𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐆

63

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My eyes had fluttered open either at the sound of Chyna voice or at that vivid ass dream that just unfolded in front of my eyes. It confused the fuck out of me, my mama had convinced me for years that my daddy pushed her down the stairs but I remember now: they got into a fight and she sliced his face so bad that he shoved her and she stumbled down the stairs. I'm sure that ate that shit up every day that he did that and I'm sure that's why he went even harder to help my mama out.

Man, this shit is getting harder and harder to process on my own and I cant keep depending on Jamie and shit to figure it out for me.

My family been fucked up, my mama been fucked up, and right now I'm at that emotional point where I just don't give a fuck. I'm pretty much grown now and that lonely ass feeling that people talk about starting to creep up the back of my neck like a perm burn.

When I looked around I saw we was back at Alberta Heights and it was at least 9 PM.

"Was I really sleep that long?"

"Girl sleep? You was knocked the fuck out. Snoring and all."

"You lying! Oh, my god!" I was rubbing my eyes to get used to the darkness as Chyna ain't do shit but laugh. When she leaned over to playfully touch my arm she jumped back like she just touched a dead body.

"Damn, Ana. You feel cold as fuck. You good?"

Now that she mentioned it, I felt real fuckin' warm like I had taken shots of Henny back to back. Maybe it was from throwing up early that had my body all fucked up.

Yeah, that's it.

"I'm good. I mean, I feel a lil nauseous but I think it was because of me throwing up earlier today."

"you sure? Cause I can take you ho-"

"Naw, don't do that. We already here and it look like Cut and Rich is too."

Without saying another word, Chyna took a deep sigh and hopped out the car ahead of me. I jumped out, almost missing my step on account of how high the fucking truck was, and followed behind her.

Why was it feeling so fuckin' sticky outside?

-

"Y'all did fuckin' good ladies!" Rich had a bottle of Belaire in his hand and a triumphant face spread across his face. He was a lil more casual outside of the club in his black on black fit with Retro Jordan 4's on but knowing Rich, that fit had to cost him at least $800.

Cut was in the backroom finalizing the count for tonight's profit but as soon as I walked into the trap with Chyna, the drinks was pouring and the weed was louder than a Bose speaker.

Chyna made her way right into Rich arms; it wasn't like he left her much room to breathe because he pulled her close to her ass-first. He ain't even give a fuck that I was standing in the same proximity as them two when he fake-whispered in her ear Imma fuck the shit outta you when we get outta here, baby.

A few of Cut foot soldiers was sitting playing the game and they all looked around my age and some was even 16. They all looked like they was ready to pull the trigger back on demand with mean ass looks on their faces and golds in all of they mouth. All of them dark-skinned with a lowboy, freeform locs and another with whatever the fuck he wanted to call that shit on the top of his head.

They didn't pay me nor Chyna any mind as they counted the vials laid out in front of them with focus that you'd think they was being tested on the count afterwards. I tried to peek over at them without making the shit obvious but being on the other end of the business instead of seeing my mama use the shit made me realize there's work that goes into this shit. From cutting, to distributing, to cooking, it was a game that a weak bitch or nigga couldn't play with especially when they added shit to it to make it stretch out.