2. Trigga
Trigga
The night air hit me the moment I stepped outside, but it didn’t do anything to settle what was going on inside my body.
My arm was burning in a way that made it hard to think straight, the pain deep and steady.
It was spreading with every step like it was trying to take over the rest of me.
Mr. Browne and I had driven over here in his Durango, and when I got outside, I started to panic, thinking of how I was going to get the fuck out of here.
As I looked across the lot, I saw my car parked.
I had left it parked in his driveway, so I figured I had to be losing my mind.
I blinked a couple more times, and sure enough, my baby was parked not too far from me.
When I looked back at the auto shop, Mr. Browne was standing in the glass, nodding his head toward the car.
All of this shit had to be premeditated. So much so that he had someone come and drop my car here.
“Sssss,” I hissed as my arm started throbbing.
I kept pressure on the wound as I moved toward my car, forcing myself to stay upright even though my body was starting to feel heavier by the second.
Falling wasn’t an option. Not out here. Not like this.
By the time I got to the driver’s side, my breathing was already off.
I pulled the door open and slid inside, trying to steady myself before everything caught up to me at once.
I’d successfully made it to my car, and when I thought about it, that didn’t mean shit without anything to start it.
When I looked over at the passenger side seat, I saw my car keys sitting on the surface.
“This nigga is the coldest.” I let a chuckle escape my lips, although it wasn’t shit funny.
These same keys were hung on the key rack when you first walk into his house.
I sat there for a second with my head leaning back against the seat, but that didn’t help much either.
The world felt like it was shifting slightly, like I was trying to hold on while everything else moved without me.
I gained some composure and then reached over and snatched the keys off the seat.
I started the car and pulled off. My hand tightened around the steering wheel as I drove, but even that felt off.
My grip wasn’t as strong as it should’ve been, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the blood, the pain, or the way my focus kept slipping in and out.
My phone was vibrating in my pocket, and I fought like hell to get it out of the pocket of my sweatpants.
MALIAH
It kept ringing; her name flashed again like she wasn’t going to stop trying until I picked up.
For a second, I considered answering to hear her voice, just to ground myself in something familiar.
But I already knew how that would go. She would hear that something was off.
She would ask questions I couldn’t answer right now.
Questions that, honestly, I never wanted to answer.
So, I let it ring. And I let it ring again.
Then it stopped, only to start right back up.
She was persistent like that. For one, we were supposed to be going on a date, and two, whenever I didn’t answer my phone, she immediately went into worry mode.
She had no idea just how tapped in with the streets I used to be; still, she worried about my well-being.
I exhaled through my nose and kept my eyes forward, ignoring it even as it felt like it was pulling at me.
My vision blurred slightly at the edges, forcing me to blink a few times to refocus on the road ahead.
I needed somewhere to go. Somewhere I didn’t have to explain anything.
I was too damn paranoid to go to a hospital.
This man shot me and then magically made sure that my vehicle was available for me afterward.
I had no idea just how much pull he had.
What if I made it all the way to a hospital just for him to have someone finish the job there?
I couldn’t have that. The only person who I knew would and could help me without asking any questions was Ms. Gia.
She stitched people up for a living. This through-and-through bullet hole would be a small job for her.
The thought came with a strange sense of instinct, like my body made the decision before my mind fully caught up.
I turned without overthinking it, heading straight toward the apartment that she shared with Ghost. The same one that I used to live in with them.
Ghost and I weren’t even speaking right now and hadn’t been for a while.
I knew that despite that, Ms. Gia would still help me, though.
Ghost and I had gotten into spats before, and she never treated me differently because of them.
She was a mom. A true mom, and when us boys fought or disagreed, she minded her business.
By the time I pulled into the apartment complex, my arm felt worse.
It felt heavier, and I was moving it slower.
It was like it didn’t belong to me anymore.
I parked without straightening the car properly, cut the engine, and sat there for a moment trying to collect myself enough to move.
My breathing was uneven, and I could feel the strength leaving me in small waves.
I forced myself out of the car anyway. The walk to the building wasn’t long, but it felt like it was.
I didn’t pay attention to anything around me.
No cars. No people. No sounds. My focus was locked on getting inside before my body decided it wasn’t going to cooperate anymore.
Each step up toward the apartment door took more out of me than the last. By the time I reached it, I could feel how close I was to hitting a limit I didn’t want to acknowledge.
I was about to be sprawled out on this damn ground.
I raised my hand and knocked hard enough for anyone inside to hear, even if they were in the back room, my old room.
But there was nothing. I waited. I was shifting my weight slightly, trying my hardest to stay balanced.
Then I knocked again, stronger this time, putting everything I had left behind it. Still nothing at first.
I leaned forward slightly, pressing my hand against the door for support.
My breathing was low and uneven as I tried to stay upright.
A few seconds passed. Then I heard it. The lock was turning.
It turned slowly at first, then quicker, like whoever was on the other side finally realized something wasn’t right.
The door opened just enough for Ms. Gia to peek out.
She was so damn short she couldn’t even see out the peephole, and Ghost and I always used to clown her for it.
The moment her eyes landed on me, her whole face changed.
“Lord… Tahari!”
Her voice snapped instantly from calm to alarm as she pulled the door wider. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t question why I was there or what had happened first. She just saw the state I was in and reacted like she’d done this a hundred times before.
Well, working in the emergency department trauma unit, I was sure that she had. I honestly was just blessed that she was even home. When I used to live there, she used to always pick up extra shifts after work.
“Hey,” I said weakly.
Her eyes dropped straight to my arm, and that was it.
“Get in here,” she said sharply, already reaching for me.
I tried to step forward normally, but my body didn’t cooperate the way I needed it to. The second I crossed the threshold, my balance gave just enough for her to catch me before I fully leaned into the fall.
“I got you,” she said, steadying me with a firmness that didn’t match how fast she was moving, “don’t you fall on me right here.”
She was smaller than me, so I knew that she needed me to try and help her as much as I could.
The apartment shifted around me as she guided me inside, her hand firm at my back while her attention stayed locked on my arm.
Her voice stayed controlled, but I could hear the urgency underneath it now that she had fully taken in what she was dealing with.
“What happened to you?” she asked, already pulling me toward the kitchen like she was thinking ahead of everything.
I didn’t answer right away. My mouth felt dry, and even forming words took effort I didn’t have. Before I could say anything, Ms. Gia was already moving.
“Sit down,” she ordered while pointing to a chair at the table without slowing her pace.
I lowered myself into it. I made sure to be careful, but I was barely steady.
My arm was still pressed close to my body like I could hold it together through pressure alone.
Ms. Gia was already across the kitchen, opening cabinets and grabbing supplies.
Her movements were sharp and automatic. It wasn’t panic, it was experience.
She knew what the hell she was doing. She was built for shit like that.
More than anything, she had the demeanor to deal with shit like this.
The kind that didn’t waste time on shock.
“You been shot,” she said flatly.
Her statement was more of an observation than a question, but I nodded once anyway to answer. That was all she needed.
“Of course you’ve been shot,” she muttered under her breath while shaking her head as she pulled things down from the kitchen closet. “You can’t just come over to say hello like a normal person.”
Despite everything, I let out a weak breath that almost passed for a laugh. She looked back at me immediately.
“Don’t you start laughing,” she warned while pointing a finger, “I don’t want to hear nothing out of you except breathing.”
All the items she needed were placed on the kitchen table. She grabbed my arm carefully, and the second she got a real look, her jaw tightened.
“Alright,” she said, more to herself now. “We’re going to fix this.”