Basquiat.

chapter four.

•••

August

She gave me this intense glance that was indescribable, yet could make even a blind man feel internally uncomfortable.

She was trying to read me.

Maybe I was overreacting, maybe I was paranoid, or maybe, just maybe, I was damn right.

"How's the insomnia? Are your sleeping habits improving? Have they worsened?" She asked while shuffling papers onto her clipboard.

I tapped my foot repetitively against the ground and counted to ten in my head. It was something I did when I became real frustrated or fairly anxious about something.

I hated being asked too many questions.

"Ain't much changed man. I mean, I been taking the medication and all, but it just ain't helping," I lied.

"The depression?"

"Not much progress, to be quite honest with ya," I sighed.

She nodded her head and continued scribbling things onto her clipboard.

I leaned back in my seat folding my arms like a small child. I admired her appearance. She was a yella' boned, long haired, green eyed, and an overall exotic looking chick.

Eh, not my type a woman, but she was gorgeous though.

I liked mine real chocolate, mocha almost, full lips, fat ass, damn. I ain't got nothing against light skinned women though, they bad as mothafucka too.

But everybody got a preference, right?

"We finished? I gotta go pick up some things at the store," I said impatiently.

"Almost, tell me about your brother. Are you still mourning? How are you handling it?"

"Ain't no talking. He's dead. Gone. Never to be seen again. What's there to discuss?" I snarled.

She looked at me not even nearly surprised at my reaction,
"I apologize, but these things are essential for me to know for the progression of your treatment," She pleaded.

I ignored her and stared at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with her.

"Here."

Still not looking at her, she handed me the slip that I was supposed to use in order to get the meds.

"The pharmacy is right across the street, your insurance covers everything." She grinned.

I merely looked at her and proceeded outside of the office without a thank you.

"Good luck to you, sir," She said with the slightest bit of sarcasm in her voice.

I ignored her, mentally cursed her out, and threw the prescription for the medicine in a nearby trash can.

My father's voice replayed like a broken record in my head,
"Real men don't take handouts."

~

My mom and step pop's was still alive, but they cut ties with a nigga a long time ago. I wanted to follow my dreams, they wanted to live off a crack pipe.

FLASHBACK

"You gon' learn to respect me, boy," he slurred while sipping on a beer.

"Whatever mane, talk yo' shit. Always tryna to start something."