CHAPTER 16 #2
After a while the twins’ whimpering turned into a rough cry, a reaction to the ice in the air. I scooped them up, one under each arm, as a desperate attempt to share whatever heat my small frame could spare.
The humidity of our breath the only thing moving in that room. I stayed pinned to the wall, like a living shield for the twins and Summer. The blankets useless against the city's bite. My hands and feet had turned to wood, like a statue. Just a child playing a role I never auditioned for.
Fuck that. I refuse to inherit that life. That shit is a dead end. Working. Scrambling. Bleeding for a life that don't even provide the basics. If I wanted heat, I had to be the one to light the match. I don’t care what I gotta burn down to get it.
And mu’fuckas wanna talk about responsibility?
I been carrying a house on my back since before I could tie my shoes.
So yeah, when I saw her at that bus stop I ain’t feel no guilt.
None. Where was she all them nights I had to be the mama?
Where was she when I was sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking a baby that wasn’t mine?
Where was she when I needed somebody to protect me?
Now she wanna wave. Now she wanna call my name. Nah. Fuck that.
Nico glanced at me when I shifted in the seat.
“Aint dat yo’ mama babe?”
he asked casually. I looked straight ahead.
“Nah,” I said.
The lie came easy because the truth was heavier than I was willing to carry anymore. The light flashed green. Nico gunned it, the engine’s roar drowning out the ghost on the curb. You either accelerate or you rot. I’m done being the one standing on the sidewalk, watching the world pull away.
Summer thinks Mama picked up that bottle because of me.
Like I broke something in her that couldn’t be fixed.
Truth is, that storm was already brewing.
Mama been drinking, long before I knew what it even meant.
I just learned how to cover it up. How to play my part, keep things quiet, keep things looking normal.
I carried that weight alone. Thinking I was protecting her, protecting us.
Shit, that’s what I thought being the big sister meant.
Now I see, all I did was delay the moment it finally broke open.
And I’m sorry Summer had to be there when it did.
But the truth don’t stay buried forever.
I know Summer’s been trying to reach me, and it messes with me.
A part of me wants to answer every time, ‘cause I love them, I really do. I miss them every day. But I can’t go back.
Not after everything. Ain’t nothing back there for me but the same cycle.
Besides, we all gotta grow up at some point.
I ain’t get no warning. The block ain’t pause for me.
Ain’t check to see if I was ready. It just threw me in and kept moving.
People talk about Nico without knowing him.
Yeah, he moves weight but so what. He ensures I want for nothing.
My jewelry is real, not that fake shit Daddy used to buy me.
I’ve traded the thrift store rags for designer labels.
I’m not the girl in the shadows counting everyone else’s blessings.
I’m the one doing the spending now. So why would I give that up?
To go back to what? A house full of stress?
A drunk mama? Three kids that ain’t mine but somehow always been my responsibility?
Nah. I earned this. I deserve this. Even if it come with problems.
So, Nico got ghosts. Big fuckin’ deal. This city don't raise no one without a tab.
But really, he only has two rules. A quiet tongue and no wandering eyes.
If I violate, he applies a specific kind of pressure.
A warning that don't use words. He don't leave bruises though.
My baby likes total submission and I don’t mind.
The only thing I don’t like is the disappearing act.
He goes ghost, zero calls, zero answers.
Then he strolls back through the door acting like the clock never stopped.
But the air around him always tells the truth.
He be saturated in a fragrance I don't own, his shirt carrying the proof of another woman's touch.
And I notice. Every detail. I’m not the fool they want me to be.
The control and the lies are hard to swallow.
But I also see the payoff. The cars. The cash.
The path people carve out for him. With Nico, I’m a force.
This version of me is worth the price of admission.
When nothing is your starting point, power wears the face of a savior.
It presents itself as a shield, a permanent end to the shivering.
You latch onto it with both hands. And before long, the lines blur.
You find yourself worshiping the control, convinced the weight of it is actually affection.
The block’s heat and this relationship have the same suffocating weight. So, I stay.
Buried under years of survival the truth is clawing at my throat, telling me that I traded my hard life for a beautiful cage.
But I shove that warning back into the dark.
Shut it down. Going back to the struggle, to the cold nights, to the girl whose voice never carried past the stoop?
Nah. That’s a trade I’ll never accept. I would rather drown in the fast life than dry up in the old one.
Still, a piece of my heart stayed behind on that block, mourning the family I had traded for the gold. But I ain’t my mother. Her ending won’t be mine.
But the streets don’t care what you promise yourself.
They don’t care what you swear you’ll never become.
They don’t argue with you. Don’t warn you.
Just remains a silent witness to your arrogance.
Letting you believe that you the exception to the rule.
Right up until the day your stride syncs with the same, tired beat as everyone else on the block.
Mama’s Voice
The block has this story down to a science. It knows exactly where you going even if you tried lying to yourself.
What happened at the bus stop didn't just burn, it shook me. That night, I passed on the drink. Not because I was suddenly in charge of my life, but because I was scared out of my mind. People was starting to notice my struggle, and I knew I couldn't hide it like I used to.
The bottle sat on the counter exactly where I left it.
Same cheap liquor staring me down, knowing I would come crawling back.
I stayed there a long while, hand resting on the cap.
I couldn't open it, but I couldn't walk away either.
I was trapped. Shay’s face wouldn't leave my head.
Not the baby who slept on my chest. I kept seeing the girl in that car.
She looked right at me, heard me screaming her name, and didn't say a word.
That situation ate at me. A total reckoning.
I wasn't a witness to the destruction. My hands was the ones tearing it all down.
The next morning came with that familiar throb behind my eyes. Heavy, pulsing, refusing to quit. My body ignored the sobriety. I had no alcohol in my system, but the exhaustion felt identical. I guess the years of damage didn't know how to pack up and go.
The ceiling was my only view for a long stretch while I let life catch up to me.
Every bone in my body resisted the morning, but I got up anyway.
And routine took over. I practiced that half-hearted smile, gave the expected nods.
Everything was identical to the day before.
I came home, the house dull. The kids was still out.
No television. No conversation. Only that thick silence that fills every corner.
Usually, this was the moment of surrender.
The bottle in its usual spot. My fingers hovered, frozen by old instincts.
I paced the floors, restless. I focused on my breathing.
And I let the stillness crowd the room without reaching for a distraction.
A decade of habits weighing on me, but I refused to cave. Instead, I reached for the phone.
I don’t remember where I got the number up from. Probably a flyer barely holding on at a bus stop. The paper was warped, and the tape was long gone.
“AA MEETING! ALL WELCOME.”
I almost laughed at it.
‘Dat ain’t fa me.’
That’s how I said it in my head. It made sense.
But on that night my thoughts was too loud.
That pull sitting in my chest, expecting me to grab hold of the anchor that would drag me further down.
So, I called. The phone was heavy in my hand.
My thumb trembling over the buttons. This wasn't a simple phone call.
Pressing those numbers meant more than making a connection.
It was a declaration. A choice to stop the bleeding and finally face the music.
When it started ringing, my heart picked up with it. Each ring stretching out longer than it should have. A voice answered. It held a peaceful composure I had completely lost touch with over the years.
“Meetin’ is at 7,” she told me.
“You can jus’ come in sweetie. Don’t feel no pressure to speak alright.”
No pressure. Those two words felt foreign.
Tension was the only language I spoke. Keeping the lights on.
Raising the kids. The exhaustion of work.
My mistakes had formed a circle around me.
Life spent every waking hour pushing me into a corner.
But the voice on the phone didn’t push. It was patient.
Told me I could walk into this without a résumé or a reputation.
That was unfamiliar territory. For once, I didn't have to carry the world.
My desire for that relief outweighed my willingness to say it out loud.
I was this close to not going. I wasted time on the bed, going rounds with my conscience.
Shoes on. Shoes off. Back on. I searched my reflection for an answer, and it spoke the truth.
The burden was etched into my features. Years of struggle had definitely left their mark.
I looked at myself, wondering, Am I really about to do this?
Expose my failures to a room of strangers?
Time slowed down while I hesitated. I had every opportunity to cave and keep things exactly the way they was. I decided against the easy path.
The meeting was in a small church basement, the standard setup.
The road to redemption always begins beneath the concrete.
I stepped inside. The buzz from the ceiling lights a constant vibration that stayed in your teeth.
Those worn-down tiles had seen a million footsteps.
Folding chairs was scattered in a rough ring.
The smell of scorched coffee filled the room, thick and unavoidable.
The doorframe was my only support while I balanced on the edge. My body split between entering and retreating. Not a soul in there knew my name. I could walk away and leave no trace behind.
“You comin’ in suga’?”