Caught Up

Cavonte | Twenty-One

SIX MONTHS LATER

"But if I don't make it home tonight
Take some money to my sister
I don't ever want her chasing after niggas
'Cause where I'm from
Niggas outchea dying every day
And they ain't no bad, they just tryna make a way
And I ain't no different
So if I get missing
These are my last wishes
I hope you get them right
Girl if I don't make it home tonight"

Taking out my ear plugs I gave Mr. Diego my undivided attention. It's been a rough six months but I'm happy to finally be back. I been recovering for the last four and a half months. Mr. Diego thought that it would've been best if I got out for awhile. I didn't think he'd ship me off to Augusta, Georgia. His sister Carmen stays out there in the country side. I was away from the press, away from my friends, away from pretty much everyone. I laid low for four months after I woke up from my coma. I don't even want to think about what happened six months. It took me to a dark place & my therapist Elliott really helped me find peace in myself. She got me through the pain. She made me open up. She made me feel less numb. I was traumatized. I was a damaged kid with a chip on my shoulder. Now I feel as if I've been reborn again. That I've been given a second chance. I don't plan to waste another day, life is too precious. I know that especially since I was in a wheel chair for awhile. I just got out of the wheel chair a couple weeks ago before I arrived back in Florida. I'm going to give writing lyrics a break right now. Grandma would've wanted me to finish school na. That's exactly what I'm gonna do.

I stood in one of the rooms at Lanxwood Hospital. I wore shades and some red hoodie. I didn't want to risk news crews & paparazzis crowding the hospital just for a picture of me. That didn't stop a few undercover paparazzis I saw across the street from the hospital sneaking pics at me. By the time I leave a bunch more plus reporters will be out there. I didn't think a spark of fame would be this stressful. I guess I deserve it after the things I done. Especially to Santana. My ride or die. My use to be ride or die. Thinking about her made me upset. I didn't want to think about her right now. It was too much to think about.

Mr. Diego embraced me into a fatherly hug. I hugged him back showing how much I do care. He's family. Always has been. Always will be. He patted my back, "See I told you that you wouldn't be in a wheel chair forever. You look like you put on some muscle too boy."

We both pulled away. I chuckled under my breath. For these past two months I been working out a little to pass the time. I literally had to force myself to do it everyday no matter how much pain I was in. I had to get better.

"Yeah I know. Can't be no stick forever."

"I'm proud of you. Most people aren't strong enough to keep going on. You been through hell & back yet you're still here. I'm proud of you."

I nodded my head. That meant a lot to me even though some nights I can't sleep. Some nights I just can't bare it.

Mr. Diego told me to sit down. I did as I was told. He held a sympathetic but serious expression. I can tell we're about to talk about something important. "I talked to one of my good friends that's a lawyer. He took me upon my offer on helping you with the upcoming trial."

As much as I wanted to forget what happened to me six months ago I couldn't. It seemed to follow me wherever I went. My jaw clenched at the thought. I felt so vexed. America is so fucked up it ain't even funny. How can that policeman look into the mirror and not see a monster? I'm the one that called the police. Nor am I a dark skinned guy so off rip they should've known they had the wrong guy. To top it all off I was shot. Instead of rushing me to the hospital they treated me as if I wasn't nothing but pure shit beneath their shoe.