Rhyan #3
Let this nigga feel something.
“Yeah,” I mutter, letting her go like she ain’t shit. “That’s another one of your raggedy-ass hoes handled.”
I step closer.
Right in his space.
“I forgot to tell you why I’ve been gone for three days.”
His smirk disappears.
“Rhy… don’t start?—”
“No,” I cut him off. “You wanted to know, right?” My voice drops—dead calm. “You wanted to throw shade. Run your fucking mouth. Bring this bitch up here to play in my face?”
I tilt my head.
“Now we can really talk.”
“Rhy—”
“I’ve been fucking Kosh.”
The whole room goes dead. Chauncey freezes, the air leaving his lungs as if I punched it out of him.
“Yeah,” I hiss, stepping closer, every word dripping venom.
“Three days. I fucked that nigga real good. He fucked me real deep, real different in this city. While you were in here, worried about who I might be with, I was getting taken care of by a real fucking nigga who doesn’t treat me like I’m fucking disposable. ”
His face shifts from stunned to murderous in seconds.
“You’re lying,” he growls.
“Try me, nigga” I snap. “You said you smelled him on me? You were right. And I didn’t hide it. I wanted you to smell that nigga on me.”
“RHY!” His voice explodes. “Say that shit again!”
“I SAID I BEEN FUCKING KOSH!” I scream, chest heaving. “And it was good too, Chauncey. I don’t regret fucking that nigga. I can’t wait to fuck him again. That dick was so good, better than anything you’ve been giving out in years.”
That’s all it takes. In the next heartbeat, he rips the IV from his arm, throws the sheets off, and launches himself off the bed as if pain doesn’t exist. Machines start screaming, and nurses rush in as chaos erupts.
“I’M GONNA KILL HIM!” Chauncey roars, trying to storm at me, but Simmy, Coop, and True burst in, grabbing him from every angle.
“Yo! CHILL!” Simmy shouts, locking him down.
“LET ME GO!” Chauncey thrashes, veins bulging, eyes wild. “LET ME THE FUCK GO!”
“Stop, nigga!” Coop yells as True grabs his other arm. “You gon’ rip your stitches out!”
“NAH, FUCK THAT!” Chauncey snarls, eyes locked on me as rage and heartbreak collide.
“I’M GONNA BURY THAT NIGGA AND YOU WITH HIM!”
I don’t move. I don’t cry. I just stand there, breathing steadily as I’ve finally unlearned fear.
“You ain’t gone do shit,” I hiss. “You wanted the truth?” I whisper. “Now you fucking got it.”
His chest heaves, tears threatening but never falling.
“I hate you,” he spits.
“No, you don’t,” I say softly. “You hate that I stopped hating myself and evened the fucking playing field.”
Then I turn and walk toward the door, alarms blaring behind me, voices shouting, chaos chasing me—but I don’t look back. I’m finally leaving on my terms. My heels hit the tile like punctuation—angry, final—until a hand wraps around my wrist.
“Rhy, stop,” Simmy breathes, pulling me back.
“Talk to me before you do something you can’t take back.”
I turn slowly and look him dead in the eyes. “I already did something I can’t take back, Simmy. I loved that nigga more than I loved myself.” He lets out a breath, rubbing his face.
“I get it… but walking out like this?—”
“Is the only way I’m gonna survive him?” I cut in. “I told you I’m done bleeding for Chauncey, and I meant it. He wanted to test me, right? Wanted to play games in my face? Cool. Watch me flip the fucking board.”
Simmy shakes his head, voice low. “Rhy… don’t do nothing reckless.”
“Reckless?” I laugh, bitter and sharp. “Reckless was me giving him chance after chance. Reckless was me defending him while he humiliated me in public. What am I about to do now? That’s not reckless. That’s strategy.”
He studies me in silence.
“I’m going home,” I say, my voice steady now. “Back to Texas. I should’ve never come back to this cursed city.”
Simmy frowns. “You sure that’s what you want?”
“I’m dead-ass serious. But before I leave?” I step closer, my voice dropping to a whisper so cold it could freeze blood.
“I’m gonna fuck this city up. Every account, every card, every dime with my name on it—I’m running it up. Every bitch who laughed at my pain? I’mma make these bitches bleed. And Chauncey?” I smirk.
“I’m spending his money like that shit is going out of style.”
“Rhy…” Simmy’s voice shifts, careful now, as if he’s trying not to spook something dangerous.
“I told him I’d set this bitch off,” I say, stepping back and adjusting my bag.
“I wasn’t lying.” He lets out a slow breath, defeat settling into his shoulders.
“He’s gonna come after you.”
“Then he better come correct,” I reply. “Because I’m not the same bitch, I was a year ago. And by the time I’m done? He’s gonna wish he never fucking played with me.” Simmy looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He’s seen this version of me before—the one that doesn’t bluff.
“Be careful,” he says finally. I don’t even slow down.
“I’m past careful.” I toss my bag over my shoulder.
“I’m intentional.” The doors slide open, and cool night air hits my skin like freedom. For the first time in days—I smile. If Chauncey thought he’d seen the worst of me… he hasn’t seen shit yet.