𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟭𝟯"𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, where the fuck are my squares!? Jayla!"
Inside the women's glam room a Monica jam played around the silver, elegant space. The sitting area with two comfy tub chairs and an ottoman sat Jayla's best friend and cousin, MJ, and sitting in the white upholstered swivel barrel chair was Jayla, getting her scalp moisturized by her sister, Juni, after her normal wash day for her long and thick blown out hair. The bass of his voice startled each woman, and Juni was the first one to hold her chest and laugh.
"Girl, what the hell did you do? He fucking scared me," Juni said.
"Nothing. I'll be back," Jayla stands with her bra length hair bouncing with volume each step she took to her man, reaching him in the kitchen. "Why are you yelling my name?"
"Where the fuck are my squares? They was right here," he aggressively gestured to the empty spot on the counter, "You always moving shit!" he said, and Jayla scowled with her short temper setting in.
"Nigga, who the fuck is you talkin' to? I don't smoke no fucking cigs, nigga, so why the fuck would I touch em? You a whole weirdo."
The hood chick from Watts was coming outta Jayla, and that's exactly what De wanted. His grief had been gradually turning into anger, and he'd have his moments where he would flip out about the small things and since Solana was still in Detroit and Dover knew how to ignore his outbursts, Jayla was the only one that bit into it, and argued with him. She had a lethal bark, and a even harder bite just the way De did, and could keep up wit him.
Her Gemini flare with his Scorpio emotions, the two were always the ones bound to clash.
"So where my shit? Why it ain't in the same fuckin' place it was last night?"
"I don't fucking know!"
"Man, you better quit raising yo' mutha fuckin' voice at me."
YOU ARE READING
GANGSTA REFLECTION
General FictionBOOK #7 || De'Aundre Booker balancing life in modern day society after years in prison.