CHAPTER TEN #2
Yatta passed me the blunt without me even asking. That's how we was, we just knew each other like that. I took a hit, letting the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling slowly
"So whats the tea though," Mya said, looking at me with that nosy little sister expression, "You was with Mr. Clyde again?"
"Don't be in my business, Mya." I passed the blunt back to Yatta. "But what y'all been up to? Why y'all still up this late?" " I just got in like thirty minutes ago," Yatta said, leaning back. "I been handling business all day. Shit is crazy right now, but in a good way."
"Yeah? What's going on?"
"Man, teaming up with Sosa was the best move I could've made," he said, and I felt something in my chest tighten at the name. "Ever since he became my connect, business been booming. His product is way better than what I was getting before."
"Sosa that nigga," Mya added. "He got the whole city on lock"
"Facts," Yatta said. "And he's smart about it too. He ain't moving reckless like some of these other niggas. He thinks shit through, he has people in place. That's the kind of connect you want."
I nodded, trying to act casual even though hearing Sosa's name had my mind going places it shouldn't. I hadn't seen him since that night at the club.
Sosa with his long locs that hung past his shoulders, and that silver nose ring that caught the light just right.
Tattoos covering his arms, that confident way he carried himself like he owned every room he walked into.
And his voice, it was deep, commanding, the kind of voice that made you pay attention whether you wanted to or not.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't think he was fine as hell.
"You good, Yah?" Mya asked, nudging me with her elbow.
"Huh? Yeah, I'm good. Just tired."
"You sure? You got that look on your face."
"What look?"
"That 'I'm thinking about a nigga' look," she said with a grin.
"Girl, bye." I rolled my eyes. "I'm not thinking about nobody."
"Mhm. Sure."
"Nah she don’t need to be thinking bout no nigga after what that bitch ass nigga Rylo pulled, leave her alone," Yatta said, scrolling through his phone again. And just like that, my mood shifted.
"Can we not talk about him?"
"We ain’t talking about him, I'm just saying, fuck that nigga. What he did was foul as hell."
"I know it was foul. That's why I blocked his ass tonight."
"Finally," Mya said. "I been telling you to block him weeks ago."
"Well I did it now, so—" My phone started ringing. All three of us looked at it sitting on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a number I didn't recognize.
"Who that?" Yatta asked.
"I don't know. Probably a spam call or some shit."
It stopped, then immediately started ringing again. Same number. "That ain't no damn spam call," Mya said.
I picked up my phone, staring at the screen. Something in my gut told me exactly who it was. Rylo must've called from a different number since I blocked his ass.
It rang again.
"You gon’ answer it?" Yatta asked.
I stood up, phone in hand. "Yeah, hold on. Let me take this in my room."
"Ooh, she taking it in her room," Mya teased. "It's definitely a nigga."
"Shut up."
I walked down the hallway to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. The phone was still ringing. I stared at it for a second, debating whether to answer or just block this number too.
But you know what? Fuck it. He wanted to talk? We could talk.
I answered.
"What?"
"Yah, bae, I thought you wasn't gon’ answer."
"Nigga, miss me with that bae shit!" I snapped, my voice sharp.
"What the fuck you want, Rylo?"
"I just wanna talk to you. Why you blocking my number and shit,"
"I blocked your number because I don't fuck with you no more, What part of that don't you understand?"
"Yah, just hear me out…"
"Hear you out?" I was pacing now, my free hand gesturing even though he couldn't see me. "Hear you out about what? About how you fucked my best friend? About how you looked me in my face and lied? Or how y'all was probably laughing at me behind my back this whole time?"
"It wasn't like that! I swear to God, Yah, it wasn't like that. It was one time, I was drunk, she came at me first, she stopped by my crib to rap with me about Dre, did you know he got shot that night?" he continued, and yea that was something I didn’t know,
"No I didn’t know dre got shot that night and you wanna know why?
Because my best friend didn’t tell me, she was too busy running to my man about it, then sucking his dick for sympathy.
and honestly I don't give a fuck if she came at you buck-ass naked!
" I was yelling now, not even caring if Mya and Yatta could hear me through the door.
"You still chose to do it! You still chose to fuck her knowing she was my friend, knowing that shit would hurt me! "
"I know, I know I fucked up. I know that. But baby, you gotta understand,"
"Understand? You a trifling-ass nigga, and you ain't shit.” My voice was breaking now, emotion creeping in despite how hard I was trying to stay angry.
"I really fucked with you, Rylo. I really thought we had some going with us.
And you just... you just threw that shit away for what? A quick nut with Morgan?"
"It didn't mean shit! She don't mean shit to me!"
"But I thought I did!" I shouted, The words came out louder than I intended, more vulnerable than I wanted to sound.
There was silence on the other end of the line. I could hear him breathing, could almost picture him sitting somewhere with his head in his hands, trying to figure out what to say.
"Yah," he finally said, his voice softer now, "I love you. I know I fucked up, but I love you. We can work through this shit. Just give me another chance."
I laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Love me? Nigga, you don't love me. You don't even know what love is. Because if you did, you never would've done this shit in the first place."
"Yah—"
"Nah, you know what? I'm done. I'm done with this conversation, with you, and all this bullshit." I was crying now, hot tears streaming down my face even though I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
"Don't call me no more. Don't text me. Don't try to see me. We're done, Rylo. Lose my fucking number and don't ever contact me again."
"Bae, please—"
"I ain't yo’ fucking bae! Stop saying that shit," I screamed into the phone. "You a bitch-ass nigga and I hope you and Morgan are real happy together, because both of y'all fake as fuck and y'all deserve each other!"
I hung up before he could say anything else, immediately blocking the number. My hands were shaking, my face was wet with tears, and my chest felt tight like I couldn't breathe right.
I sat down on the edge of my bed, phone clutched in my hand, and just let myself cry. Really cry, in a way I hadn't let myself since I first found out about the whole situation. I had been holding it in, staying strong, acting like I was unbothered. But the truth was, it hurt so fucking bad.
I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, muffling the sound so my siblings wouldn't come running. I didn't want them to see me like this.
After a few minutes, the crying started to slow down. My eyes hurt, my head hurt, my whole body felt exhausted. I wiped my face with my hands, trying to pull myself together.
My phone lit up on the bed next to me, but it wasn’t a call this time, just a notification. I picked it up and saw it was a text from Mr. Clyde.
Mr. Clyde: Looking forward to the ball. I'll send you details tomorrow about dress shopping. Sleep well, Beautiful.
I stared at the message for a second, then let out a long breath before I texted back.
Me: Sounds good. Talk tomorrow.
Then I set my phone down and laid back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The tears were still falling, slower now, just tracking down the sides of my face into my hair.
I was going to the ball, I was gon’ look fine as hell, and I was gon get my money. That's all that mattered now. Just me and my bag.
Everything else could burn in hell.
* * *
Two weeks Later….
I was at the Police Captain's Ball, and it was exactly as bougie as I expected.
The venue was this fancy hotel ballroom with crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, centerpieces with roses and candles.
Everyone was dressed to the nines, men in expensive suits, women in designer gowns.
There was a live band playing jazz music, waiters walking around with champagne and hors d'oeuvres.
And there were cops every fucking where.
Not just regular cops either, captains, commanders, detectives, all these high-ranking police in their dress uniforms with their medals and shit. Some were in suits, but you could tell they were law enforcement by the way they carried themselves. They all had that authoritative energy.
It lowkey freaked me out. I'd spent my whole life avoiding cops, trying not to get caught up in the system. And now I was at a party full of them, smiling and pretending like I belonged.
The dress Mr. Clyde bought me was a black Mugler gown that fit like it was painted on.
The fabric hugged every curve, every dip, every inch of my body perfectly.
It had a high slit that went all the way up my right thigh, showing off my leg whenever I walked.
The neckline was a deep V that showed just enough cleavage to be sexy without looking ratchet.
The back was completely open, just thin straps crossing over my shoulder blades.
It was elegant, expensive, and sexy as fuck.