A Slum Love Crime. (A$AP Rocky Story)

Part Trentatre.

Since Danny was my “godfather”, as he told the social services, the adoption was classified as a stepparent adoption. So a home check wasn’t required. That was a good thing, since I wasn’t so sure as to if they would allow Danny to adopt me or not. He still had to be back and forth in phone calls with the child services, though.

I was a bit apprehensive to talking to Dom after we left the hospital. What he told me about me being a dear friend to him made me realize how important I was to him. But now that I know that, it’s kind of awkward to talk to him without thinking about those strong words.

And he’s busy anyway. Nicole, being that she wasn’t necessarily up on game to what had been happening since we got to Danny’s house, was with Dom for the day. Dom was explaining everything to her. I could imagine how strange it is to hear that kind of information.

So I was just in the recording studio, down in the basement, dwelling on my thoughts. I cried a lot already, so my eyes seemed to be inevitably empty now. But my mind was definitely filled with scattered thoughts and emotions.

But wouldn’t emotions belong in my heart? They say that no matter what your mind says, your true feelings lie in your heart. I felt remorse in my mind, a deep longing and sense of uncertainty. But my heart felt empty, just like my eyes. Maybe everything I felt were actually heart feelings.

Either way, I’m sad.

“Knock, knock,” Danny said as he entered the basement. I didn’t look up at him, just continued gazing into the booth from the leather chair in front of the workstation. Before sitting down next to me, Danny stood before me and studied me closely. I could see him through my peripheral vision, but didn’t look at him still. I wanted him to know that I was deep in thought.

Finally, Danny sat down. When I looked at him, he had a serious expression on his face. He seemed worn out, but determined.

“I’m tired,” I said to him. Then I found that I was on the verge of tears—somehow, my eyes learned how to create water again. But I didn’t cry. I just looked at him.

“I know that. So am I. So is Dom. But it’s your turn.” Danny replied confidently. I didn’t quite understand what he said, and he could probably see it in my facial expressions, because he went on to continue. “Now that the mob is gone, you think Mango is just going to stop? You think his goal has been accomplished?”

I shrugged. “I mean, I figured…”

“That’s not the case. He doesn’t just want the mob in jail. He wants them dead. He wants Dom dead, too. He wants me dead. Hell, Tremaine, he could probably even want you dead too.”

I shuddered at the thought of my own father desiring to kill me. He’s come close to taking away everything I care about. If it weren’t for Danny, Nicole and Dom, I would be a wreck right now. As a matter of fact, if it weren’t for Dom, I wouldn’t even be alive.

“But the mob obviously can’t protect themselves anymore. They are susceptible to attack at any moment. It’s possible for Mango to have connections in the jail; he could order any prisoner to kill them all. And as for us, Mango can get someone to kill us with the snap of his fingers.”

Danny’s words were scaring me, but I didn’t show it. Or at least I tried not to show it.

“And what are we supposed to do?” I asked him.

“The question is, what are you going to do?” Danny countered. “After all, you and Dom are the only ones left. You’re going to have to take up the responsibility that you all once held.”

So that’s what Danny meant by saying that it was my ‘turn’.

Before either of us could say any more, there was a knock at the door. Danny left unexcused to attend to it, while I sat in the studio and thought hard again. Now I had even more thoughts to fill up my mind after me and Danny’s little talk.

When he returned, he had a folded paper in his hand. He handed it to me.

“It’s for you,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “You’ll be happy to read it.”

Then he left, as if I was supposed to read the paper in privacy. I opened it up slowly.

What’s good, folks?

No, really. What is good? Because—not to be negative—nothing good seems to be happening in our lives. I know that well, and so does the person reading this paper. Since a few months ago, life has been completely awful. There were laughs and pockets of happy moments, for sure. But those times were only brief. For the most part, there have been struggles with Mango and trying to find Danny. There have been other troubles, too. I’ve just been waiting for things to get better.

Jail is fine. It’s nothing new. All of us have been in jail at least once. I’m just happy Dom is not here. He’s never been in a place like this. Speaking of that kid, where is he? How did he manage to not come with us here? We’re curious.

We’re here under serious charges of robbery. I don’t know the technical information of it all, but they think we’ve been consistently stealing money from Mango’s bank account, and they think the last amount of money that we “stole” was Rakim’s twenty-five million dollars. I don’t understand why they can’t just see that we didn’t do it—point blank period.

But on a different note…whoever is reading this letter should hand it to Tremaine so she can read it. This part is dedicated to her.

Tre, you’re a seriously tough girl. I’ve never seen any girl, or anybody for that matter, like you. I could get all sentimental and wordy about this, but I’ll get straight to the point. Remember when you, Dom and I were in the basement at Benny’s house? You were shooting darts at a board because Dom and I wanted to make sure that you weren’t a punk. I told you that day, if anything happens and you’re the only one left, you have to represent all of us. Well, guess what? You’re the only one left. Sure, there’s Dom, but you have to fight too. You have to represent all of us. You have to lead, Tre. Make us proud. I know you want to make Rakim proud. Believe in yourself, girl.

One Love,

Yams.

I read the bottom part of the letter over and over, smiling wider every time I read it. It sent a serious message, but the fact that Yams—who happened to be a verified Harlem thug—thought I was tough was enough to make me happy. I wondered briefly why it was Yams sending me a letter and not Rakim, but I didn’t stay on it. Instead, I put the letter in my drawer in Nicole’s room after letting Dom read it, and went to sleep with one thought in my mind.

It’s my turn.