Chapter Nine #2
Braye was set to be on the next train out of Miami once his cousin wired him some money.
“Not yet.” He grabbed his blunt from the ashtray and lit the end. “Don't worry, princess. I’ll be outta your hair soon.”
“I’m not saying it like that…” she hesitated. “I just don't think it’s safe for you to be here. You know St. Parklynn isn’t that far from Miami. What if someone tracks you down here?”
“They won’t,” he assured. “I made sure I couldn’t be tracked.”
Braye had tossed his phone before he hit the highway months ago. He didn’t log onto any of his apps or reach out to people back in St. Parklynn. The only person he spoke to was his cousin who was in Virginia.
“Yeah, but you don't know that. Listen, I don't want anything to happen with me and my son.”
Kissing his teeth, he retorted, “I just told yo’ ass that I’ll be outta here when my cousin send me some bread.”
“Then what’s your plan?” she questioned, taking a seat on the recliner. “Are you just gonna be on the run for the rest of your life?”
Braye hadn’t thought that far ahead. What he was certain of was getting out of the state of Florida.
“You don't give a fuck, so why you care all of a sudden?” he snarled, tapping the ashes off his blunt.
“If I didn’t care, your ass wouldn’t be at my house. I shouldn’t care, though, because you only come around when you need something.”
Braye’s face softened. Ariana was typically his go-to when he was in between relationships or wanted to buy some time. He never took her serious since she wasn’t up to his standards.
“You do the same shit. Whenever you were behind on bills, who you used to hit up?”
Pressing her lips together, she narrowed her eyes.
“Oh, you don't have nothing to say?” he taunted her. “Don't act like this ain't been transactional on your end.”
“It wasn’t. I always wanted to be with you, but you was stuck on that married woman. Where is she now that you need her?”
Braye’s stomach soured at the thought of Cali. What used to be love was now pure hatred. Images of her face made him queasy. He never thought he would teeter the line of adoration and abhorrence with Cali.
“Fuck that bitch. Don't bring her ass up to me. She’s where she’s at and I’m here, stuck with you.”
Ariana rolled her eyes and stood. “I need some money on the light bill.”
He grimaced. “Do it look like I got some bread?”
“I know you do. Give me your card so I can pay it.”
“You don't think those mothafuckas are monitoring my account? As soon as you pay that shit, they gon’ come knocking at your door. Hell fucking no.”
Braye had managed to take some money out of his account before he left St. Parklynn but that cash had run out. He hated himself for not emptying his accounts.
“So, what I’m supposed to do for the light bill? I’m already a month behind.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he lied.
“Are you for real?”
“Yes!” he shouted. “Now leave me the fuck alone with your worrisome ass. How the fuck were you going to pay it if I wasn’t here?”
Placing her hand on her hip, Ariana riposted, “It would’ve been paid because guess what? I wouldn’t have had a grown-ass nigga here while I’m working using up all my electricity. I don't know if you realized that you need me, so you need to watch your mouth.”
Braye jumped up, stalking toward where she stood. She looked up at him, wearing faux confidence with labored breathing.
“Say that shit to me again,” he dared her.
“… I didn’t say anything wrong.”
He pointed his index finger at her. “You better watch how you talk to me. It wouldn’t be shit for your son to come home from school and find your ass stankin’. Now get the fuck outta my face.”
Ariana glowered at him for a second before she disappeared down the hall. Braye plopped back on the couch, counting down the time until her ass went to work. After forty-five minutes, Ariana was dressed in her uniform with her purse hanging off her forearm.
“I’m leaving,” she announced.
Thank God…
Braye didn’t reply as she walked through the kitchen and left out of the back door.
Not having anything to do, he turned on Netflix and searched for a show that he hadn’t watched yet.
Braye had searched every streaming site, watching anything he could to get his mind off his terrible situation.
Settling on a crime show, he laid back and watched until he dozed off.
Hours had passed by before Braye heard the back door open. Slowly, he sat up, glancing at his watch.
“She must've got off early,” he grumbled, standing.
Braye headed toward the kitchen only to be bombarded by three men.
Right away, he was knocked down to the ground.
His head hit the floor as a barrage of boots crashed against his body.
Kicks to the face, chest, and groin caused pain to radiate through his form.
“Bitch-ass nigga, you thought you wasn’t gon’ be caught!”
There was no way this was law enforcement. They would’ve announced themselves before taking him down. This had to be Rio’s people.
“Knock that nigga out!” one of them ordered.
Braye put his hands up, trying to brace himself but the kick that crashed into his face, knocked him into another dimension.
Irish cringed as she entered the underground casino with Emanuel tightly holding her hand.
Daisy had helped her get dressed for the occasion, and she was clad in a denim skirt, a white crop top, and heels that she could barely walk in.
Her mother put some mascara on her lashes and lined her lips with a brown liner, topping it off with clear gloss.
“You look so beautiful,” Emanuel kept complimenting her.
Irish was too livid to appreciate his comment, so she never replied.
Waving smoke from her face, Emanuel found the same table as last time.
This time there was a man who didn’t look so old.
He was boyishly handsome with jewelry that dazzled under the lights.
He eyed her briefly before shooting his dice along the table.
“Twan, what’s going on, cuh?” Emanuel greeted him with a handshake.
“I can’t call it.” He peered at Irish this time with a little more curiosity in his orbs. “Who dis?”
“Oh, this is my little lady. Say hi to Twan, Baby Girl.”
Shyly, she waved her hand and avoided his eye contact. Again, Emanuel’s big hand rested on her waist before traveling toward the top of her butt. She looked up, piercing him with eyes that could kill.
“Follow my lead. Your mama don't need to know about this,” he whispered.
Irish clammed up, hating how her voice had vanished. She wished to protest and remind her of the warning Daisy had given him, but her words didn’t form.
“Let’s see if my good luck charm can work out in my favor.” Emanuel grinned, grabbing the dice. Before he rolled, he placed them in front of Irish’s lips. Begrudgingly, she blew on them, causing him to chuckle.
“You gon’ give me bad luck with that attitude. Blow gently like I taught you to, Baby Girl.”
The gaze in Emanuel’s eyes made her feel so invaluable. Like a painting at the dollar store that held no worth. Why did she have to be the bearer of this burden? Daisy could’ve saved her from this. Painfully, she condoned it, making sure to give her pep talks on how to flirt.
This time, Irish blew softly, and Emanuel threw the dice on the table.
“That’s what I’m talking about?” he cheered, collecting the dice again.
“Damn, she really is your good luck charm, huh?” Twan noted, looking Irish up and down.
“I’m tellin’ you, cuh. I don't leave home without her,” Emanuel bragged.
“Well, shit.” Twan slid closer to where she stood. “You sharing?”
“If you wanna have a conversation with her, be my guest.”
Irish cut her eyes at Emanuel as Twan softly grabbed her hand.
“What’s your name, baby?”
“Tisha,” Emanuel lied.
“Tisha, huh?” Twan repeated, gazing into her eyes.
If Irish wasn’t so disgusted, she would’ve appreciated his youthful good looks. He was caramel toned with golden brown eyes and juicy lips. He didn’t have much facial hair except for a thin mustache that posed over his lips.
“Come to the bar with me.”
Irish immediately looked at Emanuel, who was too busy collecting chips.
“Come on, baby. I won’t bite.”
It felt as if Emanuel had ignored her on purpose. Twan grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the table. All creepy eyes were on her as they journeyed to the bar.
“What you want to drink?” he asked her.
Not knowing what to say, she replied, “A Sprite.”
“A Sprite?” His eyebrows pinched. “You don't want no real drink?”
“No, a Sprite is fine.”
Twan must've thought she was an adult by his reaction. Irish would’ve corrected him, but Daisy told her not to tell any of her personal business, especially her age.
“Alright. A Sprite it is.”
Twan ordered her soda and him a brown drink. When the bartender passed it to him, he handed the Sprite to her.
“Let’s go over here.”
She was frozen in her stance as he pulled her with his hand. Noticing her not budging, he looked back, wearing a perplexed expression.
“What’s wrong, baby? We only going over here.” He pointed to a booth.
Irish glanced back at Emanuel, who was so deep in his game he hadn’t noticed her absence. Unwillingly, she followed Twan to the booth and slid in. She was surprised when he sat next to her rather than across from her.
“It’s not every day that I come across someone as bad as you. You so fine with those freckles and red hair. I ain't never seen nobody that look like you. This your real hair color?” he asked, touching her tresses.
Irish bobbed her head.
“Damn, love, why you so tensed? I know you ain't trying to respect that old-ass nigga you came here with.”
No, I want you to back the fuck away from me…Irish didn’t let her thoughts out of her head. She didn’t know what this man was capable of.
“So, what’s up with you and him?” He sipped on his drink. “You fucking that nigga?”
She shook her head.
“You ain't gotta lie to me, love. That old nigga hittin’ that shit, ain't he?”
Again, Irish shook her head.
“Yeah, a’ight,” he quipped with doubt. “Fuck that nigga. I’m trying to take you home.” He touched her exposed thigh, prompting chills to burgeon on her arms.
Leaning back, Irish placed some distance between them. “I can’t.”
“Why? You scared?” He dug inside his pocket and pulled out a bankroll of money. “I’m a generous man. Tell me the price and I got you.”
He flicked through bills, bypassing several hundred-dollar bills.
Irish suddenly hated money. It represented all the evil that consumed people.
People sold their bodies and traded their souls for money.
Irish’s young mind knew it was a necessity to have.
Nonetheless, she hated the thought of money and how it turned people away from their morals and integrity.
“How much for a piece of that young pussy?”
“I’m a virgin,” she blurted out.
His eyes grew wide before a grin surfaced on his lips. “Word. Shit, I’ll pay you extra for that virgin pussy.”
“No, I can’t.” She shook her head.
“Come on, Tisha,” he begged with urgency, leaning close to her. “Let me feel it.”
Twan placed his hands between her thighs before forcing a kiss on her lips.
“Get off of me!” she yelled.
“Bitch, let me feel you.”
Irish punched him in the groin, immediately removing his hands from between her thighs. He groaned in agony as she kicked him out of the booth.
“Damn, what you do, girl?” an older man asked, looking at Twan on the ground.
Irish quickly jumped over a groaning Twan and headed for the door.
“Aye, Irish!” Emanuel yelled.
Irish picked up the pace and sprinted out of the establishment. Her ankle almost rolled in her heels, but she was determined to leave. Not knowing where she was, she began running until she reached a busy street. All she had was five dollars on her and a pack of gum.
“Shit,” she whispered, running toward the bus stop.
When she arrived, she paced back and forth.
Looking around, paranoia camped out inside her body, hoping Emanuel wouldn’t emerge.
Daisy was more than likely to reprimand her for leaving but after being sexually assaulted, she couldn’t bear to play the role of seducing men.
“Yes,” she quietly celebrated when she spotted the bus. Irish had no idea where the bus was headed to, and she didn’t care. As long as she was far away from the underground casino and all the predators that roamed it.
Irish sat on the toilet, loathing how her recollections were so vivid.
No matter how much she prayed her awful memories away, they surfaced without warning and without greeting.
Looking down at her hands, she shook her head.
Life had already been chaotic for her, but these recent developments took the cake.
She got up, tossed the trash in the garbage, then washed her hands.
Looking in the mirror, Irish noticed her eyes were deadpan.
Sunshine hadn’t made an appearance in her life anymore.
Just gray skies and rain. It was so much rain, she felt like she was drowning on the inside.
Noble still hadn’t left her system. Irish felt like she had been going through withdrawals for the last three months; feeling ill one day then crying the next.
Jovanis had been in and out, trying to keep her mind off her lovesick state, but he couldn’t compare.
No amount of shopping, eating, or quality time with him made up for the void that was now in her life.
“Fuck this.”
Irish turned on the shower and covered her silk wrap with a shower cap.
For years, she had thrown her own desires to the wasteland in order to be present for others.
Years of selflessly putting people first had drained her dry.
Irish couldn’t take it anymore. She needed her person.
The one that made her heart leap with glee and her lips stretch into the biggest smile.
In the past, she worried about hurting others, but Irish didn’t give a fuck.
She was in her Tupac era. Fuck the world was Irish’s new motto.
Getting in the shower, she immediately beamed.
What she was about to do would either make or break her spirit.
She prayed for the former. Jovanis would be upset.
People in her life would probably look at her with scowls of judgement.
Still, Irish was in need, and she didn’t give a damn what people had to say.
Noble was hers, and she refused to go anymore days without her heart inside her chest.