”

I nodded. “Like I was sayin… she don’t require much.

Companionship. Help with meals, showers, brief changes, walks, shit like that.

Things you do every day, for the most part.

She takes medication too. On a schedule.

You don’t need a degree for this. Just a good heart.

” I looked over at her. “I think you can handle it. How you feel?”

“Honestly?”

“Of course. I wouldn't want it any other way than that. Ever,” I told her as we made our way into the kitchen where we stood, overlooking the living room at my ma.

“I’m—” She paused and chewed on the side of her lip. “I don’t think I can handle it.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and turned to face her. “What about it intimidates you?”

She nervously smiled and looked down. “Brief changes… I don’t… I’m not a nurse.”

I laughed and nodded. “Felt. Fa sho.”

Stroking my beard, I turned to look back at my ma. Those brief changes were a muthafucka. No lie. There was no way around them though. Moms was out of it. Wasn’t conscious enough to go to the toilet on her own. I wished she was. But it was what it was.

“You’ll be compensated accordingly,” I said before turning to face her again. “Three a week.”

Sereia frowned. “Three hundred dollars a week? I make more than that at Coney. Ain’t no way you brought me all the way over here to offer me three hundred a week to essentially be a CNA. I know I don’t have any certifications or anything but come on now. That’s disrespectful.”

I could have cut her off a minute ago, but I didn’t because I was intrigued.

Sereia carried herself in a fashion that I appreciated.

Although she was a little hesitant and paranoid, she was a spitfire.

Spoke her mind and didn’t give a fuck about who she was speaking her mind to.

For me, that was a rarity. Men tiptoed around me.

Big Dawg this, Big Dawg that. Heavy dick riding, trying to do everything in their power not to tick me off.

And the women? My God… the women were bashful as fuck, rarely made eye contact, and didn’t have morals with me.

It was up. They were overly going. Both sexes watched what they said to me.

However, not Sereia. Another bitch would have taken that ‘three hundred’ a week with a smile on her face, just to be close to me.

“You might as well call your friend back to take me home. I have to work in about an hour,” she continued, shaking her head, fumbling around her purse. Probably for her phone. Probably wanted to text her girls to tell them about me offering her three hundred fuck ass dollars to take care of my mom.

“Who said it was three hundred a week, sweetheart?” I coolly asked, peeping the frown on her face.

She shifted her eyes up at me. “You.”

“No. I said three a week. You assumed I meant three hundred. Why? I don’t fuckin’ know. Considering I just threw you ten bands not even a month ago.”

Her face softened a little and she put her phone back into her purse.

Not only was she impatient but she was impulsive and made assumptions without all of the information. Such a fuckin’ woman.

“You want to pay me three thousand dollars a week? Without a certi—

“I told you. All you need for this job is a good heart.”

We locked eyes for a couple of seconds before she looked away, arms crossed over her chest. “And you think I’m qualified?”

I nodded. “Uh huh. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so.”

“You don’t even know me,” she mumbled.

I could have told her about my faith and my relationship with Big G but I didn’t need to. I rarely ever spoke on it. If you weren’t a part of my immediate family, you had no idea. Not even Jada knew how locked in I was with Big G. That relationship was sacred.

I was a man of big faith.

He said she had a good heart, so… she had a good heart.

“I know enough,” I said with a deep breath. “So what up? You willing to change a couple briefs a day for three bands a week?”

She looked at me, drew back and playfully frowned. “Is a…” she looked over at moms and then at me before whispering, “...pigs pussy pork?”

I stood at the top of the porch, watching as Sereia and moms walked away from the house.

When my phone went off for the fifth time within the last two hours, I sighed and dug into my pocket to answer it.

Any other time I would have picked my phone up regardless of what I had going on but I was in the middle of practically training Sereia on what ma needed.

My undivided attention was needed for that.

I felt like whatever whoever wanted, they could get up with Kiss about it.

They were relentless though—calling twice back-to-back within the last five minutes.

Looking at the screen, I saw that it was Redd, another nigga I had handling shit for me. Right now, his priority was watching the crib. More specifically, Jada.

“What up, nigga?” I answered, watching moms and Sereia until they got out of eyesight.

“What up. You didn’t tell me the misses—

“Jada—

“My bad. You didn’t tell me Jada was leaving today.”

With dipped brows, I turned to go back into the house. “Because she’s not. Today is an editing day or whatever the fuck she calls it. That’s why I had you pull up when I had you pull up. Why? She ain’t there?”

He sucked in air and blew it out. “Hell naw. My bad bro—

“Not on you. You got there when you were supposed to.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. Taking my phone from my ear, I hit the menu button and swiped around until I got to the ‘Find My’ app. She probably went to the grocery store or something.

Clicking on it, I waited for her location to load.

Except it didn’t. The last pinged location was the crib, three hours ago.

Clicking off the Find My app, I went over to the security system app to check and see when she left.

I gripped the top of my basketball shorts and sat on the foyer bench, watching as she climbed into her Benz three hours ago.

Clicking off that app, I found the Mercedes Connect app to track the whip.

I watched it load and smirked when her location pinged in the hood.

Melbourne St. A couple of blocks away from her old block, Lanchester.

She was on the move, most likely looking for her crackhead ass daddy.

I brushed my hand over the top of my head and shook it.

“What it’s lookin’ like, boss?” Redd asked.

“I found her.”

“Send me the lo’. You want me to pull up?”

I sat on his question.

Stared at the map and clenched down on my teeth.

She was on sneaky shit. Kept taking her ass to that fuckin’ hood without an escort.

Well… last time she went she didn’t know she had one, but she did.

Same thing, though, low key. I didn’t really give too much of a fuck about her making dumb ass moves.

It was the sneaky shit I didn’t like. Fuck was wrong with that bitch?

“Nah,” I said. “She good.”

“You sure?”

I sighed and nodded as if he could see me. “Sure as hell. She said she good in the hood, she good in the hood. I’ll get up with you in a lil bit. Take the day off, my boy.”

With that, I hung up and stared at my phone, debating whether or not I’d call her.

The last time I talked to her was a couple of hours ago.

This morning, really. When we talked she said she would be lounging around in pajamas all day.

It was a cool, casual conversation. We stayed on for a good fifteen before I had to get moms up and started with her day.

I didn’t ask if she was going to see her daddy because shit, she had a routine.

Today really was one of her editing days.

She usually did stay in the crib, in pajamas, hair in a bonnet on days like today.

She was moving flaw and I didn't like it. Yeah, she might’ve been on some innocent, sneaking around to see her pops shit but it was the principle.

It rarely ever was about what a muthafucka did.

It was the principle that usually got niggas fucked up.

Because I wanted to see just how stupid she was, I sighed and hit her up, wondering if she’d lie about her lo’.

Pressing the phone against my ear, I listened to it ring, waiting for her to pick up. Her phone wasn’t dead so that only told me that she’d purposely turned her lo’ off. Shit was crazy.

After about five rings, the phone was answered.

“Yeah, hello?”

I sat up with dipped brows at the sound of a deep voice that fa sho belonged to a man. “Fuck is this?”

He laughed. “The boogeyman, nigga. You lookin’ for yo’ bitch? Hold on.”

A couple of seconds later, Jada’s cries came through the phone. I closed my eyes, listening to the high-pitched cry that used to bother the hell out of me. She didn’t cry like that unless she was deeply hurt. The last time I heard her like that, Johnny was in the ‘spital from an overdose.

“You want yo bitch back, I need a cool M,” he said before hanging up.

Dropping the phone in my lap, I didn’t move.

I sat there on that foyer bench, staring off, straight ahead, the ticking of the big clock on the wall in the hallway the only sound filling my ears.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat like that before the front door opened and Sereia and moms walked back in.

She stood in front of me, blocking my view.

Sereia said a few things but I didn’t really hear her.

I was listening for Him. Big Homie. Big G.

I didn’t shift my gaze. I stayed like that.

Quiet. Listening. Trying to at least. It was quiet. Up top. In my mind. Completely silent.

That meant it would be bad for niggas.

Real bad.

Silence meant He was giving me the green light.

I could handle the situation however I saw fit.

It was game time. Ball was in my hand with only a few seconds left on the shot clock.

TO BE CONTINUED