her patience and understanding. her virtue of love that fuses and discombobulates the togetherness of a forbidden force of nature and reality she yearns. two bodies, one soul ridden with dire consequences of togetherness; but still they seek to make...
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"Momma, what the fuck is we still doing here?" Calls out the aggravation of the teen, voice gravely with adolescence and shaky with the grasp it begged to maintain on youthfulness and childhood, cracking of its deepening with a spurt of youth and the force of their external innocence dwindling into the darkness of that night that was the becoming of the past. "Pops said he ain't even want us here 'cause gigi and 'nem been on some' shifty when he seen 'em and don't want us to get caught up in they bullshit. He said this party they throwing for Kae ain't genuine." Concentrated was the fore mentioning, a guised worry of the world that bellows with the shifting of conversation and blaring of Hip-Hop and R&B through the speakers of the celebratory atmosphere and the debriefing of the physical altercation that had just came to an abrupt halt with the injured on the floor and crowded with the other brushing off the lecture of his mother. The home boomed with laughter, conversation, and curiosity, its exterior victim to the dustiness of the winding pathway to the lively home irritated by vehicles that hadn't ceased in pulling up into the driveway of the large home. A residence naturally hosting of long term family and close friends by the mind and verbal acclaim of the social Monét D'Amico who brings a hand upside the head of her huffing and puffing son to scorn his reckless mouth and violent behavior.
Now having matured into a stage of teenage rebellion, the eldest son of the D'Amico's had found himself growing less and less fearful of stepping out his claim and state of youth and child wellness to assert his aging through a behavioral shift ranging from an array of shameless behaviors starting with profanity, to more intense and serious deviancies such as skipping class resulting in the poor grades he faithfully avoided in making better, school suspensions and frequent physical alterations not only on the premises of the school but in the home, a pure menace in the body of a sixteen year old boy. A demon in the eyes of his mother who flamed the behavior of the walking safety hazard as she pulled him and his sister aside from the overpopulated crowd of her mother's home, Midge Tadesse. A polite separation that allows for the mother and son duo to bicker with a furious, "I'll whoop that nigga's ass again. Don't fucking play wit' me, you ain't gon' sit here and let that nigga touch on my sister at a party Pops done told you not to bring us to, yet here we are! Yo' dumbass partying and living it up in this fuck ass house while that muh'fucka was feelin' up on yo' daughter and you ain't even see!"
"Excuse me!" Monét intercepts, taken aback by his choice of words towards her in front of the crowd that surrounded them. "The hell did you just say to me!"
"You heard what the fuck I said!" He retorts confidently, eyes looking past the shaking thumb that swipes swiftly at the blood dripping down his cheek from the gash on his left cheekbone. "If you can huh, you can hear! You watching your daughter get touched on by grimy ass lil' boys who too pussy to stand on what they 'bout when a real ass nigga press 'em. Ion care how old that muh'fucka is. He gon' learn to come correct and respect my fucking sister. If he ain't learned none' from his pussy ass daddy, he damn sure learned from that ass whoopin' that I'll air this bitch out behind KK, everybody gon' get hit, family or not ion give no fucks! Nobody gon' touch my sister and get away wit' that shit! Nobody!"
