𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐆

89

I've added the corrections to chapter 67 so the story makes more sense.

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SKOOBY - 2 weeks later

I wish I could put my finger on how the vibes were when I was sitting there getting my hair cut. It wasn't the same shit I was used to. Music playing, Bullet shuffling cards for his thousandth round of solitare, Sharpz talking shit about whichever babymama ain't come and see him this week. 

All that shit just stopped.

Sharpz ain't say shit and Bullet just sat there, arms crossed, watching the news. He twirled his toothpick around and around painfully slow on his bottom lip, flicking it up and down in concentration. His face was scrunched up bad, like he smelled some foul shit or something. If a muhfucka stared at his face so long you would think the teardrop under his eye started moving his shit was so still.

He ain't even greet me when I walked in, all he did was glance my way and shrug as he turned the chair around for me to sit. 

Sharpz kept his greeting to a mumble and by the looks of the dark circles under his face and the wispy gray hairs sticking in different directions along the outline of his beard, you could tell a nigga was stressing something heavy. I kept my low in the law library or in my bunk, out the way and out of everybody face. I ain't even seen Great Value Gucci round these parks since Trinity made it a point to guard my cell block after that incident where that fuck nigga banged my shit against the railing. Did I tell you I had to get 16 stitches? Man, I swear if I catch that Barney body ass nigga in the streets imma cut his ass so good you going to think Vienna sausages was steak. 

I don't even think I told you that my homeboys started paying me a visit once news got out that I was about to get the death penalty. Funny how irony work. They came almost every weekend in rotation to the bitches who was tryna come and see me to get in good enough to get close to my money. All the bitches I knocked off and fucked on back in the day found a way to write me, send me panties, say how they always loved me and all that shit. Every time I got a letter from one of those hoes I threw that shit in the trash. Where y'all was when I got convicted? Put into the back of that police car? Ain't nobody give a fuck till they realized this might be the last that they see of Skooby.

As much as I wanted to clown they ass to hide my hurt, I ain't say shit or tell the guards to turn  their ass around. Truthfully, it was lonely. Really lonely. Especially since during this time, I got -to thinking. I got to really re-evaluating some shit. A nigga bout to serve dirt time if Ana don't come through so why not make amends with some shit and get my mind and heart right, right? Aiight then.

I admit I was a dumb ass nigga thinking that Ana was going to come and save me off rip. Truthfully, I still have love for her but it was through love that I realized Ana got real bitter at life. She was so busy chasing behind opportunity that she ain't realize that she was really an insecure girl who just wanted a way out with a lil love on top. She ain't fuck with rejection too tough. And fucking around with her fast ass friends who see a nigga for their cuban link ain't help shit neither. I loved the fuck out of Ana, and I won't lie and say I still don't. But you know what? I gotta love me more and be realistic.

Ana ain't bout love. She's about luxury and a nigga to take care of her. I don't even know if she mentally built to even take care of the nigga. But you know what? I'm not going to make that shit my business no more. 

After this letter she hopefully writes to testify against the charges imma cut her off. I'm seeing now that after all this shit she either ain't give a fuck or she shut down from reality and kept her vision tunneled. Either way, I don't deserve that shit. I deserve a good, regular girl that ain't about all that crazy shit. Not like some homebody but a woman, feel me? Good job,  good ambition, good head on her shoulders, someone like... like-