"All she knew was GIMME, like I was made of money or some shit. Like she ain't choose this, like she ain't know it was nothing I came with. Some dreams require a lot more than money, and what I needed... her ass ain't have a drop of it." - Tyree N. Robinson
High pitched shrills and screaming interrupted the silence of the summer evening, bringing fresh gossip to the nosy country residents that surrounded the quaint blue house in the center of Drucilla Ave. Windows creaked open, blinds lifted slowly, attention drawn to the bright lights of the noisy little house.
"I got dreams! I got plans! Always a fresh pile of shit with you, Ty. I'm tired of it." She huffed, pausing a moment before moving from one side of the tiny bedroom they shared to the other, stumbling over dirty sneakers and a suitcase. "What kind of woman in her right mind would continue to stick it out with a man that can't get his shit together? Won't be me, not anymore."
"You ain't have a problem with my dreams and plans when I was lacing you in the newest and finest of everything money could buy!"
"Probably the best of everything your hands could steal!" She looked towards the door where Tyree Robinson stood, unfazed by the pained glare he gave. "You should've made it clear that those plans never included marrying me! Got me wasting the best years of my life." She groaned at the thought, swiftly tossing a picture frame. Another went flying soon after, her aim off until a third went flying.
Tyree ducked, the sharp corner barely missing his head before the frame hit the wall behind him. It shattered, a piece cutting the only photo of his father he owned. "You too busy worried about getting off those whack verses, with that dry flow about your fake struggles and old ass daddy issues."
"Bitch, you don't know me or my life!"
"Obviously. I sure as hell wouldn't have settled for this." She packed the last of her things, grabbing her suitcase. Standing in front of Tyree, she scoffed. Looking down on him, she decide to cut deeper, hoping he would feel he way she'd been feeling for the last two years of their deteriorating relationship. "Just look at you; a little boy, playing pretend in an adult world. Can't dress properly, probably couldn't keep a job if you did want one. And I certainly haven't been left satisfied in months. I feel sorry for the next woman that takes on the task of raising you. She'll have a sorry ass life, bled dry of her own dreams. She'll probably be fool enough to support you financially too, and just like the bum you've become, you'll let her lose herself and everything she's worked for because you're too afraid to man up and provide the way a real man should."
She brushed past him, muttering under her breath as Tyree watched the only stable piece of his life crumble right before his eyes. Bending down, he picked up the ruined photo. He made a futile attempt at salvaging the tear that went through his father's face, exhaling sharply. "Some gift and life you passed on, Old Man. Some damn life."
He lowered himself to the floor fully, sitting among the broken frames and shattered pieces of glasses, wondering what to do with himself next.
YOU ARE READING
The Morning After [Novel - Snippet]Romance
A night out and a little fun was all Angel Sinclaire's friends felt she needed to get out of a self-imposed funk. Angel crossing paths with street poet Tyree and striking up more than a friendship is the last thing they feel worth her time or troubl...