Chapter 4 #2
"Oh, so everything falls on me now, huh?" Trecee's voice pitched even higher, more defensive and frantic.
"Mane, gone on with that ignorant shit and get yourself together," I said, my voice low and threatening.
I moved toward the door, preparing to walk past her and get Moriah away from this toxic-ass environment, but Trecee grabbed my arm. Her nails dug into my skin as she tugged, trying to pull me back toward her.
Synthia stood there in the doorway, not moving, her eyes taking in every detail of what was unfolding. She wasn't being shameful about imposing as an intruder—she was standing her ground, watching this shit show with those observant, calculating eyes.
"I thought we were going to talk, baby," Trecee said, her voice shifting again—softer now, almost pleading, like she could manipulate me into staying.
"What more do I need to say that you don't understand now?" I asked, my tone flat.
Behind her eyes, I could see the hurt. The desperation. The realization that she was losing control.
But that's how she always reeled me in. She used tears and sadness as bait, expecting me to fold like I always did.
Once upon a time, I used to be crazy in love with her. I accepted her flaws as my own, coated them, kept them warm, made excuses for her behavior.
But her ways were vindictive. Manipulative. Selfish.
And that's valid enough reason not to fuck with her the way she wants me to anymore.
Trecee used to be my soft spot.
But a while ago—maybe a year, maybe two—I checked out emotionally from this relationship. There was nothing she could do to bring that feeling back.
At this point and beyond, it had dissipated completely. Like smoke. Like it never existed in the first place.
"C'mon, Moriah," Synthia said softly, her voice a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. She took the little girl's hand gently and led her out of the room, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Trecee and I stood there, staring at each other. Her chest was heaving, her eyes were red and puffy, mascara streaking down her cheeks in black rivers.
And I felt nothing.
***
"You really think I'm about to spend a whole trip in Turks with just her? Nah. I need you there."
"Romelo—"
"I'm serious, Juicy. I already got your ticket. You're coming."
Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked like she wanted to argue but couldn't find the words.
"Doesn't she have access to a lot?" she finally asked, changing the subject. Her tone was careful, like she was testing the waters.
I scrunched up my face in confusion. "The fuck you mean? What type of access?"
"Access to your accounts? Money? Your plug—"
"Hell naw!" I cut her off, my voice sharp. "Where the fuck you get that shit from?"
"For as long as y'all been together, she has to know something."
I shook my head, irritation creeping into my tone.
"Her head's been in the fucking clouds. Trecee only worried 'bout what I could do for her.
As long as I was breaking her off some bread, she was good.
If she had access to that type of shit, I'd be fucked up out here.
" I leaned forward, my elbows on the counter.
"She has poor money management skills. That'd be like giving a kid a bag of candy and expecting them not to eat it all. Fuck I look like to you?"
Synthia bit her lip, thinking. "What about you being loyal to her for saving your life?"
That question hit different. I paused, my jaw clenching.
"I couldn't let that shit hinder me for so long," I said quietly.
"What if she tries to set you up?" Synthia pressed, her eyes searching mine.
I leaned forward even more, my face inches from hers.
My voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"Yo cousin's a fucking bird brain. She ain't got no fuckin' power.
You ready to attend a funeral? You'll look sexy as fuck in your Sunday's best." I let that hang in the air for a second.
"Don't put thoughts like that in my head.
I don't have to be in town to get her touched.
You know what the fuck I'm capable of, don't you? "
She bit down on her bottom lip—a nervous habit I'd noticed. "Any more questions?"
"Yeah, actually. I have a lot more questions."
She folded her hands over her ample breasts and turned her head to the side, her curls falling over her shoulder.
I waited.
"Going forward, this..." She motioned her finger between us, her eyes serious.
"If you ever get to a stage where you don't want me, then let me know.
The way you did Trecee was foul. I wouldn't wish that shit on my worst enemy.
Don't leave me in the dark. If you ain't feeling me, then let me know and I'll move accordingly. "
Her words stung more than I expected.
"I'll never do you the way I did her," I said, and I meant it. The insult in my voice was clear.
"Do you believe a crackhead when they tell you they won't do crack anymore?" she questioned, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "I need to keep my feelings protected. This ain't about you. This is about me."
I understood where she was coming from. Trust was earned, not given. And I hadn't exactly given her much reason to trust me.
"Where you goin' wit' this?" I asked.
"I just told you how I feel. I poured my heart out to you the other day. Men like you can have a dime a dozen, so I need to peep shit for what it is and not for what you tell me."
"Then the same goes for you too—"
"I already told you how I feel. I wasn't cappin' when I said that shit," I defended, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "Yo trust is all fucked up."
"Oh, ya don't say?" She giggled, but there was no humor in it. "It starts with niggas like you."
That hit me in the chest like a brick.
"One minute you want this princess treatment, then the next you're deciphering what it is and what it ain't. You don't know what the fuck you want," I spat, my voice rising slightly.
"It took you years to figure out what you wanted before you became bold enough to utter the truth," she argued back, her voice matching mine in intensity. "I'm not some rebound bitch, and I ain't never been known to hide what I do or who I am in the dark. Trecee is what men like you call a trophy."
I gritted my teeth, my jaw clenching so hard it hurt. "Stop insulting yourself like that. It ain't never been like that. You wasn't feelin' me, so I peeped that and moved on. That's my only fuckin' regret, and I put that shit on my mama. I'm convinced you just like to hear yourself talk."
Leaning off the counter, I stale-faced her for a long moment. She didn't talk, and neither did I. But I could see the wheels turning in her head—words she wanted to say but held back.
Synthia got away with saying shit that I would've slapped Trecee for. And she knew it.
"You don't get to treat me like a pet," she finally said, her voice quiet but firm.
"I never said you were, Juicy."
"Mean what you say and stand on that shit."
"You have to trust me," I responded, my voice softer now. I took a deep breath, trying to reel in my frustration.
"It won't be easy."
"Nothing in life comes easy."
My feelings had been locked away for so long—buried deep, hidden behind layers of bravado and coldness. But now, with Synthia, I was peeling those layers back. Showing her the raw, vulnerable parts of myself that I'd never shown anyone.
It was uncomfortable. Terrifying, even.
But if it kept her in my life, I'd do it without hesitation.
My only fear was her doing the same—opening up to me, showing me her vulnerabilities—only to double back and flip the switch on me later. To use what I'd shown her against me.
She wasn't the only one afraid in this situation.
And I ain't never been scared of nothing else in my entire existence—except losing her.
"Uh-uh, you're cheating!" Synthia yelled after me as I dribbled past her on the basketball court.
I jumped toward the hoop, dunked the ball with one hand, and hung from the rim for a second before dropping back down. The kids on the sidelines erupted in cheers—Monterrius was the loudest, shit-talking and clowning Synthia and Moriah.
The ball bounced past Synthia, and she put her hands on her hips, breathing hard. "That's not fair! You're like six feet tall!"
"Six-three, actually," I corrected with a grin.
"Whatever!" She waved me off, but I could see the smile tugging at her lips.
Synthia was a sore loser. It was her idea to come to the park and play basketball. Some young kids had been playing earlier, and she'd gotten all competitive, talking shit about how she used to ball back in the day.
I told her I played in high school and I wasn't meant to be fucked with. That warning went through one ear and out the other.
Now she was out here, sweating through her PINK shirt, out of breath, complaining that I was cheating every time I scored.
To make Moriah feel better, I picked her up, placed the ball in her small hands, and lifted her high enough to dunk it in the rim. She giggled the entire time, her little legs kicking in excitement.
Synthia watched with a soft smile, and for a moment, everything felt... normal. Peaceful.
"I'm never playing with your cheating ass ever again," Synthia said as we walked over to the bench to sit down. She was still out of breath, her chest heaving.
"You need to get more active," I teased, sitting down beside her.
Her PINK shirt had patches of sweat across the front, and beads of perspiration ran down her forehead. She looked beautiful—flushed, messy, real.
Moriah and Monterrius stayed on the court, still playing. The rest of the kids were on the playground. The game wasn't long, but I still made sure to keep my eyes on them, scanning the area periodically to make sure they were safe.
"I used to be an active little thing when I was younger," Synthia said, giggling as she removed the scrunchie from around her wrist and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail.