' 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗘 𝗦𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗜𝗡 ' › D. SWING

05.

Apparently DeVantè wasn't the only one dealing with unending drama. So was Tupac. Well, I'll let him explain it himself.

TUPAC.

Shrugging out of my Tommy Hilfiger windbreaker, I walked into house and could hear movement coming from the kitchen. "What's up, rodent?", I inquired, teasingly as I gave her yet another nickname. I could hear her footsteps as she came out of the kitchen toward the foyer to glare at me. I began to laugh, watching her face as she attempted to restrain from joining me but could see the smirk forming along her lips before she giggled, smiling brightly.

"I can't stand you", she announced then took a quick glance over her shoulder to look into the kitchen. "Hey, I'm cooking. Made some extra just in case you were hungry", she said with a small grin.

Though it did smell good, I'd be wrong if I said yes knowing I just ate. So instead, I politely decline, "Nah, but thanks, though. Went out to lunch wit' Jada."

"Jada?", she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. "Oh! You mean the woman you had in my house without letting me know first. I remember her", she continued on with sarcasm. I knew then that it was about to turn into an argument.

I sighed, shaking my head as I began to walk toward the living room, "Man, don't even start that shit up again. Jada is my friend."

"And this is my house", she shot back.

I chuckled, finding it amusing as I sat down on the couch, running the pads of my fingers along the material of the armrest and cushions, "Yeah, you mentioned that." I leaned back, my knees swinging inward and outward once I turned my head to look at her, "When I first came here, you told me to make myself at home. So as far I'm concerned, it's my house too right?"

"Wrong. If this was your house, you would be helping with the mortgage and all the bills you have been running up since you got here. If this was your house, you'd be cleaning your own damn room. You ain't unable to do it anymore if you can fuck in my house! Clearly the wounds ain't hurting that bad. It's been months since the incident. Almost a damn year, Shakur!", she began to yell as she came out of the kitchen completely with her hands on her hips. "If she's just a friend then why the hell did I find a used condom underneath your bed? Huh?", she inquired, but it seemed to be a rhetorical question. She threw her hands up before I could even answer, going back into the kitchen. "Friend my ass. Be a man and own up to the fact that you're fucking her."

"I'm not", was all I said, shrugging my shoulders and renaming seated as I watched her move around the kitchen. She didn't say anything and I grew frustrated at her sudden silence. "Why the hell does it matter anyway?", I asked. I didn't really understand why she was so concerned whether or not I was having sex with Jada but I wasn't. That condom was from an entirely different situation—well, woman.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she ran water from the sink, unsure of what she could possibly be doing, "It doesn't matter that you're fucking her. It's where you did it. Don't flatter yourself, nigga."

"Aight", I said, beginning to rise up from the couch. "You know, it's a shame that you can't keep no man. I actually didn't understand why until now. You ain't gotta' worry about me, though. I'ma go 'head and pack my shit", I added, walking down the hallway before she could even reply. I knew what I had said was mean but it was the truth. She couldn't keep a man. Wasn't like I was giving false information. It was obvious. I went into the guest room and closed the door behind me, making a phone call. 

"Yeah, it's me. Listen, I need you to come and get me."

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