Runaway Love[Completed]

Chapter 1

"No." I said simply. "No one knows. I plan to keep it that way."

"Gis, you have to tell someone." Sadly, Matt said.

"I did tell someone." I looked at him. "..You.."

"I mean like someone that can help. You know, someone with authority."

"No. I'm fine--We're fine. I can handle it."

"You can't handle everything." He spoke softly.

"Yes, I can. I can handle this, and I will."

"You're the most stubborn person that I know."

I chuckled. "You and I, are like a PB&J, therefore you have no room to talk."

"That's true, but-"

"Aaaah, but nothing." I joked as I was pulling up to my destination. "Are you coming?"

Matt unbuckled his seat belt. "I'd never let you do this crazy shit by yourself." He opened his door. I got out of my car and grabbed my bag from the trunk. I have green 2007 Honda Civic, by the way. In my neighbor, black or red cars will get you blasted. You know, shot up or shot at. To be safe, I look around carefully, before walking into the building.

I did what I had to do to get paid. Twenty minutes, I had my money. The money is needed for me and Solange to runaway from this hell hole. Far away from my careless mother, and her drug addicted boyfriend- or husband. Whatever they consider him to be.

"How much did you make this time?" Matt asked me, when got back into the car.

"The same as last time." I said simply.

"Why don't you open up a bank account?"

"I don't trust anyone with my money. Banks are bullshit."

"It's safer in a bank, than in a bag in your ceiling."

"I doubt it."

"I don't want that base head to steal it...Just think about it."

"I'll think about it."

"Wanna shot some hoops before we pick up Solange?"

"Yes!" I got excited. "See, this is why I keep my gym bag in my trunk." 

We headed to open gym at the Boys and Girls club. It wasn't totally full, thankfully. We ran threes for at least two hours.

It's Sunday night, which means I have to pick my sister up from her best friend's, Ingrid's house. They're just as close, as me and Matt are.

Solange spends the weekends at her house. Ingrid's parents are really cool. They know our situation, so they don't trip about Solange staying the weekends at their home. Or any day of the week for that matter.

I pulled up to Ingrid's house, and went to knock on the door. Ingrid's mom, Auntie Pat answered. Yes,she has us calling her Aunty, and we love it because we don't have much family. She's the sweetest woman you'll probably ever meet. I love her to pieces. She just celebrated her fiftieth birthday not too long ago. But black don't crack, so she looks much younger.

"Hey, baby. How are you doing?" She greeted, and stepped aside to let me in.

"I'm good." I stepped inside and we hugged. Her home has a welcoming smell. It always smells like soul food, fresh off the stove. I love the warm and toasty feel you receive as soon as you walk through the doors. I wish my house had this feeling. I wish had two loving, married parents, to make the house a home. That's just wishful thinking. "How are you, Aunty?"

"Oh, you know I'm doing just fine, sweet pea. These kids are driving me nuts with all that singing and rapping they think they're doing." We shared a small chuckled. Solange can sing, nice voice. Ingrid is the rapper. They're a perfect duo, those two.

"I dunno, Aunty. We might to use their talents and get rich." She laughed along with.

"You might be right." Uncle David came out of the bathroom. "Hey, pumpkin." We hugged.

"Hey, Uncle David." I smiled.

"You looking a little hungry, pumpkin." He looked at my stomach. "You and that big eared boy come and put those feet underneath that table. I know he's in the car, yapping on the phone to that girl again." I laughed. My Uncle knows us very well.

"Okay." I laughed then went to get Matt from the car. Solange, Ingrid, Matt, Aunty Pat, and Uncle David ate fried chicken, cabbage, rice, cornbread, with fruit punch kool-aid. It felt good, to have this "family". Home away from that shit hole. When was over, I drove Matt home. Solange and I went back "home", to my mom and Tim arguing. Oh, great. Here we go again.