Basquiat.

chapter thirteen.

•••

August

FLASHBACK

I trembled in fear as I heard my name being yelled from downstairs.

"Ayo, Aug!"

"Yes, suh?" I hollered from the top of the steps.

"Bring yo scrawny ass down hea' boa," he croaked.

I held onto the stair rail for dear life as I approached my step dad.

I stood a couple feet away from his so he couldn't hit me or attempt worse.

"Come hea' boy," he growled.

I gulped, but proudly stood in place and stared at him.

He threw an empty beer can at my head.

"What ya' deaf na' too? I said bring yo ass here!"

I proceeded toward him.

He grabbed me by my arm and pulled me closer to him aggressively.

"You done forgot how this shit work, huh?" He whispered.

I shivered.

"P-please, man, I don't wanna do this with you."

He disregarded my words and caressed my face into his cigarette smelling hands.

"I love you, boy."

"Please," I pleaded.

He pushed his lips toward mine and stuck his ash-tasting tongue down my throat.

I stood there helpless.
Every ounce on pride I attained within myself,
Vanished in thin air.