Adrienne
Bitter is an understatement… Hood got me fucked up; now everybody is looking at me like I’m crazy. I don’t know what I was thinking, putting Hood on speakerphone in front of my friends. He embarrassed me.
Hood was rude and disrespectful, and to make matters worse, whatever neighbor recorded him outside Fumi’s begging is going viral on Facebook and Instagram… I’m finna show this nigga I’m not the bitch to cross; I gotta fuck with Fumi just to show Hood I’m not fucking around.
I wasn’t with him for no reason; it was his street status, and he used to have me pick up money here and there.
He was footing the bill for everything, and I wasn’t giving that up.
That gives me fuel to fuck with Fumi because how dare he run back to her after I stuck by him through his prison stint?
I don’t care what I said in the car; it’s not over.
I didn’t even realize I’d started crying. I wasted seven years of my life holding this nigga down, only for him to run back to Fumi. I didn’t stick around for this.
“No, I’m not.”
There’s no point in sugarcoating it; I’m embarrassed, and I ain’t hiding it.
“Adrienne, I don’t like the way he spoke to you,” Stacey explained.
“I don’t either,” Charadee chimed in. “I hope you weren’t just talking about touching Fumi.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Cool… I know where she lives.” Charadee beamed proudly. “I could recognize her apartment anywhere.”
“What we finna do?” I asked.
“We’re gonna give her a reason to leave Hood alone. Hood can’t play with my friend and expect her to be cool with it.” Stacey explained. “Fumi knew she was fucking with Hood when you pulled up to the shop.”
A lot of this is my fault, and I won’t admit it. I didn’t think things would end up like this.
“Fumi, lowkey a hoe because I saw her at the club the other night with Givenchy’s fine ass, and she left with Cohen,” Charadee chimed in.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes… Adrienne, I’m nosy; I snapped a few pics.”
Charadee shoved her phone at me, pissing me off even more, because I had been dealing with Givenchy privately for about a year.
None of my friends knew because I never mentioned his name, afraid of what they might say.
This nigga will never acknowledge me in public, but he’s in a club, publicly doting over Fumi.
“Adrienne, you have to send Fumi a message…” Charadee explained.
“You took Hood once; take him again and make her walk away again.” Stacy beamed proudly.
“I plan on it. Charadee, do you know where Fumi lives?”
“Yep…”
“Cool… I’m finna fuck up her Benz; she’s fucking with so many niggas that she won’t know where this is coming from.”
“Right, that will teach her to keep her legs closed,” Charadee laughed.
It took about forty-five minutes to reach Fumi’s complex. I circled once, then parked where the cameras wouldn’t catch my plate. The lot was quiet, and her pink Benz sat there like it was waiting for me.
Charadee and Stacey moved first, quick with the tires, while I crossed to the driver’s side, spray paint shaking in my hand.
By the time the word whore dried on the door, my pulse had gone calm. Then glass exploded—front window, back window—and the alarm started screaming across the lot. We were back in the car before anybody could open a fucking blind.
Damn, that feels good. If I can’t touch Hood, I’ll damn sure touch Fumi.