Just Like Summer

Chapter 1

one

A light sheen of sweat clung to her sandy brown skin like paint becoming one with sheetrock The worn carpet underneath her like Brillo to her soft skin as she laid there.

The irritation of the carpet, far past conditioning, was nothing in comparison to her tender heart.

Dry, puffy eyes watched the ceiling fan spin in a continuum of blurred blades.

On the highest settings, it still didn’t cool her hot body, nor did the monotonous staring settle her mind.

She was just here – barely existing, barely feeling – barely alive.

Although the room she slept in was filled with her things and her mother’s photos were scattered about the walls, this wasn’t home.

Settled but vacant, nowhere would ever feel like home – not anymore.

Home. That had been stripped away from her weeks ago.

The bitter recall of finding her mother unconscious and limp—gashes dug deep into her wrist, in blood-filled water spilling over the lip of the tub, staining the white tile—sent Kamilla tossing and turning.

Landing on her side, she took in the figurines and photos of her aunt, mother, and grandmother clustered about the entertainment center.

Then there was that box. That fucking box she couldn’t afford until the life insurance policy kicked in, and even that was a fight.

A sealed pine box holding ashes of the woman who was supposed to see her through life.

No matter how Kamilla slept her days away, barely eating or drinking, there was no escaping the one person she’d spent every day with for the last eighteen years of her life.

They were best friends. Kamilla clung to her; but that hadn’t been enough.

There was no prescription for depression.

No tea or smile or accomplishment she could offer.

The thought made her tear ducts burn with the need to purge, but there weren’t any more tears to cry.

Her body didn’t feel anything anymore, at least not with the intensity she felt weeks ago.

She was just here. An accumulation of atoms living but numb to everything.

Everything except a growling stomach and parched lips.

Neglect in its rawest form – starving herself, because being anything but this felt impossible.

An irritated groan pushed against her lips as she sat up from the floor and pushed herself to her feet. With a slow trek into the kitchen, she huffed again, remembering the text from earlier.

Aunt J: I’ll bring groceries home. Get out the house today. Landing in a few hours.

“I don’t want to get out the house though,” Kamilla muttered to herself, staring into the empty fridge. “I got to get a job or something.”

The mutter to herself made her stomach twist. Sitting in the house.

She’d done exactly that for the weeks it took her aunt to get to her.

She sat in that dark house living that moment over and over again.

Loud music playing from a passing car spiked her anxiety.

She had to go out there amongst the people.

The sounds. The smells. Of life passing her by while grief swallowed her whole and refused to spit her out.

“Fuck,” she groaned. “Up the block and back.”

Kamilla had to coach herself. Something she’d been doing a lot of as of late. How to get out of the bed and to shower. How to brush her hair. How to breathe. Everything was a task and this, going outside, would be the greatest one thus far.

“Shoes, wallet, phone,” she muttered, anxiously moving through the space, locating the things she needed to leave. “Shoes, wallet, phone.”

Once she collected all the things, she started to the door, hesitating before turning the knob.

One foot in front of the other, she secured the door and started up the block, avoiding the sounds of the neighborhood before successfully reaching the mini mart.

Quiet for the most part. The cashier flipped through a magazine, popping gum, and not paying any attention.

Oblivious enough not to be in Kamilla’s business and that’s exactly what she needed right now.

To be left alone. To disappear amongst the people so she couldn’t feel how bad it hurt to lose someone again.

The last twenty in her wallet needed to be spent sparingly.

A bottle of water, a glass bottle of cola as a splurge, a bag of chips, and a roll of mentos.

Her mother loved mentos. Every gas station stop, she always came back with a roll of the chewy mints and a manufactured smile.

If only Kamilla knew that smile masked the pain her mother was suffering through in silence.

She could have saved her. She would have done anything to get through the darkness to her.

Summer would be here, they would be in Greenwood living their lives, listening to oldies, critiquing the new artists; listening to her mother reminisce about the days she followed her father around the country. Those days were gone. Those days were –

“Empty that muhfuckin’ register out, bitch!

” resounded, shattering her thoughts and sending her body into overdrive.

So many nerve endings firing off at once caused her hands to release and drop the things clutched in them.

The glass bottle of soda falling to the dirty tiled-floor shattered.

She covered her mouth to trap the yelp but to no avail.

“Yo, who the fuck is back there?” one of the red-bandana-covered men questioned, spinning around, looking in the direction of the noise. “Check that out, Chuckee. Put the money in the fuckin’ bag, bitch. All that whimpering.”

The worn-converse-covered-feet chucked over the tile before stopping at a terrified Kamilla.

“Ahh fuck, Hype, it’s a pretty little bitch.

We can take her over to 48th, pass her around to the homies, have a little fun,” the masked man said with a sinister cheer, grabbing her arm and dragging her toward the front of the store. “We got us a two-for-one special.”

Kamilla’s ears were ringing but there was a decent beat she could hear over the madness.

The same drum of music she’d heard earlier.

It wasn’t much to cling to, but it was something to keep her body from passing out.

The cashier rushed to empty the register to avoid getting shot.

Kamilla stood with her eyes clenched shut, the cold steel of the unregistered gun against her temple.

The music still played loudly, almost drowning out the whimpers and the chime of the door.

What Kamilla could hear was the gruffness of a man’s voice. “Fuck you stupid ass niggas doing?”

Hype kissed his teeth. “Ahh man, C4. We just... you know, trying to feed the set, nigga,”

“Fuck you scared of this Vulture nigga for? Nigga wear blue but bleed fucking red,” Chuckee commented brashly.

“You wanna see?” C4 squinted, bouncing his eyes to the whimpering women. “Put the fuckin’ guns down.”

“Mannn, C4, I was going to have fun with this one,” Hype grumbled before C4 snapped his fingers. “Chuckee, chill.”

“Listen to your nigga,” C4 directed to the man opposing the clash of colors. “The gun, nigga.”

“Aight, damn, nigga. You and your fuckin’ moral compass,” Hype huffed, lowering his gun and releasing the woman.

“You gon’ give me the money for the function, nigga?” Hype questioned.

C4 presented a deadly cool demeanor; even from Kamilla’s avoidant gaze, she couldn’t figure out what was happening next. She’d never been in any situation like this, but what felt like a swarm of crimson flags was an echoed fear, inherited from her mother.

“Take your ass outside, nigga,” C4 rumbled, looking at the two men and the women clearly panicked. “You two stay here.”

“No!” Kamilla croaked. “I’m going home.”

C4 never flinched. “Stay here.”

He turned, exiting the store. There was no shouting heard over the bass of his music. Just the beat on repeat and then his return.

“Jamecia, head out. I’ll have the homies come clean this shit up. You…” C4 directed, looking at Kamilla full on now. “What’s your name?”

Her lids blinked rapidly but her mouth couldn’t make another sound. Frightened.

“You hungry?”

Her voice returned just above a whisper. “I want to go…home. I want to go home. Just let me go.”

C4 nodded toward the door. “I’ll take you.”

“No!” she croaked. “I-”

Kamilla’s heartbeat raised, her head spun and before she could protest anymore, everything went black.

Like a jolt of ungrounded electricity hit her body, she woke up in a dimly lit blue room, in a bed that wasn’t hers and dull rumble of a bass lightly rattling the walls.

Her eyes darted around the space; the bass rattling the walls matching the drumming against her skull.

Frantically, she touched her body, finding herself still clothed.

Ruling out anything egregious happening to her, now she needed to find her way out of … whatever this was.

Kamilla slowly eased to the cracked door of the bedroom, tripping over the sneakers that’d been removed from her feet and placed by the door.

Other than that, and the lightweight blanket placed on her, she hadn’t been touched.

Under any other circumstances, she would’ve been grateful.

Right now, the ugly head of terror was coming back out to play with her nervous system.

As if she hadn’t gone through enough, she was fighting with her shoes and tumbling out of the room.

Down the dark hall, past the room where the unfinished beat was coming from, she stumbled through the living room and stopped at the front door.

A low shriek left her mouth. “What the hell is this?!”

There was an array of bolts and multiple sets of locks. She started to frantically turn them, and that rattle of a baritone stopped her again.

“You know, if you were ready to go, all you had to do what say so.”