A bunch of Atlanta shit
A lil Chicago shit
Some hoodrat shit
A lil drug shit
A little bit of love in this bitch , but most importantly a good ass read.
Kiyari "Kash" a badass female who don't go for bullshit encounters Nahzir "Draco" someone who a...
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Marc was leaning against his Track behind the corner store, hoodie up, eyes scanning the lot while he handed a bag to one of his regulars. The guy counted his cash slow, talking about nothing Marc cared about.
"Aye. Do i look like yo' therapist? Gimmie my fuckin money dawg." He snapped irritated.
"Someone need some pussy i see." The man mumbled shoving the money into his hand before turning on his heels to walk off.
Marc's phone buzzed once. Then again. Then again. He smacked his teeth and checked the screen.
Unknown Number. Hospital.
His stomach dropped so fast he damn near broke the screen trying to hurry and accept the call.
He answered. "Hello?"
A nurse's voice. Calm. Too calm.
"Is this Demarcus Dukes?"
His heartbeat climbed into his throat. "Yeah. What's wrong?"
"She's awake."
Marc didn't breathe for a full second. "...Feliciti?"
"Yes. She's asking for you."
He didn't even say goodbye. He just hung up, shoved the cash in his pocket, and quickly snatched the door to his truck open firing it to life. He quickly sped down the road till he reached his son's caretakers home.She was an older woman who was known to watch the local kids. When he arrived he seen that she was standing outside watching all the other toddlers play , while Samir sat in her arms. She seen the flushed look in his face as he got out of the car and approached her
"Baby, what's going on?"
Marc took his son carefully, hands shaking. "She's awake," he said, voice cracking before he could stop it. "I gotta get to the hospital."
Ms. Rosa nodded, but her brows pinched together. "Marc... be careful okay, remember to breathe.?"
" Yes ma'am," he muttered. "Thank you ."
He strapped Samir in the car seat and drove like the world was burning behind him.
The typical twenty five minute drive to the hospital was cut down to ten the way he drove through traffic. Even though he had his son in the car he was dying to get to the hospital , he had been waiting on this day for the longest. He could barely even park straight enough before he was out of the car and grabbing Samir as well.
The hallway smelled like disinfectant and bad memories. Marc's legs felt like dead weight. He pushed the door open quietly.
Feliciti was sitting up, hair messy, skin pale, but her eyes—those eyes—were open and locked onto him the second he stepped in.
