𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗦 - tayo amusan

𝟲

The air was thick with tension as the delivery man, his face plastered with fear, tried to reason with the group. "I didn't know there was a fee. Okay?" he stammered. "Next time I come back, I'll pay it. I promise. I'm just... I'm just doing my job. Look, boys—"

Before he could finish, Skreamer shoved him, his grip tight on the man's jacket. "Brudda, f*ck your job," Skreamer spat out, his voice laced with disdain.

Tayo, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, stepped forward. There was a moment of silence as the two locked eyes. The delivery man's hands trembled slightly, and Tayo noticed the faint quiver of his bottom lip—a clear sign of fear. Tayo sighed internally. This wasn't what he wanted, but the streets didn't care about intentions. They cared about actions.

Tayo kept his gaze fixed on the delivery man, reading the desperation in his eyes. He wasn't looking for trouble, just trying to make it through the day, like everyone else.

"Hey, 'low him, man," Tayo said, his voice firm yet carrying a tone of reluctant authority. He knew he had to diffuse the situation without showing weakness.

"But that was your warning. Yeah? Now you know. Next time, step correct," Tayo continued, his words measured as he gestured for Skreamer to let the man go.

The delivery man nodded quickly, his breath shaky. "All right, yeah," he mumbled, relief evident in his voice as Skreamer finally released his grip.

"Come," Tayo ordered, turning away and pulling his hood over his head. The motion was final, signaling that the interaction was over.

As they walked away, Skreamer shook his head in frustration, shoving his hands into his pockets. "F*ck's sake," he muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed at how things had played out.

Twosie piped up, "Nah, Taze, man. Dinner's on you, you know? Since you wanna be giving free food away, man." But there was a tinge of disappointment in his voice.

"Come on, now, bruv," Twosie added, but the usual humor in his tone was missing.

Tayo walked into the living room, carefully placing a bowl of water on the small table in front of his grandmother. The preacher's voice droned on in the background from the TV, talking about God helping those who help themselves, but Tayo wasn't really listening. His mind was elsewhere—on Amara, on the stabbing and on how he was going to get Chucky back.

His grandmother, with a slow and deliberate motion, dipped her hands into the water, washing them thoroughly. Tayo stood back, holding a towel over his arm, waiting patiently. When she was done, she held out her hand, and he handed her the towel, waiting for her to finish drying her hands before he took the bowl and plate to the kitchen.

As he turned to leave, her voice, calm yet commanding, stopped him in his tracks. "Take that off and come back. I want to talk to you."

Tayo froze for a moment, his heart sinking. He knew what was coming but nodded obediently. "Yes, Grandma," he said quietly, heading to the kitchen.

When he returned, his grandmother was holding his bloody shirt from the night of the party. The sight of it brought back memories he'd been trying to suppress, and his usual confident demeanor faltered.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice steady, but her eyes bore into him, demanding the truth.

Tayo hesitated, his mouth dry. He looked down at the floor, avoiding her gaze. "Um, I fell over and cut myself," he finally muttered, the lie weak even to his own ears.

His grandmother wasn't fooled. She stood up and stepped closer, her eyes narrowing with disappointment. "Come here," she ordered softly.

Tayo approached her slowly, every step feeling heavier than the last. When he was close enough, she looked him straight in the eyes and asked, "Tayo, do I look stupid to you?"