Chapter Fifteen.
"I want the very thing that makes Qadir tremble," —Yair Nixon.
Eden Park Projects
What was labeled as a small kickback was far from such, as people continuously ran in and out of the fair-sized apartment. Nursing the Hennessy filled plastic cup in hand, as the other played with the strings that laced the sides of her fitted denim jeans--The strong tune of Bounce music flowed throughout Citrus's ears.
The music belonging to a local artist known as Vickeelo, which if it weren't for Braelin—Citrus would not have known a thing about. Her vulgar lyrics and bold personality were the complete opposite of Citrus's taste. Though, she could admit that the girl was talented. She had catchy beats and overall records that had Billboard potential.
Never the partying type, and unless you counted the fancy Galas; then this was her real first time at an event like such. Making Citrus what you called the withdrawn wall hugger. The boring one who remained in one spot throughout the whole night and simply watched. Yeah, she might've done a little dance amongst herself here and there, sipped from her watered-down alcoholic beverage, and declined an average number of advances made towards her; though that was all you would really receive for the night. Especially, from a person like Citrus whose mind was completely elsewhere.
Looking down at the strings she couldn't control herself from not touching, Citrus let out an inaudible sigh. Two hours in and Yair had yet to arrive. She began to rack her brain, thinking of where she could've gone wrong. She believed that accepting the invitation to this event with Yair in attendance, was a problem in its very own. It was clear that he wanted nothing to do with her, so who knew just how far he would go to truly avoid her.
However, she needed answers. All her life she felt as though she was left in the dark when it came to situations that pertained to her. At this age, with what she felt to be more control; Citrus was ready to block that from happening.
"Why?"
Jumping slightly from the small trance she had fallen in, Citrus's eyes ran up the figure who now stood before her.
Rich canna shaded skin. Round face, light brown almond-shaped eyes followed by long thick eyelashes, strong cheekbones, and a tall, developed stature. Grills intact, fresh line-up— while smelling of cool Bleu Cologne by Chanel; with his dose of jewelry so subtle but screaming paid. Laid down in chill comfortable wear. A black and blue graphic thin sweater, black fitted sweats, and matching slip-on Nike slides. Though even if he was dressed down, all eyes were on the man whom didn't even have to try too hard to gain the attention he was so easily given.
Yair Nixon was a man who belonged in the nineties. His looks were rare in this era of modern men. He was a piece of treasure that many yearned for. An infrequent valuable that though it was wrong—Citrus found herself yearning for.
"Excuse me?"
"What are you doing here?" His expression remained hard.
"I was invited, wasn't I?"
"You don't listen." Yair ran his hands down his face.
"You didn't give me much to work with," Citrus looked around. "Can we go and talk somewhere?"
"You need ta' leave." Yair grabbed for her wrist and led her towards the back of the apartment.
"What did Qadir do to you? Why can't we work together anymore?" Citrus began to toss out everything that had been piled up within her curious soul for weeks. "Who is Titan? And what about your friend with the scar, why doesn't he like me?"
