Chapter 7
seven
The bristling chime of her phone alarm sounded off in tandem with a heavy knock at her door.
The knock all too reminiscent of the landlord hounding her mother first thing in the morning for rent.
The sounds clashed, causing a barely-rested Kamilla to flail and fight in the thin sheets and covers.
Sleep always came with bitter recalls and nightmares, so the mere fact that she hadn’t had real sleep yet made her believe she’d never have it again.
With a heavy groan, Kamilla rolled over to her back and pushed herself up.
“Hold on,” she muttered, trekking to the door and slightly pulling it open. Aunt J was on the other side in her flight attendant uniform, suitcase in tow.
“Why is your door locked?” she challenged, peeking over her shoulder. It was the peek over the shoulder that further soured Kamilla’s mood. “Who you got in my house? I’m not playing that shit with you.”
Mouth frowned downward, nose scrunched, eyes squinted and brows knitted. The audacity to even assume that her own niece would sneak someone into her home and do God knows what. Her lip switched with response.
“For starters, Martez had CKs in and out of here until three in the morning. What would you suggest I do tonight when there’s people roaming in and out of here?” Kamilla snipped, not feeling this arrangement but had no money and no one else to run to. “How long are you gone?”
“Until the end of the week and I have a guy up in Emerald City I’m going to spend some time with,” she informed, handing Kamilla some money. “Keep this on you so you can eat.”
“You’re just going to leave me here with Martez?” Kamilla questioned, concern resting on her brows.
“You two need to learn how to get along. Y’all are cousins,” Aunt J pressed.
“We aren’t cousins. No one even knows who his real daddy is. I don’t like him…I don’t see how this is even fair.”
Aunt J huffed. “You can take that little bit of money your momma left you and rent a spot and kiss college goodbye or you can stop being a spoiled brat and learn to share your space with someone else. What do you think you’ll be doing when you get to OSU?
Sharing space with bitches you can’t stand.
Trust me, I know. Unless he’s done something to you, there isn’t any reason to complain. ”
“Anything else?” Kamilla mumbled.
“Yeah, that C4 nigga. Keep him from around here. And you. You don’t want the trouble he brings. Martez just got home,” Aunt J said. “You trying to end up like your momma?”
She found it sickening how Aunt J was willing to neglect her moral compass for the sake of choosing a man over her actual blood.
Kamilla never had the full story of why Aunt J and her mother fell out, but she was ninety percent sure there was a man at the center of it.
It was evident that if it came down to her choosing, Martez would win, so Kamilla abandoned her protest.
She offered a simple, “Alright then. Have fun on your trip.”
Aunt J started to say something but stopped.
Kamilla watched her aunt’s back before closing the door.
Loneliness blanketed her. The only time she felt as though she wasn’t existing in the world alone was when she was with Cairo.
That wasn’t how this was supposed to be.
She wasn’t supposed to find solace in a stranger.
Family was supposed to look out for one another, but family had abandoned her, neglected her and treated her worse than the outsiders had.
A lone tear slipped from her eye. If it weren’t for Martez sprawled out on the couch, Kamilla would’ve opted to call out and wallow in pity all day.
Him being here was motivation for her to get ready for her day.
Donned in her spare work shirt, she made a mental note to find a laundromat on the way to Loco’s Tacos so she could wash her clothes.
Sneakers on her feet, her bag over her shoulder and her phone in tow, she crept out the house.
After locking the door and spinning on the balls of her feet, she was met by the luminous morning sun and Cairo.
The sight shouldn’t have been as breathtaking as it was.
Fresh white tee, blue dickies, Azul flag tied around his neck, a cloud of Azul Kush surrounding his head like a halo.
Kamilla rolled her eyes to ward off whatever that short musing was. Coolly, Cairo leaned on the hood of his parked car as if his blue didn’t rival the crimson flags that claimed they owned this and the surrounding blocks.
Those full eyes squinted in his direction and back at the door as if Martez was man enough to protest this.
Kamilla caught the exchange the night before and concluded that Cairo was who he thought he was.
People may have talked to shit to him but directly challenging who he was when she wasn’t around hadn’t occurred.
She learned quickly that he didn’t care about any of it.
Any block he wanted to tread, he would, and no one was going to come up against him for real.
“When you said you were going to be back in the morning, I figured you were lying,” Kamilla shared, taking in his scruffiness under the morning sun.
“If I say it, I mean it. My word is my bond,” he shared, opening the passenger side door. “Your night was cool?”
She shrugged in response. “It was just another night.” Kamilla was making a great attempt to keep him from digging further into that comment so when Cairo got in, she asked. “Is this an everyday thing?”
“You want it to be? Because if you do, it is.”
“If I don’t?” Kamilla countered, earning her a lopsided smirk.
“You do.” His confidence was unfounded.
“And you know that how?” She buzzed with a quirked brow.
“Because your stubborn ass ain’t stomping up the block in the wrong direction. You can admit it’s cool riding shotgun with me.”
She rolled her tired eyes. “You hold me hostage and force me to be your friend and now you’re putting words in my mouth.”
He chuckled. “I’m just saying what it is. Saying what you won’t. Don’t stress it though you’ll learn it’s safe here to speak your mind.”
She grunted. “I don’t know about all of that.”
“About what?” Cairo asked with a long glance over his shoulder. “Speaking your mind?”
“Yeah. When I do, I get shut down. So what’s the point?”
“What’s the issue?” Cairo asked with true concern lacing his words, his fingers twitching as if they were ready to fight; any place, any time.
Kamilla shook her head. There was an apparent beef between Martez and Cairo that went far past gang colors.
It ran deep and for Cairo’s sake, not Martez’s, she wouldn’t say anything.
Maybe the motive was selfish because if Cairo went away, this little bit of safety and comfortability she was getting accustomed to would go, too.
“It’s nothing. You slept good? You look tired,” she stated, not wanting to even bring up Martez or the conversation she had with Aunt J.
He nodded slowly. “I fixed that beat.”
“So you didn’t sleep?”
“I don’t sleep for real,” he admitted. “I imagine you don’t either.”
Kamilla swayed her head. “Not unless it’s induced with allergy meds or something. Anyway, where’s the beat, let me hear it.”
Cairo winced and snapped his fingers. “I can swing back by the house-”
“Are you playing me?” she grilled with squinted eyes. “I really don’t take you as the type to forget things.”
A low rumble of a laugh fell from his lips as he hit a series of buttons on the radio. The beat flowed through and Kamilla listened with the musical ear she was gifted from her father. She didn’t bob her head. She didn’t smirk. She just listened. When it faded out, she hummed.
“Better but it’s not ready yet,” Kamilla pushed.
“I got a studio session tonight. You down for rollin’ with me and helping me work this out?” he challenged.
She didn’t want to sound eager but she also didn’t want to be back at the house any sooner than she had to. “Is it safe?”
“You’re always safe with me. Ain’t no question about it,” he replied.
“Alright. Sure. But can I ask how is it that you can afford a studio session?” she mused.
“Don’t ask me no questions unless you want the truth.”
“I’ve had my fill of people lying to me,” she returned. “And if you really want to be my friend, you’ll be real with me.”
“Gang shit. I handle business, I get a cut, it goes into music. I’m not trying to be in this shit forever, feel me?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I feel you. I – I mean I hear you.”
There went another smirk over his full lips that made her look away. “You like donuts?”
“Are you a carnivore or a vampire or something? Like is there some weird obsession with feeding me? Fatten me up and then you go in for the kill?” she retorted.
“I mean I like to eat but I won’t be trying to kill you or nothing like that,” he muttered, making Kamilla’s cheeks flush red. “It’s eleven in the morning and I’m hungry and your shift starts at eleven-thirty so there isn’t really enough time to get you a real breakfast.”
His eyes were on the road and hadn’t caught how her skin had glowed red. She quickly recovered without missing a beat. “Donuts are cool. I’m over eating tacos. Can I pay for it?”
“Nah. You might as well get used to not paying for nothing else.”
“That’s not how friendship goes, Cairo. It’s an equal exchange.”
“You’re right. You ride shotgun, keep me company, critique these beats, and I take care of the rest. Sounds equal to me,” he spoke, turning into Gary’s Donuts.
“Mm it sounds like something else, but I’ll let you live,” she muttered under her breath.
He got out to open her door. Leaning in, he muttered back. “The thing about friendship is, we make it what we want.”
Cairo stepped back and nodded her to the door of the building. “After you.”
Kamilla pushed a dry curl out of her face and huffed quietly. Whatever this was couldn’t live in her space. She couldn’t label it, nor did she want to be na?ve enough to think this could be something more. When it came to Cairo, it was clear they came from two different worlds.