RED PARALLEL

Chapter 47: Heaven For a Gangsta

Song: Heaven 4 a Gangsta, by The Game.

Traviz didn't go at the next 'mission'. He feared he would not be able to perform another epic distraction since he could barely walk. The pain on his leg was increasing - he gave up taking those analgesic pills, c'mon, he didn't need that - and he felt about to enter into a deep and morose sleep. The mp3 had run out of battery for the third time, and he just dropped it, feeling like doing no shit at all. The room was hot and he was sweating for real.

Gretta, I need some air in here. 

"You need anything, dear? I'm going out." Gretta smiled.

"I'm fine."

I'm tough, mothafucka. Just bring me a fan.

"Are you? Your face looks bad."

Thanks, that's my face.

"I'm good," he said. "My head aches, though."

And my dick.

"You're not on drugs, are you?"

Now, that was funny. Soon, the explanation.

"Boy, we don't do drugs here. Drugs are for the weak. We ain't weak. We're the strong ones. We sell, they buy. Do you understand the difference?"

Traviz was slightly offended.

"I'm not on drugs! I ain't got nothing to do with those drugged freaks. I don't care about them. I just want the money."

"That's my boy. What I wouldn't do to get only boys like you. Last week I had to eliminate a few ones, they were so weak, pissing me off every day. But you, boy, you're a prince. Behaving so well, being so clever, so gentle, so healthy..." Gretta kissed him and said goodbye.

Behaving well, being clever and gentle? Okay...

He wondered what the 'eliminated boys' might have done to be 'eliminated'. Why they got fired? Because they had a floppy dick? Haha...

Wait. Where's Chuester?

He hadn't seen him lately. Maybe because he had spent most of the time in Gretta's room, but... Was Chuester one of the fired guys? Well, that was bad, the dude was so willing to get the money and go to Levion...

The numb blood in his body went cold and then hot and then cold. The blood was not deciding itself, whether to run cold or hot. Rollercostedly bumping, Traviz was getting sick. First, the pain in his dick. Second, savage itching in his dick and balls. Fucking became a funny shit - not funny at all - because he would suffer from the ache but at the same time it would relieve the itching. But then, the third shit: red blisters. At his bottom. Visible, disgusting, itching, aching, gross, like some terrifying skin disease. When he first looked at it, he almost puked. When the blisters spread, Traviz claimed to Gretta he had a savage ultra-high headache, that his dick just wouldn't do this time. And next time. And maybe forever. The underwear was rubbing the bubbles and it would irritate as hell. The dick was cornered, asking for help, a motherfucking S.O.S., but he didn't know what to do. Gretta was growing suspicious. She had once nearly opened his door; Traviz yelled he had a damn diarrhea, maybe next time, bitch. But the worst was about to come.

Fever. Hot skin and sweat, shiver all night long, cold, thirst - because drinking any kind of liquid would make him piss painfully, so no -, bloody nightmares, mom getting stabbed at her back, dad murdering a flock of cats and Dobermanns, rusty dicks cutting down his skin, Gretta setting his mp3 on fire inside her ass, poisoned lasagna while Owen laughed and kicked his ribs, Jessi crying because she got skinny, Traviz having his right leg cut off, Aaron laughing because there'd be no need for kicks, Nate throwing crystal trophies at his back, G.Klo...

He would wake up sweating from head to toe. When some of the niggas threw a package of food from under the door, Traviz opened it, kind of lost and nervous and willing to have someone to stay next to him. He felt berserk as if about to jump off a cliff or put a gun on his head or dick, whatever.

"Cobe, Cobe, you know were Chuester is?"

"Shut up. Get back in."

"Was he fired? Gretta said about 'eliminating'... But was he-"

Cobe walked away, stopped, and turned around. "If I were you," he whispered, checking around for ear hustlers. "I'd get out of this place."

"W-why?"

"How's your fever doing?"

"Bad."

"You know what happens to a sick dude like you?"

"No."

Cobe didn't hesitate. He seemed utterly serious, without that typical dumb face. "They get killed. Eliminated. So you gotta get out if you wanna live, boy. Trust me. I was stupid at your age. Now I'm stuck here for good."

That was weird. Why was the gangsta trying to 'help' him, out of a sudden? And what, be killed for being sick? Cobe continued as if talking about a secret robbing bank plan. "I got your back on this. Don't ya worry, you gon get outta here."

"But what if I don't want to?"

"Well, then I'll kill ya myself." Cobe was so fucking certain, like why. "Run away. Don't ever come back to the West."

In a matter of minutes, Cobe led him to a background area, a place Traviz had never been before. His brain asked 'so what is going on, fellas? Can anybody tell me?' He just couldn't get mad at Cobe and start arguing and fighting against all that nonsense, so he just stood still, a backpack containing his cash and the mp3.

"Get that subway and go East, kid. Go to a hosp and get that fucking virus outta you before it's too late. Do it if ya wanna live better," Cobe said.

"B-but." Traviz shook his head. "Why are ya doing this to me? Like, I thought you hated me, you're the one tryna kill me all the-"

"I'm still tryna get to heaven, maybe it's too late, but damn, hell has too many motherfuckers and stupid hoes, and I'm sick of them," Cobe blurted. "So just get yo ass outta here."

"You said you're stuck. Why?"

"It's complicated. Grab your chance and make things easy, not complicated, kid. You're young and stuff, and God hopes you won't be sick like me."

"Like you?"

"I ain't got much time in this life, let's say. I hope you do, so run before I have to kill ya. Take this with ya."

He handed a gun.

"If Gretta chases ya, kill. Even if it's me."