Rodrick Moore and Jhene Chilombo are from 2 different cities in California. Rodrick residing in Compton and Jhene in Los Angeles. Fate pushes the two together one day after a party is thrown by a mutual friend. The party takes a turn for the wors...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Jhene, I got it dang girl chill." Meek said as he slightly limped to the bathroom to use it.
"Are you sure man?" I yelled as he slowly made his way into the bathroom. Its almost been a week since we've gotten back and I decided to stay with Meek just to look after him. As soon as we left the location in Las Vegas we decided to not stop and rest.
Rodrick helped me get Meek into his bed and he dipped to head back around his way. Probably to his lil bitch. But I wont speak on her too much. I ended up cleaning all this shit from the party up that same night.
"Girl go sit down." He said waving me off and closing the door behind himself.
I sighed to myself and flopped down on his king sized bed, looking at the ceiling fan spin. All of this is too much. I don't even have any clothes, haven't been home in days, Meek is basically disabled and Rodrick is caught up in some bullshit with Cordell.
I heard the toilet flush and Meek reappeared in the room and sat on the opposite side of the bed wincing slightly. "Stop thinking so hard yo."
I smacked my lips out loud and looked over at him. My eyes scanning over his scarred back. I couldn't imagine the shit he has gone through to be able to have those battle scars and still be around to tell people about them.
"Fuck you. I can't be worried about my bestie." I said chuckling and turning over getting comfortable. He softly sighed like he wanted to say something to me but eventually decided not to.
"Imma man Nene. Im straight, niggas done did way worse to me before." He said as he pulled the black leather pillow from the other ones that decorated the huge bed and propped his head on it. Turns out they bruised his ribs and broke a couple of his bones. He also had a couple of slash wounds from what I assume was from a knife.
Like I said before, the hospital and regular doctors were not an option. Their questions lead to unnecessary attention that we didn't need. We called up our man Omari who was certified for these types of injuries and always came through in times of need.
The streets knew him by O but close friends like Meek and I knew him simply as Omari or Omarion. He tried really hard to keep his regular life separate from the side hustle he had. If we had no choice but to go to a hospital we would definitely request him. No questions would be asked with him.
He knew what happened in the streets and the streets payed him well to keep his mouth closed about the side job he had, which basically consisted of saving 99 percent of every thugs life in California.
I scoffed, "That's not the point idiot."
He swears he's fine all the time and he wouldn't even probably admit he's not okay on his death bed. On his uncle Luke's free time, when he wasn't always working, he taught Meek to be strong minded. He always explained to him the day you believe you're less than what you want to be, fiction would become reality.
