13. Josias #3
Rakim wasn’t a fuck nigga, so I’d never seen him treat women poorly, and that was if he even brought her ass around.
My brother wasn’t the type to parade every bitch he encountered in front of us.
I just noticed with Daylin, his demeanor was different.
He smiled more, was way more tranquil in her presence, and most importantly, never drifted off into that space where he’d be so withdrawn and deep in thought that he didn’t hear the conversation flowing around.
He was always present with Daylin, as if he didn’t wanna leave the present to delve into the recess of his mind.
It was wild to witness considering while he was with LaMia, Rakim hadn’t gone through as much as he had while with Daylin.
He’d had a very difficult ass childhood and deceased mother, but that was about it.
But current Rakim had a difficult childhood and dead mother plus a prison stint, murder charge, and now a dead brother, yet he was way more content with Daylin.
A blind individual could see how much more he coveted Daylin versus LaMia.
“Nah, I can’t even front on that one. LaMia was dope. I definitely fucked with her, but Daylin is one of a kind. She’s like the needle in the fucking haystack while LaMia is the hay—one of many,” he stated, somewhat in deep thought apparently.
“That’s how I feel about Kasia and Tarin. I run into so many fucking Tarins, but I’ve never met a woman even reminiscent of Kasia.”
“Then do what you gotta do. I’d hate to see her fall in love with another nigga and you have to sit by and watch. Because of Divine, you gon’ always have to be there and witness her life. You’d rather be in the movie than a viewer, Jojo.”
“Real shit.” I bobbed my head.
“Funny you mentioned how different my reaction would be if Ayan were with Daylin ’cause that nigga been trying, and it’s hard for me not to murk his ass.”
I knew Rakim didn’t kill Ayan for taking LaMia, because he’d explicitly stated he wouldn’t be going to prison for her again and especially not for a woman who would fuck his own brother. The fact that he would kill Ayan for Daylin spoke volumes.
“You lying.” I shook my head, frowning. I hated to say, I wasn’t surprised, because I’d grown up with Ayan and Rakim, and the former lived to beat, compete, or take anything from Rakim that brought him joy.
It started with video games or bike races and turned into money, careers, and women. And I think because Ayan set out to extract any and everything that came into Rakim’s possession, God penalized him by making Rakim better.
I loved both of my brothers, but the facts were facts.
Rakim was a more skilled fighter, he was currently richer despite his unpropitious circumstances and past, for as long as I could recall, more women flocked to him, and he even got better grades than Ayan.
It was like no matter what Ayan did, God stonewalled him in every aspect, maybe in effort to teach him a lesson my brother had yet to learn.
“Wish I was lying, but unfortunately, no. Sadly for him, Daylin ain’t that type and recognizes a muthafucka trying to cross his own brother ain’t a good person.”
“True,” I added. “Maybe he feels like you stole her since he was trying to get at her first,” I jested, making Rakim shoot a glare my way as I chuckled.
This nigga Ayan had a whole family but was still trying to get bitches. I knew I couldn’t talk, but at least I was single. Ayan perpetrated as this family man for his boxing fans and the media when, in reality, that wasn’t him. Kind of like my father.
“Get up and get back to work, nigga. You talking crazy.” Rakim rose, hitting my shoulder in the process.
Still sitting, I said, “I need my twin.” Silence hung in the air before I said, “No offense, Rah.”
“None taken. I understand that identical twin shit is different.”
“It is, but I love you just as much, bruh. You did a lot for all of us, even Ayan, and didn’t even make it an issue when Zaire and I continued to be cool and close with Ayan.
” Rising, I continued. “I want you to know ’cause I ain’t ever said it, but that shit wasn’t easy for either of us.
Several times I wanted to randomly rock Ayan’s shit, but you know he Nate Godfrey’s favorite son, and that would’ve started up some other shit. ”
Growing up, Nate seemed to hate all of us equally, but now Ayan was his clear front runner because he puppeteers his life. Ayan yearned for our father’s approval to the point where he would do whatever he was told, and Nate loved that shit. By saying that, Ayan could do no wrong in his eyes.
Though Rakim used to box, too, he was never our father’s favorite because he never allowed my father’s advice or demands to leave the ring and melt into his personal life.
Additionally, they’d fought our whole teenage life—Rakim usually taking a severe ass beating—and into adulthood whenever Nate disrespected our mother, until finally Rakim defeated him.
They fought a few more times after, with Nate coming out as the loser, so he eventually gave up on sparring with Rakim.
“Don’t I know it.” Rakim huffed, putting boxes on the dolly.
“Only you can fight Ayan ’cause Pops don’t know if he can take you anymore,” I half joked, even though the shit was pretty much true.
We guffawed in unison.
“And you ain’t have to tell me you didn’t approve of what Ayan did. I already knew the shit. Zaire told me as much.”
I bobbed my head then got to helping him, deciding on my next fucking move. I either needed to kill Darron or get my shit together. Maybe a nigga would do both.