"Noelle." He spoke.
That was my first time hearing my name off his lips, and I may have lost my cool for the first time in my life.
"Now that I say it, you're more of a Noelle than a Nikki" he gave a goofy grin.
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Jeremiah.
*Flashback*
I adjusted my shirt, finding my balance back on my own two feet, blood leaking from my eyebrow and my lip. "Niggas is buggin' we gotta get the hell up outta here" Brandon spoke, his thick new York accent heard over the music that was deafening to the ear. The crowd grew blurry as I stumbled my way towards the doors, ready to take off on foot to wherever I could find myself. Mu'fucks shootin up the club, I gotta find my people and bounce.
The cool night air blew through the thin material of my shirt and dried up my sweat in what felt like an instant, I knew I stanked like a mu'fucka right now. Shortys was throwing up, drinks was in the air, and I was sweating like a crackhead. I sat down for a second, the sidewalk twisting with my vision as I sat on a nearby curb of some corner store, gathering myself and tryna stop my head from spinnin. Head in my hands, I rubbed my temples to stop the throbbing that my brain was doin.
It's been four months since Judah died. Four months since I barely graduated high school, four months since the last time I could remember feeling a single emotion besides anger. I turned 18 a few weeks back, got a fake ID from some shorty in the back of a corner store and been drinking and smoking myself numb since. My moms been on my case, tryna tell me I'm actin like my bitch ass pops, comin in and out every few days out the week when I get tired of sleepin on couches and eating sandwiches and shit.
She told me I was "Becoming Frail" cause I ain't been "Eating her cooking" for a few weeks now. Just eating a sandwich from my moms house felt different than eating a sandwich at Brandon house. It's like the bread taste different or some, gotta have the air from my moms house touch it to make it taste just right. She been tryna have conversation after conversation with me since it all happened. I been havin my moments where I lash out on everybody, moments where I just wanna be by myself, not bothered with her or Derek, and days where I stay in my room all day staring at my ceiling, too deep in my own head to find my way out.
Ion know how to process it. Talking about it hurt too bad, but lashing out make me feel like a dickhead, and being by myself therapeutic until I get in my head and get stuck for hours. The whole situation just don't make sense to me, he was aight when he made it home. He was prayin. He was crackin jokes. He was in pain but he was toughin it out. He was alive. We prayed for him and he saw Jesus on the street when he almost bled out and died. Why he ain't live? Why he had to die?
Why didn't the doctors check to make sure he was in perfect condition to come home. How could they not have seen that there was still a puncture and he was still bleeding internally. He looked sick, pale, like he was in pain his last few hours. If I would have stayed with him instead of goin to sleep like a lil bitch he would be here. He'a still be in his room, readin his Bible, excited to tell me about this God who supposedly loved us so much. Why He ain't save my brother? How I'm supposed to think He real if He let a innocent man die for tryna take care of his family?
