Distractions (D. SWING)

12

Second Guessing

Hissing, my face is pushed down deepper into the balled up pillow I've been biting on. These swift glides tug on my vocal chords for another moan.

"Damn, boy!"

His low cocky chuckles over power the bone-chilling sound of my teeth gritting down, roughly gnawing on my pillow. "You ain't call me like you said," He roughly grits. His large palm connects with my right cheek leaving an echo along with a deep red hand print that stings like hell. As sexy as his actions are, I hear true animosity in his tone. This worries me.

"Wait, what?" I crawl forward removing him out of my cave by choice and turn to face him. Blood stains the sheets as it trickles down his nose. The genuine hurt look in his face evokes a worried emotion from my gut. "What's wrong?" I'd go get him a tissue but I can not move. His eyes water as he stares at me with that same pain seeping into his pores. One singular tear slips through the crevices of his tear-ducts. What causes me to scream at the very top of my lungs is not because he is crying but the fact that it's not a regular tear. My boyfriend is crying blood.

My body shoots up, heaving chest and cold sweats get the best of me. "Damn, boy..." I murmur to myself barely above a whisper quoting my dream with an alternate meaning behind it. With the strength of my shoulders, I fling myself to the opposing side of my bed closest to the spot where my phone lies. 

I can not necessarily pull together my reasoning behind this guilt and yet, I feel crazy guilty. For what reason, you may ask. I am, too, asking myself the same question. I wasn't the person driving the car nor was I encouraging him to drive any faster than he already was. I'm not at fault. Don't go blaming him, though! He isn't at fault either. Sometimes we get caught up in the moment and want to let off extra steam. It is naturally what it is. We're both safe, isn't that all that matters?

"De?"

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it wishing the numbers could suddenly appear and tell me I dialed them in the right order.

"Nah, nah," A voice says. "This Jared."

First order of action, an eye roll. Jared gets on my nerves. He's one of those corny ass suckers always riding on somebody else fame because he's your average scrub. His dumbass can't do shit! All he has to say is; I know DeVante Swing or Yeah, I know Lyric, too! That's my homegirl– no, fool. I'm not, don't use me to pull in your wicked sea urchins by the dozen.

Biting my tongue from being rude, I keep my gaze focusing on a miscellaneous object. "Put your cousin on the phone."

"I cain't." His response is accompanied by multiple women's voices nearby. Now, he's playing games and I am not to be played with.

"Jared, stop playin' and put DeVante on the phone!"

Jared's vocal octave raises. "Nah, for real! He ain't here! I think he at yo' crib wit'ta shorty. I think you should drop that nigga and hop on some real dick."

The emphasis left in the silence exposed his jokester ways. "You play too much." I mumble a few profane phrases that happen to be completely appropriate as I go to hang the phone up. Quickly dialing over to my house– just in case there was some form of truth to Jared's word– I doubt it though.

I can't imagine De being at my house and if he is, he's wide awake. He probably came in from the studio and is sitting on my couch watching movies. There may or may not be a blunt being lit as we speak. I know he'd never tell me because I would shove my heel so far up his ass.... A plethora of things can be done but one thing I know for sure is that he isn't sleep because baby never sleeps. I know he hates to sleep alone.