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The echoes of footsteps along long walkways, the flushing of a toilet in a nearby cell, the grunts and groans of an inmate getting his ass cherry popped… It all played on a loop.
Absolutely not.
Inside revealed the gold Cuban link chain adorned with diamonds. Something about being a free, vindicated man made their gift off-putting. The symbolism. It grated me. From one chain to a-fucking-nother.
“So, get back to work, shorty. What you doing after?” “You.”
While he’d been proven innocent, that didn’t mean he lacked a propensity for violence.
That was my fucking problem. The obsessing. The attachment. The idealization of something we’d only just given birth to… That shit was what landed me in a concrete box. My unrelenting desire to give my all. To a woman. My woman.
A giver often didn’t locate fellow givers. Often, we attracted takers. Often, we gave until there was nothing left. Often, the love we desired—the love we gave was taken for granted. This time, I was giving my love to a giver.
“In your—mmh— possession, huh?” “Is she not? I’m a territorial motherfucker, shorty. Don’t tell me you’ll be out here sharing.”
Twenty-four hours hadn’t even passed since I’d been out, and already I was calculating how many men would meet their end for even looking at her the wrong way.
The Hermès’ held roots deeper than any other family in Paramour. As one of the founding families of the city, our wealth stretched far and wide.
🤔
“I shot my mother in the head tonight. Don’t think I’m above planting another hot one in yours.”
“Sound like you ovulating again, so I know that shit hittin.”
Niggas was about to turn this uppity shit out.
GOUYAD IN IT
“You ask a Haitian not to get lit? Baby, that shit don’t go together.”
