Memphis Streets 2 (Urban)

Chapter 13- Jaleesa

Curled into a ball at the foot of the bed and still dressed in my prom dress, I feel like a zombie. I didn't sleep a wink last night. It ain't every fucking day that someone finds their best friend after they'd been brutally raped and beaten and trying to hoof it home in a bloody silk robe and barefooted. Shit. I still can't believe last night happened, just like I can't believe that Drey and I didn't get Brielle to a hospital. Instead, we dropped her off on her doorstep like an unwanted baby. How could I fucking do that to my own best friend? What makes it worse is that I know Brielle would have never done no fucked-up shit like that to me.

But no matter how many times I review the shit in my mind, I can't see what I could've done differently. If those fucking Vice Lords were mobbin' that goddamn deep outside an emergency room, I got to believe that it was because one of their own was up in there, and in my and Drey's paranoid minds, we concluded that someone had to be Dice. If not, then where in the fuck is he? He has to be dead. I can't believe for a second that he would've allowed his girl to be raped and beaten the way she was when he still drew breath. He loves her too much for that shit to go down like that. Dice is cool, even if he is a grimy Cartel Lord.

"VD and CL don't mix," I moan, burying my head into my hands.

But how many times had I told Brielle that shit? Too damn many to count, if I want to be real with it. So why is this shit hitting me like it's such a fucking surprise? I rest my head on my knees and start rocking back and forth. What am I supposed to do now? Should I call or should I drive over to the Douglas's? Maybe I should do nothing, mind my own business. It ain't like niggas don't die every day, sticking their noses in shit where it don't belong. I agree with myself to stay out of it, but two seconds later, I'm dying to pick up the phone. But if I call, it might raise suspicions. What if I drive over and pretend that I was dropping by to talk about the prom last night? That might work. Then again, I don't know if I'm a good enough actress to pretend that I don't know what happened to Brielle last night. Fuck. What if I start crying before I even ask to see if she's home?

"Goddamn it, Brie. Why didn't you stay away from him?" My throat squeezes tight and I nearly choke on a sob.

My door explodes open, and my older sister, Stacy, in all her ghetto glory charges into the room and dives into the lower bunk bed that we've been sharing for far too damn long. Her boyfriend must've just dropped her off because she's wearing the same clothes that she left out of here in last night. I sniff and wipe away the last of my tears. Stacy pops her head above her pillow.

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Nothing," I lie, and struggle to pull myself out of bed.

Maybe I can hide in the shower before-

"Jaleesa! Jaleesa." My five-year-old lil brother, Jayson, runs into the room.

"Nana said for you to fix us some breakfast!" Behind him comes my six-year-old cousin, Kay, who has one half of her hair braided while the other half is sticking up all over her head.

"I want some waffles!" Jayson turns around and pushes her.

"No! I want pancakes!"

Goddamn it. I don't feel like dealing with this shit.

"Stacy?"

"Don't look at me."

She plops over and then buries her head underneath the pillow.

"Thanks a fucking lot."

Cursing and rolling my eyes, I climb out of bed and stomp my way up to the kitchen so I can feed these brats like they are my kids. When I pass the living room and see two of my brothers and their girlfriends lying around, I get even more heated. All these niggas around and none of them can feed these kids? But sure enough, when I start cooking, here they come.