Chapter 14
Plastic wrap and cardboard littered the floor as I watched two muscular White men carry furniture through the front door. Booda stood off to the side, monitoring everyone while another delivery guy installed the sound system.
The television mounted on the wall made the living room feel bigger, and the oversized sectional sitting in the middle of the floor somehow changed the entire energy of the place.
I stood near the kitchen island, holding a cup of lemonade, patiently waiting to instruct the delivery guy, who was struggling with the dining table chairs, on where to put them.
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “The silver ones go on that side.”
The man quickly nodded. “My bad.”
When I heard Booda chuckle, I narrowed my eyes, temporarily giving him my attention. “What?”
“You bossy as hell,” he said, voice tinged with humor.
“I am not. I just know how I want things to look.”
“Still bossy.” He shook his head with a grin.
“Whatever.” I waved him off. “We paid our money, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, but that don’t make you the foreman.”
“It absolutely do.” I giggled.
The delivery guy frowned as he carried the chairs to the other side of the table, but he didn’t say anything. Still, I could tell he didn’t like my micro-management.
Did I care? Absolutely not.
“Switch those too.” I pointed at the others.
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded.
“Thank you,” I replied politely.
I appreciated his professionalism despite his obvious frustration with me.
Furthermore, I didn’t want him to think I was a total bitch. I was just a little… peculiar about my shit.
Booda took a seat on the sofa and leaned back into the couch, watching me with amusement written all over his face. “You happy now?” he asked.
A small smile pulled at my mouth as I looked around again. Honestly? Hell, yeah.
The apartment still wasn’t completely set up yet. Pictures were stacked near the wall waiting to be hung, and shopping bags covered half of my bedroom floor, but it finally felt warm in here. That feeling alone almost made all the havoc I’d caused to get the money feel worth it.
Almost.
A delivery guy passed by carrying another lamp, so I quickly moved out of his way, and headed into to the living room.
“Okay. I ain’t gon’ lie. This couch is nice,” I admitted as I dropped down onto the sectional beside Booda, lowkey glad he had talked me into buying it.
“Told you. I got good taste,” he bragged, and I giggled as I stretched my legs across his lap with a satisfied sigh.
Music played softly from the television while people moved around the apartment finishing up the last few deliveries.
As I watched my home come together, happiness spread through my chest. Things felt so naturally peaceful that it made me wonder if this was also how life was for me before the accident. If so, I didn’t want the feeling to end.
I leaned toward Booda, ready to reward him with a kiss for helping me feel like myself again. However, before my lips landed, my phone buzzed against the couch cushion beside me.
I pulled back and glanced down at the screen. The smile instantly slipped off my face, and I rolled my eyes when I saw it was Giani.
Again.
“She still calling?” Booda asked, studying me closely.
“Yes! At this point, it’s pissing me off.”
“You gon’ answer?”
I stared at the screen for a few seconds before grabbing the phone, pressing end to send her to voicemail, and tossing it onto the coffee table.
“Nope.”
The second my back hit the couch cushions, it started ringing again.
“See what I mean? This bitch is doing too much. She been calling me nonstop for two days straight.”
Booda smirked. “Maybe she nervous.”
“About what?”
“That’s what happens when the energy shifts.”
I frowned, trying to understand what that had to do with me and Giani arguing. Booda could be cryptic as hell sometimes. Was that how he’d always been?
Moments like that reminded me of how much history we shared that I still couldn’t remember.
So, I asked, “But why would that make her nervous?”
“Depends on what you forgot.”
I looked toward the phone again while it continued buzzing across the coffee table. Up until now, the calls had only irritated me, but I was starting to feel smothered.
When we first reunited, Giani would check on me here and there, but now? It was constant. She was texting, calling, wanting to hang out, and needing reassurance that I wasn’t mad.
I guess that was what friends did when they messed up and wanted to make things right.
“You think I’m overthinking this?” I asked Booda.
He scratched his jaw before shrugging. “Nah. Yo’ feelings valid. She shouldn’t have made the joke. Nothing about a muthafucka’s struggle is funny.”
He was right, so I decided to leave the conversation there and get back to my happy place.
The last of the movers finally cleared out about thirty minutes later, leaving the apartment quiet again, outside of the music still playing from the television. The second the door closed behind them, I locked it and let out a long breath while looking around at everything.
My apartment looked so good that I almost got emotional. I honestly hadn’t seen this for myself, at least not anytime soon.
Booda walked past me toward the bedroom. “Come on, bae. Let’s put the rest of yo’ shit up so we can relax a little before we go hunting. I can’t rest easy knowing them niggas still out there.”
Shit. Things had been going so great over the past couple of days that, for a minute, I’d forgotten someone tried to kill me. The comfort had been needed, but I couldn’t afford to let it distract me. Not when I had dangerous enemies.
“Okay,” I replied, following behind him.
As soon as we were in the bedroom, I pulled everything out of the bags and started putting them away in the closet.
Dresses, jeans, matching sets, heels, and jackets slowly filled the empty space while Booda sat across the room, cleaning one of his guns with the television playing quietly in the background.
“You bought a lot of black,” he pointed out.
“I always wear black.”
“You also used to wear color.”
“I still do.”
“You bought one blue dress.”
I rolled my eyes as I slid another hanger onto the rack. “Whatever.”
“You scared of color?”
“I’m not scared of shit.”
Booda smirked without looking up from the gun in his hands. “That’s debatable.”
I opened my mouth to argue when my phone started vibrating against the dresser nearby.
I sighed immediately. “This girl again.”
Booda chuckled. “You should probably answer before she file a missing person report.”
“You might be right.”
I walked over to the nightstand and grabbed the phone.
“What now?” I answered, annoyance creeping into my tone.
Silence greeted me, and my forehead creased as I pulled the device away from my ear to look at the screen. A blocked number flashed across it.
“Hello?” I said again, more cautiously.
A dry laugh crackled through the speaker. “You finally got tired of sleeping on the floor? I was wondering how long it was gon’ take you.”
Every muscle in my body coiled instantly, and Booda sat forward, staring directly at me.
“What’s wrong?”
I held up a finger, telling him to hold on. “Who is this?”
“Damn,” the man said, sounding slightly disappointed. “Memory still fucked up that bad?”
Something about his voice scratched at the back of my mind unpleasantly, and my grip tightened around the phone.
“Who the fuck is this?” I repeated.
Booda had gone completely still across the room now, his attention locked on my face, observing every expression change.
“You don’t remember me yet?” the man asked mockingly.
“No, but you can stop playing games and just tell me who you are.”
“Damn. That’s cold. I know I hit yo’ ass hard, but I ain’t think I knocked myself clean out yo’ memory.”
A sick feeling rolled through my stomach, and pressure started building behind my eyes.
Booda said my name from somewhere across the room, but it sounded far away, and I couldn’t answer.
Instead, I pressed two fingers hard against my temple and breathed through my nose as pain tore through my skull and memories of the day I woke up in the hospital started rushing back.
“Anyway, this Richie Rich. You still there?” the man asked after some time had passed, pulling me back to the present moment.
I slowly lowered my hand from my temple and straightened my spine. “What the fuck do you want?”
Rich laughed, and hearing it made my skin crawl.
“I wanted to hear your voice,” he admitted. “I missed fucking with you.”
“Fuck you.”
“That ain’t nice.” His tone stayed light, amused. “Especially after I took the time to call and congratulate you on the new place.”
My eyes drifted toward the bedroom doorway.
“How did you know where I live, and how the hell did you get my number?”
“I know everything. I’m the new king of this city. I run shit.”
“You don’t run a damn thing but yo’ ugly ass mouth.”
“I see I have to show you.” He paused for a second before adding, “Putting bitches in they place is what I do.”
Booda’s expression shifted to stone as he stared at me.
“Put him on speaker,” he demanded, but I ignored him, my attention locked on the call.
Rich chuckled softly under his breath. “I ain’t gon’ lie though. Seeing you finally getting comfortable surprised me.”
“Why the fuck is that?” I frowned. “You don’t put fear in my heart.”
“I shouldn’t. What you should fear is ending up homeless again with nowhere to wash that stank-ass pussy. I heard you was out there bad. It might be fun watching you hit rock bottom again before I kill you.”
Anger started replacing the uneasiness sitting in my chest.
“You called me to talk shit, and go back and forth like a bitch, or did you need some?”
“Nah.” His voice lowered. “I called because I wanted you to know I still see you.”
Silence filled the line for a second.
Then Rich casually added, “That teal couch ugly, by the way.”
Nostrils flaring, I stepped out of the bedroom and into the living room. My eyes immediately landed on the sofa sitting in the middle of the floor.