•͟U͟N͟D͟E͟R͟S͟T͟A͟N͟D͟ ͟c͟a͟r͟t͟i͟u͟z͟i͟•͟

EPILOGUE

"Just like how all of you belongs to me and only me." he seductively whispered into my ear. I whimpered in response, nodding my head, yet keeping a smile.

He released his hand from me and slid it up my jacket to my chin, which he stroked before returning it to his pocket. I rotated my wrist to look at the time; 8:30 A.M. No way Rakim was up this early for no reason. I quickly slid my Air Forces on, without any socks; I looked over to see that Symere only had on pants.

"Baby, get your shoes and shirt on." I commanded him, patting him on the back.

"I like it when you call me that, Carti." Symere replied.

"Goddamn, we got too many muhfuckin' nicknames, don't we?" I brought up as he threw his shirt back on.

"Whatever, I'm cool with it. It's just more options of words to moan when you go inside me."

I giggled, poking Symere on the sides and watching him jump away. I stood up alongside my new boyfriend, putting my hand out for him to hold. It remained empty for a minute, and then I looked down, seeing Symere's tiny fingers sneaking and intertwining into my own.

I used my open hand to open the door that revealed the rest of the house. It was too stereotypical to be real; abandoned solo cups were everywhere, everything looked destroyed, random food was left on tables and the floor, and there was general amok everywhere. We walked through the human pigsty to the front door, still holding hands tightly. I opened the door to see that only a couple of cars remained where dozens were parked last night.

We approached the mailbox, watching a guy crying in his car. Symere, somehow, didn't have a hangover, a superhuman trait that I still do not fully understand how to master. Not even thirty seconds after approaching the mailbox and sitting upon the concrete curb, a familiar, silver Toyota 4Runner approached the mailbox, causing me to stand up, taking Symere's hand and body with me.

The passenger-side window rolled down, revealing an overly excited Rakim in the passenger seat, and a smiling Amala in the driver's seat.

"You too look awfully familiar," Amala teased, "who are you?"

Symere spoke up, "Why, I am Sir Symere Woods, A.K.A: Lil Uzi, of Atlanta, Georgia, and this is Jordan Carter, A.K.A: Carti, of Charlotte, North Carolina, and he is, what's the word, my boyfriend of new status."

Rakim smiled, showing off his pretty smile and teeth, as Amala raised an eyebrow, continuing, "Oh is that so, Lil Uzi?"

Symere quickly grabbed my hand, raising it to the window, our fingers intertwining again. I looked to Symere, blushing and smiling, speaking up and saying, "Yes, Amala Dlamini, 100% true."

Everyone in the car started to cheer, including Sheyaa and Miles, who had given their positions in the darkened back seat away by shouting and clapping. Amala pointed to the back, as she cranked up the radio.

I slid into the window seat on the right side, realizing that there wasn't a seat for Symere. Before I could voice my concerns, however, Symere sat in my lap, which I had no objections to. The only issue is that he seemed to take notice to the fact that he felt something stiff upon where he was seated, to which he smiled and whispered into my ear once again, "I'm glad to know that you like this."

Of course I do, Symere; what gay muhfucka' wouldn't?

"You do realize that if we get pulled over by 12, we're fucked," Miles reasoned in his usual worried and concerned-mother tone, "not only are we violating seatbelt laws, but we're black and in the white hood. We're quite literally fucked."