HARDAWAY | trilogy

V3 - Chapter Twenty Six.

𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐎 "𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐓" 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐒

               CRASH!

Sharp sound of shattering glass sounded from the kitchen intertwined with her yelling her frustrations, while I planted down on the fourth from the bottom stair with my elbows resting on thighs and head hanging low. Mercedes have been going at this for a good twenty minutes now with as much glass is in the kitchen from the cupboard doors, all over the dishes, and door that has glass sections, separating the kitchen from the main dining room. I ended up sending my whole staff home with guaranteeing they would still be paid.

With what I pulled and losing her Grandmother two weeks ago, breaking the glass for her would release some of her built up anger and sadness. Those were material things that I could easily buy again and get fixed.

The front door opening got my attention to Larenz and Camila walking in. Larenz carried bags of Billy Sims barbecue since I texted them to grab something since the food the chef was cooking was out of the question. Another loud sound of glass shattering caught their attention; the conversation abruptly stopped.

Larenz appeared confused, peeking his head into the kitchen. "Uh. . . why a human tornado destroying the kitchen?"

"Just Mercedes."

Camila looked concerned and asked. "Is everything okay?"

"Better yet; what you do?"

"Take it upstairs and eat." I said, ignoring their questions.

"That bad, huh?" Larenz snickered, walking by me upstairs.

Camila soon followed, patting my shoulder in the process.

I released a heavy breath when I noticed no more frustrated yelling and breaking glass coming from the kitchen. Quickly raising from the staircase, I footed to the kitchen; the damage even worse than when I walked away. Glass was everywhere, and the food she tossed scattered across the floor. But Mercedes was nowhere in sight. Glass crunched underneath the sole of my sneakers as walked further into the kitchen.

Peering out the screened in fully equipped porch with a fireplace, and built-in grill, I took in Mercedes sitting on the couch leaning forward with her elbows on her thighs and her hands holding the side of her face as her shoulder sagged.

The fireplace steel tool wasn't in her possession anymore. It was on the ground in front of the stove.

I walked out there, sitting on the table directly in front of her. I allowed the silence and thick tension build between us, as raindrops fell onto the windows surrounding the porch and thunder rumbled; lightening struck.

After a good five minutes of sitting here, Mercedes suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. Like, full-blown laughter obnoxiously. It resulted in me furrowing my eyebrows.

"I'm so fucking remedial," She insulted herself and continued laughter. "Like," she smacked her teeth while wiping involuntary tears from her eyes, "seriously retarded. I stuck around with you knowing the type of nigga you was; the typical kind. And I can't blame you for being what you are. I mean, why should I? Yo' Mammy just ain't raise you right." She leaned back into the couch.