excuse all mistakes. it's been a while :)
might be editing later depending on how
I feel about the chapter 🩷
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐉 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓.
⥊𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘛 𝘕𝘌𝘞 𝘠𝘖𝘙𝘒, 𝘉𝘙𝘖𝘖𝘒𝘓𝘠𝘕, 𝘕𝘠⥊
𝐌𝐈𝐃-𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓, 𝟖:𝟒𝟓 𝐚.𝐦.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
Beep...Beep...Beep.
The sound of a heart rate machine that beeped quietly in a steady rhythm provoked Harlem to open her doe eyes gradually, squinting due to the bright fluorescent lights shining on her face. Raising her hand weakly to rub the somnolence from her irises, her blurred vision began to focus, confused as to where she was.
The walls were a light sky-blue color, and the lights were way too bright for her liking, but she still couldn't recognize the foreign room. It was too quiet.
Am I in heaven? Did I die?
Her gaze sank to her right forearm, noticing an IV needle protruding through the soft skin of her right forearm, letting her know she was in the hospital and not dead or in heaven.
Blinking slowly, Harlem endeavored to sit up more, but a weighty sensation on her right leg provoked her to pause, glimpsing down at her legs which were cocooned by an ivory hospital blanket.
What happened...?
"You good?" A voice uttered gently from beside her, causing her to snap out of her reflections and revert her focus to the other side of the space, noticing Kross seated in the large wooden chair next to her hospital bed.
He had been outfitted in the same clothes he wore yesterday with his hoodie over his wild, curly head of hair which spilled out the sides like cotton candy in a plastic bag. His pretty golden auburn eyes—which had prominent bags under them—peered into her chocolate brown ones with a concerned look.
Harlem nodded her head softly, nipping on her chapped top lip.
"Ya moms is coming back, she said something about getting ya little sister," Kross explained, yawning and pulling on one of the dark curls sticking out from under the hood of his navy Nike hoodie, sitting up. "You been out for a good while."
"I don't even remember how I got here," Harlem whispered, letting out a shaky sigh and leaning her head back onto the stiff pillows, her body beginning to feel heavy all of a sudden.
The last thing Harlem recollected was Kross toting her into an abandoned gym, then everything went black after that. As much as she attempted to recall, everything else seemed so malformed and distant.
Her throat felt arid from the lack of water, and she wasn't aware of how long she had been sleeping.
"You were panicking then you passed out. Coach called the ambulance cause you hurt your ankle and stuff..." Kross's raspy voice embellished a bit more before letting out a yawn and rubbing his golden brown eyes as if he were on the verge of falling into a deep slumber.
She then veered her eyes back down to the white blanket that covered her leg and moved it off enough to see her right leg, and there was a purple and white cast wrapped around the skin of her lower leg.
"Did I break it?"
He nodded, the dark curls flopping around. "Yeah, that's what the doctors told ya moms."
It had just registered in her conscious mind what Kross had said to her, and Harlem's heart rate began to increase due to her being anxious, which the heart monitor picked up and began to beep a louder at a fast pace.
Oh my God... My mom is gonna kill me.
"Oh gosh," Harlem murmured, covering her pretty face with the cool palms of her hand and letting out a shaky exhale, her armpits beginning to prickle with sweat. "I'm gonna be in so much trouble."
As if things could get any worse, loud footsteps grew closer and entered the room, and a strong voice broke the conversation between the two adolescents.
"HARLEM NASAJ BARLETT, best believe ya little ass is grounded until I feel like taking you off of punishment. You had my ass scared to death, why the HELL were you in Canarsie??!?!" Harlem's mother spoke in a worried manner as soon as she entered the room with Semaji placed on her upper hip holding a half-eaten chocolate muffin— her vocals echoing off of the plain milk walls.
Not the middle name, I'm never gonna hear the end of this.
She was dressed in her pastel purple hospital scrubs— meaning that either she hadn't changed from her last shift, or was coming to work.
The taller milk chocolate woman set the small toddler down and rushed over to the left side of the oversized hospital bed and caressed Harlem's frizzy hair, tears brimming at the corner of her coffee-bean-colored eyes as she hugged her daughter carefully but firmly.
"Something bad could've happened to you baby, oh my God."
Now she's crying after yelling at me.
"I'm sorry Mom," Harlem whispered, her stomach pitting with guilt from how frazzled her mother was over her.
"Mommy, why are you cwying?" Semaji's tiny voice spoke up, a frown forming on her small pink lips as she tapped her mother's leg— as if she was on the verge of crying herself.
"I'm okay baby, I'm just worried about your big sister. " Harlem's mother let go of her and shifted over to the light brown boy who sat in the beat-up cushioned seat on the side of Harlem's hospital bed. "Hey honey, you hungry? You want anything?"
"No thank you, Ms. Barlett, I'm okay," Kross spoke politely, in a manner that threw Harlem off guard since he was always very mean and spoke harshly with her— besides last night and just now.
So he wasn't raised in a barn? Harlem thought, blinking slowly. Why is he always so mean to me? I don't even know him...Never mind, I don't care.
"Are you sure? If there's anything you need, just let me know sweetheart, okay?" Kross bowed his head with a 'thank you', and Harlem's mother put her attention back onto her daughter lying in the hospital bed. "As for you Harlem, are you feeling okay baby? We're gonna have a serious talk soon, but not right now."
Harlem sighed diminutively, "I'm okay, I just can't feel my leg."
"It's the medicine they gave you to help with the pain since you broke your ankle." Tamea ran her mocha hand on the crown of her first daughter's head, lovingly caressing her fuzzy curls and giving her a saddened smile— her dark irises brimmed with tears still. "My poor baby, I was so worried."
The fourteen-year-old exhaled gently, the aching in her chest growing by the second, feeling nothing but guilt and sadness at the sight of her frazzled mother.
She rarely ever cried and if she did, it wasn't in front of her kids.
"Ms. Barlett, the doctor would like to speak to you and wants you to sign some papers briefly," A tan nurse with a tight low bun wearing salmon pink hospital scrubs and white Sketchers peered into the room momentarily, causing the tender moment to cease.
Okay, I'm coming right now, Celine." Tamea bowed her head, reaching for Semaji. "Come on baby, I'm gonna take you to daycare while mommy works."
"I no wanna goooo." Semaji made an angry expression, taking a nibble out of a giant muffin before reaching for Harlem. "Ma I want Loddi."
"Not right now Jiji, she doesn't feel well. Say bye-bye to your sister."
"Bye-bye." The toddler opened and closed her free hand, waving at Harlem, who grinned softly at the baby before waving back.
"Bye Maji, I love you."
The woman holding the toddler then put her attention on her daughter lying in the hospital bed once again. "I'll be back soon Harlem, just try and rest and don't move too much, okay? The nurse is down the hall if you need anything, she'll come by soon to check up on you."
It wasn't like she could do much moving anyway, but still, she nodded her head in compliance with her mother's soft but firm orders.
"I love you, baby," Tamea expressed, to which Harlem gave her dearest mother a small smile laced with gratitude. "Drink some of the water."
"I love you too," Harlem responded almost inaudibly, only loud enough for her mom to hear, and did as she was told.
"Let me know if you need anything honey, okay Kross?"
Harlem had momentarily forgotten that he was in the room with them.
"Thank you, Ms.Barlett, I will."
Once the footsteps completely faded, the brown-skinned girl took a glance over at Kross, who had already been looking at her, his russet eyes low with dark bags under them.
He had little to no expression on his canvas, nor did he look away when she caught his gaze, and under her arms began to prickle with sweat beads.
"Did you, um, tell her what happened?" The adolescent girl queried the taller boy slouched in the cushioned bedside oak chair after a few seconds, focusing on her red fingertips.
"Do I look dumb? I just told ya moms we was working together after school and you fell wrong on your ankle when we was walkin' home. She believed it, so you good, Harlem."
Her thin eyebrows raised diminutively, "She didn't ask anything else? Because she usually does..."
When it came to the security and well-being of her children, the juvenile girl knew her mother would ask a million and one questions and then a few more if something happened to her kids. So, Harlem found it hard to believe her mother accepted Kross's excuse with ease.
Better yet, Harlem wondered if her mother questioned the teenage boy since she had never met him before due to her being aware of all of Harlem's acquaintances.
"You worry too much, chill out," Kross stressed, kissing his teeth as if he was getting irritated with her. "You good."
The cinnamon-toned adolescent only let out a diminutive sigh and bowed her head reluctantly at his scolding.
Taking another peek at Kross's face, she noticed how dark the bags under his eyes truly were, and she wondered if he had gotten any rest last night.
"You look like you didn't get any sleep." She blurted out, and he shook his head with a snort.
"I didn't, I was up makin' sure you were good."
"You didn't have to do that...," Harlem whispered, her chest growing tight with guilt towards the boy who stayed up just to make sure she was okay.
Kross didn't open his mouth to give a response, only yawning softly with a rise and drop of his slim Nike sweater-covered shoulders as if he didn't care or mind— beginning to bounce his leg at a steady pace. He put his focus on the screen of his iPhone 6s.
The silence grew rather awkward between the two teens once again, the only other audible noises being the steady beeping of the heart rate machine that monitored Harlem's pulse closely and the faint squeaking of metal carts in the hallway.
Harlem didn't know what else to say to him because they never actually had a real conversation until 15 minutes ago, and they weren't exactly the best of friends, either. He had some sort of antipathy towards her for reasons she simply couldn't understand, but that was the least of her worries at the moment.
Her mind was filled with miscellaneous thoughts, most of them surrounding the events that happened last night and if anyone heard about it. She hoped that no one knew about what happened, because she'd be the topic of the rest of the month at school.
At least I probably won't go to school for a while, that's the only good thing that came out of this.
Harlem lowered her eyes, beginning to chew on her dry, swollen lip like she normally did when she was anxious.
She longed for her strawberry-flavored EOS chapstick to moisturize her cracking lips, but her regular clothes and purple Jansport were nowhere in sight— so she was out of luck.
My lips feel so dry.
Another 15 minutes of pure silence passed between them, the brown-skinned boy with the wild curls tapping away at his phone as he slouched in the seat, his right leg bouncing gently. The expression on his canvas made it seem as if he was annoyed and didn't want to be bothered.
Harlem studied his features closely, from the way his perfect always-furrowed eyebrows arched at the corner, all the way down to how his swollen lips poked out ever so slightly while he concentrated on his phone. How his brown cheeks were flushed a rosy shade of pink from how cool the air was around them.
The thing that intrigued her the most had been the two beauty marks that seemed to be perfectly placed under his eyes as if they had been drawn on his face. She had a thing for studying people's features, but never got to do it often because it appeared to be staring, and the teenager didn't want to seem weird.
Kross had gentle features she noticed, his face soft like that of a child rather than a growing teenage boy. They weren't quite girly, but he also didn't inherit the tough characteristics his older brother had— besides his mood.
She didn't know the word to describe his features, or if there was such a word.
"I got sum on my face?" Kross queried blankly, removing his look from the shiny glass screen and placing it on the 14-year-old girl who had been watching his face.
"Huh?"
"Why you staring so hard?"
"I wasn't staring, I was just watching." She was embarrassed, to say the least— being she got caught observing him.
Now I'm never gonna hear the end of it, gosh.
"Weirdo," Kross mumbled under his breath, but Harlem heard him, and her thick lips tugged downward into a frown.
"I-," She began to explain her reasoning for looking at him, but instead a loud gasp left her parted lips in pain at the sudden sharp feeling running from her ankle up to her thigh.
It hurts so much.
"Wassup witchu?"
The discomfort knocked the wind out of her stomach almost instantly, and she couldn't respond to his pressing, only reaching down to grasp her lower leg covered by the cast and shaking her head, causing a look of confusion to be brought onto the adolescent's canvas briefly.
"Oh shit." The brown-skinned boy's face twisted into a look of realization only mere seconds later as he followed her gaze, and he wasted no time rising from the bedside chair he had been residing in and practically running out of the room, the soles of his Nikes slapping against the white tile floor as he did— leaving her by herself.
Harlem prayed he was getting the nurse due to the pain becoming too much to bear for her, tears beginning to well up in her tear ducts as she hissed— as if that would ease anything.
"You okay, hun? What's the matter?" A lady wearing a pink scrub suit following behind Kross entered the room merely seconds later, holding a syringe in her blue latex glove-covered hands.
The warm tears brimmed at her big cocoa eyes as she held her leg threatening to spill over any second, "My leg just hurts badly."
It felt like little needles had been poking her over and over with no remorse, and burning at the same time.
"I'm gonna give you some medicine for the pain, okay?" The nurse informed Harlem, who nodded in pain, whining at the burning sensation in her right leg. "It will help so it doesn't hurt so much, babydoll."
The pain was way more excruciating than it had been last night when she first fell, but it probably had been her adrenaline was preventing her from feeling the pain.
Small gasps left her protruding lips as she tried to catch her breath, the pain making it hard for her to take in oxygen, which caused the heart rate machine to pick up at an abnormal rate, the alarming noise filling the once-quiet room.
The nurse put a needle into the IV filled with a clear liquid and slowly pushed it in, the liquid disappearing. Minutes later, the pain medicine began to work its magic, the agonizing pain in her leg residing bit by bit.
The shallow breaths slowed down as she calmed down, and the monitor returned to its original rhythm— the even-paced, low beeping.
"Is she good?" The voice of Kross asked, his vocals laced with pure concern and his canvas showing the same.
"The medicine from the surgery wore off, so she felt the pain for a second. She's gonna be fine sweetheart, don't worry," The nurse reassured Kross, who kept his gaze on Harlem's leg as he bowed his head slowly— as if he didn't completely believe what the nurse had told him.
"Aight..."
"Better?" The woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties questioned soothingly as she fixed the cotton blanket, to which the younger girl nodded her head quickly before resting it back against her stiff pillows, blinking the salty tears back. "Good, and the medicine is just gonna make you a little sleepy, okay?"
"Okay." The words left her mouth almost inaudibly.
"You need any more water or anything, babydoll?"
"No thank you."
"Alright, if you need me just press the red button on the remote linked to the side of your bed. My name is Nurse Linda." The nurse used her slim fingers to hold up the plastic pale remote connected to the bed high enough to be visible to Harlem, who smiled and nodded her chin only. "Get some rest and I'll be back to check on you soon."
Linda's thick cherry lips turned upwards into a cheerful smile before she left the room, and it was silent again.
"It's too quiet in here, I'm turning on the TV," Kross announced to no one in particular after ten minutes, plucking the remote from the wooden bedside table and thumbing his fingers over the various buttons until he found the power one.
The pretty girl didn't protest because, she too, wanted background noise and something to cure her bore down for the meantime to distract her from the rest of the lingering pain in her right leg.
"You want the remote?" The brown-skinned teen questioned her gently, his stare bouncing from the 40-inch flatscreen mounted on the unimpressive blue wall directly across from them to Harlem.
His maple syrup-colored irises were softer than before, almost kind and welcoming. The indication on his canvas was the same, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was being nice to her again due to the events that just took place.
"No it's okay," Harlem whispered shaking her head, although she truly did want the remote to watch the Food Network.
"Just take it 'cause you know you wanna watch TV." Kross leaned over to put the remote in her palm then returned to his slouching position, pulling his hood further over his fluffy curls.
Nipping her already swollen lip, Harlem began to flip through the channels absentmindedly until the one she had been looking for went by, and she hit the downward arrow once so it could go back. "Kitchen Nightmares" was on, causing a cheeky grin to pull at her mouth because she truly loved the show despite how messy it was.
It was either the Food Network or Disney Channel she enjoyed watching in her free time when she wasn't counting money for the rude older man.
"Of course you watch shit like this, I'm not surprised." Kross gave her an amused side eye, shaking his head from side to side and resuming examining his screen like he had been for the last hour.
What does that even mean? It's a good show.
Harlem cut her eyes at him, not bothering to respond because she wanted to watch the show, and a comfortable silence washed over the room like a tide on the beach.
However, something weighed in on her subconscious mind, about the events from yesterday and how the rude teenager quite literally saved her life. She realized that she had t expressed her gratitude towards him for doing so, and that made her feel bad.
"Um, Kross?" The adolescent girl's sweet vocals protruded through the air 15 minutes later, removing her eyes from the television to gaze over at the boy who had been faithfully by her side all night and this morning.
"Wassup?" He responded, peeling his attention from the brightened screen of his phone for a split second, tapping away on the glass noiselessly.
"Thank you for not leaving me," Harlem thanked Kross genuinely, feeling tears well up in her eyes once again and she blinked them back immediately whilst sniffling, her nose stuffy from the change in the weather. "It means so much to me."
Her chest felt tight with overwhelming emotions once again, a sense of gratitude towards the mean teenage boy filling her big heart and entire body, and he finally glanced up from his phone and at her with a solemn expression on his brown canvas.
She didn't know why she wanted to cry but she refrained from doing so.
Harlem failed miserably.
"Least I could do. Ya mom was worried about you too, so...." Kross trailed off, a distant look on his face briefly before blinking hardly as if he was reminiscing about something— but he regained his composure as quickly as he lost it. He looked back at Harlem, handing her the cardboard box overflowing with tissue from her window sill. "Get some rest Canarsie, and stop cryin'. Shit wasn't a big deal at all."
Yes, it was...
"Okay... Thank you." The cinnamon-toned adolescent thanked the boy, tugging on a single cotton sheet whilst sniffling and using it to wipe the warm, salty tears staining her canvas.
He's been so nice to me today.
Every time they ever interacted in the past, he had been nothing but impudent towards her. Still, last night and today he had been caring and concerned— even going as far as waiting up all night for her to make sure that she would be okay and getting the nurse at Godspeed 30 minutes earlier.
Harlem desired for his good-natured attitude to last, but she had a feeling that he'd be back to his old self once he left and that they wouldn't talk again.
They wouldn't be friends, although the tiniest part of her did want to befriend the boy.
He kissed his teeth, altering himself in the wooden chair, "I hope you don't think this means we cool or I like you, or some shit like that 'cause we not and I don't."
And the niceness is gone.
"You're an asshole, I wouldn't wanna be friends with someone like you anyways," Harlem murmured drowsily, her eyelids growing heavier with every passing moment— the medicine taking effect on her system entirely too fast for her liking. "Not in a million years..."
"Shut up."
"You first Kriss Kross applesauce."
"You got jokes now, Schenectady?" Kross asked her mockingly, and although her eyes were closed, she could tell he was grinning just the slightest bit by the change in his tone. "You not funny."
"Neither are you, your jokes are so old now..." Was the last thing Harlem was able to murmur before her body relaxed into a peaceful slumber.
I'm so sleepy, I'm just gonna rest my eyes for a little bit.
▃▃ ▃▃ ▃▃ ▃▃ ▃▃ ▃▃ ▃▃
𝘈 𝘍𝘌𝘞 𝘏𝘖𝘜𝘙𝘚 𝘓𝘈𝘛𝘌𝘙...
When Harlem finally became conscious again, Kross was nowhere to be found, and the room was quiet— the only other noise being the Television propped up on the pale wall playing the National Geographic channel.
She couldn't even recall turning that channel on— implying it must've been Kross who did so. Harlem figured he went home because his backpack was gone as well. As much as she wondered where he went, the girl didn't put too much thought into it, because after all, they were nowhere near friends.
What time is it? She presumed to herself, adjusting her head slightly against the cushioned white hospital pillows in an attempt to sit up just a small amount.
Her neck was intensely sore from the height of the pillows compared to the rest of her body, knowing she'd get a spasm in her neck sooner or later.
Her eyelids were practically stuck together with crust due to her elongated nap as an effect of the medicine the nurse gave her to ease the piercing sensation in her leg and ankle.
Even so, she still attempted to locate some sort of clock, because hospital rooms had those, right?
"Hey, baby doll, I see you're up," A sweet voice rang out through the silence minutes later, causing Harlem's wandering to cease momentarily, and her mocha irises glanced at the lady through her peripheral vision. "Let me rise the bed up for you, I know you're tired of lying down."
It wasn't nurse Linda this time, but rather another one. She wore her hair straight in a high ponytail, and scrubs like her mother's, except these were blue with hearts all over them.
Yes please, my neck hurts so bad.
"Thank you," Harlem thanked the woman whose name tag read "Chanel" as she fiddled on the side of the bed, and seconds later the bed began to rise with a faint humming sound— instantly relieving the teenager's back ache.
"Are you thirsty? You look like you could use a cup of water," Nurse Chanel offered gently with a grin as she checked her vitals and IV meticulously to ensure that everything had been functioning as it was supposed to.
"Yes please," Harlem responded shyly, reaching her small hand up to her eyelids and rubbing gently to brush away the eye boogers, blinking repeatedly.
"Looks like everything is working perfectly. How's your leg?"
"It doesn't hurt anymore."
"Great! The medicine worked then," Nurse Chanel exclaimed cheerfully as she finished up. "I'm gonna bring you some Jello for right now, then you can have some real food, okay? I know you're hungry after being out for so long."
The nurse offered the nutmeg-toned girl a warm grin before she rolled her cart out of the room, leaving Harlem alone once again. She reached for the sleek rectangle remote that rested on the cushioned bed next to her, pressing her thumb on the upwards arrow button, beginning to flip through channels.
She surprisingly didn't need to use the bathroom, even though she had been resting for most of the day and drank water earlier.
The time at the lower right corner of the television read 3:43 p.m., indicating that Harlem had been asleep for almost 5 hours.
I was really that tired?
Nurse Chanel returned 5 minutes later with a cart, and on top of it 3 cups of brightly-colored Jello, water bottles, and yellow packets of graham crackers. She set up the eating tray for Harlem and put all of the things she brought her on top of the firm plastic.
The teenager thanked the older woman, who responded with a 'you're welcome sweetheart' as she monitored her vitals once more to ensure everything was up to par.
"Do you like chicken nuggets and French fries? I can bring you some from the cafeteria," Nurse Chanel spoke as she scribbled words onto the clipboard she carried with her, and Harlem smiled and nodded.
She was fond of chicken nuggets and French fries— who wasn't?
"Yes please."
"I'm gonna finish doing my runs, and I'll bring some for you."
The room went quiet once again, the only other sound being the background laughter on the show playing. Nipping at her swollen lips, Harlem meticulously pulled the white plastic from the corner of the Jello cup off and grabbed the translucent spoon.
A pain went through Harlem's lower abdomen followed by rumbling due to how hungry she was. It wasn't her ideal first meal of the day, but it was better than nothing, and for that she was grateful.
Hopefully, it's good.
Placing her notoriety onto the television once again, the young teenager spooned the green Gel and placed the spoon at the entrance of her lips, nibbling a bit off. The newest episode of Ant Farm has been streaming, which Harlem was excited about because she adored the show.
It tastes good, She thought to herself, raising and dropping her shoulders as she ate some more eagerly. Maybe because I'm so hungry.
"Lolo," The melodic voice of her older brother broke the room's atmosphere, and Harlem's sight wasted no time removing itself from the screen playing ANT FARM, and placing her concentration on her sibling.
Tribute was resting against the doorpost, an expression across his canvas mixed with nervousness and guilt. His doe-like brown eyes searched Harlem's face without saying a word, and Harlem didn't know what to say to her big brother either.
"Hi Zozo," Harlem whispered, briefly shifting her gaze to the bright green Jello in the plastic cup that she had been eating before gazing back at her older sibling, spooning the sour-sweet confection into her mouth.
"I would've come earlier, but Momma wanted me to wait until I got outta school to come see you and stuff cause I had to take Tylin and Ni'San to school," He clarified briefly, his voice slightly hesitant and nervous— as if he was fearful of something.
"It's okay. You can come in, you don't have to stand by the door." She swallowed the Jello after squishing it around in her mouth for a few seconds, wincing at the sourness of the lime flavor, but she particularly was fond of the taste.
He immediately walked further into the room, the sound of his footsteps drowned out by the TV. "Right, my fault."
He continued to gravitate towards his younger sister until he stopped at the edge of her bed, lingering at the edge momentarily and then taking a seat. She didn't say anything— only playing with the Jello and spooning more in between her lips.
"What the fuck happened, Lolo? Kaze did this shit to you?" Tribute questioned Harlem quietly, his large cocoa irises shifting their attention onto her leg covered by the white blanket. "I swear to God if he to-."
He always thinks that it's Kaze.
"No... I was walking to the bus stop to go home, and some men who knew Kaze started chasing us. We were running and I must've turned on my ankle wrong because I heard it crack and I fell," She explained.
"I'm not letting you go back out there. I can't have nothing happening to you again." The redbone teenager shook his head, closing his eyes tightly and tilting his chin up towards the smooth, white ceiling of the room.
She could tell he was upset, but Harlem wasn't sure if it was with her or the situation, and she hated it when he was upset with her.
"I'm sorry I wasn't more careful, the people just came out of nowhere," The adolescent girl's keen voice wobbled like the leg of a loose table leg, and hot salty tears glossed her eyes seconds later, which she blinked back repeatedly.
"You don't gotta apologize, all this shit is my fault and Imma make it better, aight? You not going back out there, I'm so sorry," Tribute apologized, enveloping Harlem in a gentle, loving embrace, whispering his apologies to her over and over. "Ion care what happens to me, I'm not letting nothin' else happen to you, I promise."
Harlem sniffled as the hot salty tears she had been desperately attempting to blink away the entirety of the waking day painted the sides of her deep brown canvas, every single last emotion she had no clue was there overflowing like a boiling pot of water on a hot stove.
"I was so scared Tribute," The teenager sobbed uncontrollably. "I thought I was gonna die, the gunshots were so loud."
It was the second scariest thing she had experienced, the first being when she witnessed her dear sibling almost murdered in cold blood right before her irises.
Tribute sighed deeply and squeezed her even tighter as if he was terrified to let go, "I know Lotti, I'm so sorry I got you in this shit. Imma talk to Kaze, Ion care what happens."
No.
"No Tr-," The younger girl began to protest to her brother—who cut her off immediately, pulling away from the hug and brushing the warm, salty tears away from her cheeks gently. "Can you just stay for once?"
"Harlem, there's nothin' you boutta say that can change my mind. I'm not letting you go back out there, Imma figure this shit out, okay?" Tribute told her firmly, resting the palm of his large hand on the top of her curly hair held by a black elastic rubber hand soothingly. "I gotta go, but Imma be back later, I promise."
Harlem frowned deeply, not wanting him to go. "Okay, I love you Tribute."
He had only been here five minutes and he wanted to run off again. Harlem wanted her older brother to sit and comfort her— not go all the way to Canarsie and talk to Kaze, where anything could happen.
I hope he doesn't get himself into more trouble or hurt.
It seemed as if her older brother attracted danger just like a magnet, and every day it made her afraid for him.
"I love you too Lolo," Tribute responded with a gentle grin and ceased stroking her frizzy curls to press a kiss against his younger sister's forehead quickly. "I promise Imma be back."
"Okay." Harlem waved at him as he retreated from the large room, hoping that this time he didn't break the promise he made to her.
He tended to do that sometimes, but always made it up afterward.
Brushing the remainder of the condensation from her cheeks, she let out a loud breath of air from her lips and shook her head from side to side, her curls bouncing around as she did so.
All alone again, she pondered while continuing to consume the sweet and sour Jello and watching Disney Channel take her mind off of her brother.
Another knock rattled on the wooden door not even 3 minutes later, and Harlem shifted her look— expecting to see her mother or the nurse— but instead, it was a person she had been least expecting.
Naji.
"Oh! Hi Naji," Her vocals pronounced meekly, her stomach growing tight at the sight of the boy whom she knew all too well standing at the entrance of the hospital room.
"Wassup, can I come in?" He questioned politely, and Harlem bowed her head quickly, tucking her thick top lip between her teeth and nibbling on it nervously.
The brown adolescent lowered her gaze to the second cup of Jello she had been eating, not wanting to stare at him as he came over— her heart pounding against the inside of her chest like it normally did whenever she saw him.
I hope I don't have drool on my face or crust in my eyes, that would be so embarrassing oh my gosh.
"You okay, Harlem? I heard what happened from my moms and I wanted to come see you," Naji explained, adjusting the silky black fabric of his du-rag with his free deep brown hand, and taking a seat at the very edge of the hospital chair next to Harlem's bed.
Of course, my mom told everyone and their mother what happened, sigh.
It was so foreign to hear her real name dance off of his tongue and not a nickname, meaning he was genuinely worried about her.
"I think I'm okay... I'm just drained still. The nurse gave me medicine earlier," Harlem responded to his question, stifling a yawn that arose from her throat.
"My fault, I could come back later when you feel better."
"Wait, can you stay? I hate the silence," Harlem admitted shyly and the lanky mocha boy paused in his tracks as he stood up.
People had been in and out of her room all day, and she just wanted someone to sit with her— even if it was for a moment.
Naji sucked his teeth and grinned in a coy manner instantly afterward, giving a view of his ocean blue rubber bands, "If you missed me you coulda just said that, you'on gotta front and say you hate the silence."
The teenage girl's face began to grow hot and sting with embarrassment at his slight flirting, and her lips parted to say something back, but they got stuck in the back of her throat.
This is so embarrassing.
"I'd rather sit in here witchu than do homework anyways," He murmured kindly with a shrug of his hoodie-covered shoulders, backtracking his footsteps and taking a seat once again.
Harlem fought the cheeky grin growing, attempting to mask the pure joy she had in the moment. Being around Naji made her apprehensive but jovial because she felt oddly safe with him, and he was her only real friend at the moment.
"I gotchu sum, I almost forgot," Naji announced, digging into the shallow pocket of his navy blue zip-up sweater and pulling out a tiny box pink and white box. "It's a get-well present."
He got me something? Why?
"I got it—well my moms helped me pick it out— for you." His slim fingers gently set the small square into Harlem's beige palm, and her eyes scanned the box which read "Pandora Jewelry" in black bold lettering.
Cautiously pulling the top up to reveal the contents of the teensy box, a small gasp left her lips at the sight of the shiny, golden bunny charm that lay snuggly inside.
She received a Pandora bracelet as a present from her father on her 8th birthday, and every year a new charm would get added to it. The charms themselves weren't on the cheap side— a reason she only got one every year— so for the cocoa boy to buy her one made her chest grow extremely warm.
Not to mention Harlem loved rabbits.
"Thank you Naji," She uttered the term gratefully, not even bothering to stop the cheesing smile tugging at her lips, her face growing warm, but she didn't care. "It's so cute, I love it."
"No problem, mama." Naji's vocals were smooth, but his irises sparkled happily— visibly glad that she adored the gift. "You want me to help you put it on ya bracelet?"
She nodded her head, holding her small wrist that held her golden charm bracelet out to him, the solid pieces brushing against each other, "Yes please."
Naji tucked his bottom lip in between his canines whilst carefully unclasping the little hook that held the bangle securely around her arm, and Harlem fought her grin so much that her cheek muscles strained— not like she minded.
His presence removed the loneliness from the bland room, filling it with more warmth and joy than she could ever need, forgetting about the hurt she had endured.
It was bewildering how one's company could shift your whole day around, and Harlem loved it.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐎'𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐀 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.
⥊𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘛 𝘕𝘌𝘞 𝘠𝘖𝘙𝘒, 𝘉𝘙𝘖𝘖𝘒𝘓𝘠𝘕, 𝘕𝘠⥊
𝐌𝐈𝐃-𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓, 𝟒:𝟐𝟏 𝐩.𝐦.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
"Fuck up some commas, fuck up some commas, yeah," Future's voice played audibly through the small speaker that sat on the desk of Kazani O'Shea Lawrence— Better known as Kamikaze or Kaze— as he thumbed through a large wad of green bill's absentmindedly while murmuring along to the lyrics of the song.
The scent of Vanilla backwoods and Sativa drifted in and out of his nostrils in the clouded room around him, due to his right-hand men— Scotti, Chevy, and Nine— smoking a blunt together while bagging up grams of the marijuana carefully.
Besides the music playing, the only other noise was the low conversation amongst the men, to which Kaze didn't pay attention. He was lost in his thoughts, his mind wandering back and forth between his younger brother and the amount of money he was attempting to keep count of.
Kross had been on his mind heavily lately for some odd reason. It had been a while since Kross had asked him to stay at his house, and the only time he would ask that question was when their parents got into it.
So, when his brother asked that, it threw him off his guard completely, and he felt like something was going on with his younger brother— but he had no solid evidence to support his accusation.
He kept telling me he was fine, but Ion believe that shit.
As much as he longed to pop up in East New York and see what was going on with his younger sibling, he didn't want to risk his parents seeing him and calling the police after the painful event that took place over a year ago.
The essence of those events still lingered in his heart, always causing a sharp pain in his chest with a mixture of sadness, anger, and guilt after what happened to his younger sister.
"Kaze," Scotti's voice brought him out of the state of deep pondering, and Kazani blinked quickly before shifting his caramel-colored irises onto the brown man with a large blunt in between his lips. "You good?"
"I'm straight, you know me," His deep vocals responded with a nod, and his close friend of 5 years glanced at him as if he knew otherwise. "We makin' plays?"
"Hell yeah, off weed alone. Shit is crazy how much bread we pullin' in," Chevy's thick voice spoke loudly followed by a cackle, echoing off of the walls of the room.
Scotti then cut his eyes at the overweight man seated next to him, visibly irritated at his obnoxious vocals. "Yo you mad loud in my ear, B."
"Nigga shut up, I'm not even that loud."
"Yes ya fat ass is, now shut the fuck up wit' that loud shit! Rick Ross lookin' ass nigga."
"Nigga say I won't sit my fat ass on you, pause. Built like the cinnamon stick from the Apple Jacks box."
Nah, this nigga is bugging all the way.
Kazani snickered at Chevy and Scotti's light bickering, shaking his head back and forth as he ran his large caramel hand over his shiny, black waves, feeling the cold metal of his diamond pinky ring against his scalp. He moved his focus onto Nine, who was occupied with his iPhone while bagging the grams— not engaging in the conversation.
It wasn't out of the ordinary for the scar-faced man to be quiet— he rarely engaged in conversation with them since the beginning. Kazani accepted the fact that his close friend didn't have a multitude of things to say because he was more about action and getting his job done than wasting his words.
The four of them had been tied at the hip since their middle school days, and their bond was golden— so tight that nobody could even come close between them.
Believe me, they tried and failed many times.
"I'm hungry," Chevy announced, patting his round stomach which was covered by an extra large white cotton T-shirt. "We ordering food?"
"Nigga when are you not hungry?" Nine finally spoke up, narrowing his eyes with disdain toward the overweight friend seated beside him.
"Ya niggas are gonna learn to not play with me!"
"Imma order Chinese food, what ya niggas want?" Kazani offered, swiping his finger against the shiny, scarcely scratched screen of his iPhone and opening up his Safari to search for the Chinese restaurant they frequently ordered from so he could call in delivery for him and his close friends.
It would be the first real meal he would be stomaching today, the only thing else he ate was a pack of Little Bites blueberry muffins early in the morning before he came to his workspace. He managed to get so caught up in his job that eating was the last thing on his mind, the hunger cues completely vanishing from his subconscious brain until he was able to relax completely.
"Get me-," Chevy began to speak, but Scotti beat him to it.
"Get that fat nigga a salad. Let me get General Tso's chicken, fried rice and like three egg rolls but not pork 'cause I'm Muslim." Scotti made praying hands and looked up to the ceiling.
Fuck is this nigga even looking at.
"Muslim with tattoos and toting guns is crazy," Nine murmured, amused, earning a cackle from Chevy who sounded as if he was having a heart attack.
"God knows my heart."
"Yeah, you going to hell nigga. Get my regular order, chicken fried rice, beef lo mein, and two chicken egg rolls." The dark-skinned overweight man patted his pot belly with a smile, and it took everything in Kazani not to bust out laughing at the gesture.
"Aight. You want anything, Nine?"
The quiet man bowed his head, not raising his gaze from the weed he had been focused on bagging, "Yeah, sweet and sour chicken wit' that egg soup shit."
"That shit is nasty as fuck."
"Chevy yo fat ass will eat anything, so shut the fuck up."
All these niggas do is bicker, Kazani thought to himself as he made a mental note of everyone's orders so he could order the delivery.
"I wanna place an order for delivery," Kaze articulated into the mic, positioning his phone up to his pierced ear when the Chinese lady greeted him.
However, a loud banging noise at the downstairs door caused everyone to cease their movements and conversations, glances going around the room amongst each other.
"I know damn well the food ain't here that early," Chevy mumbled under his breath, pulling out his handkerchief and swiping it against his bald head.
"He ain't even order the food yet fat ass."
Who the fuck is that...
Scotti must have sensed Kaze's confusion, because he rose from the expensive couch, and grabbed the matte black gun that had been sitting on top of the oak table. He tucked it in the front pocket of his faded Balmain jeans and left the room at Godspeed almost.
"Someone gon' die today!"
Kazani was unbothered as he finished placing the order for Chinese food over the phone— knowing that Scotti would take care of whoever it was.
Niggas wanna die today, that's on them.
"Zo, the fuck you doin' here?" Scotti's gravelly voice echoed through the hallway moments after, causing Kazani to pause abruptly as he pressed his thumb on the red button on his glass screen, ending the call.
I know this nigga Zo ain't at my house right now. I know this bobble-headed ass nigga ain't here.
Kazani couldn't hear what Tribute was saying to Scotti as much as he attempted to listen in on the conversation, and the brown-skinned man's thick eyebrows knitted together.
A brief period of silence passed before Scotti conversed again.
"You know he not fuckin' witchu right now, so get lost before he comes down here and mops the floor with you Zo."
"Nigga I don't give a FUCK. Where the fuck is Kaze at?" Tribute's rough vocals laced with anger practically shouted with a large thud.
This motion caused Chevy and Nine to pause what they had been doing as well, glancing at each other while they reached for their matte black Glock 17's slowly and putting their gaze on the man who was sitting in front of them— as if they were looking for confirmation on something.
Niggas be so quick to shoot someone, Zo mad harmless.
Kazani shook his head, knowing the scrawny teenager was no real threat to him or anyone else. He comprehended Tribute might've been a bit of a hothead— always getting into beef with rivals and random people— but he wasn't stupid enough to go there with him.
So, he knew there was a reason for the 16-year-old boy to be at his door— he just didn't comprehend why he was yelling.
Ion got time for his bullshit today dawg, he better not have a lame-ass excuse, Kazani presumed to himself as he rose from the computer chair he had been seated at for the past half hour, yanking the dark blue True Religion jeans up with his right tatted hand.
He made his way out of the room and down the creaky wooden stairs of the house, where Scotti had been standing with the entrance ajar. Tribute had been idle on the other side, dressed in a Bathing Ape hoodie that Kazani had bought him when he first began to sell, a white dope boy tee underneath, and faded blue jeans.
A look of anger was on the boy's face, and the older man couldn't help but ponder why his face was that way.
What the fuck is his problem?
"He not leavin' until he talks to you," Scotti emphasized to Kazani, sucking his pearly white teeth. "I tried to tell him you not messing wit' 'em right now but this nigga hardheaded as fuck, B."
"I got it, Scotti," Kaze reassured his dear "brother", whose beady dark pupils bounced between the two males before nodding his head and moving out of the way, his heavy footsteps more than audible as he made his way back up the staircase of the slightly abandoned brownstone house. Kaze glanced at the teenager. "Fuck you want, Zo? Why you pullin' up at my house?"
"Let me sell again," Were the words that came out of his mouth, and Kazani let out the loudest laugh because it was a joke— it had to be.
Is this lil' nigga smoking? Whatever it is, I need some of that shit.
"You laced Tribute? You know better than-," The twenty-two-year-old began to respond to his utterly ridiculous proposal, but was immediately cut off by the hardheaded teenager standing in front of him.
"My mom's got no way to pay that bill and my little sister layin' in a hospital bed right now, so I need to sell."
"Fuck you talkin' about?"
"NIGGA HARLEM. She in the fucking hospital with a broken ankle 'cause of this shit and she not comin' back out here," Tribute ranted with a raised tone laced with pure anger and hurt as he ran his large mocha hand down his smooth face. "Ion care what happens to me, she not comin' back Kaze."
Harlem? This nigga is deadass?
His mind floated to the young girl who worked for him, as well as the last moment he saw both her and his younger sibling.
Whoopty.
A realization hit Kazani that he had, in fact, not heard from his younger brother who texted him every morning with no fail.
Fuck, bro. Don't fucking tell me.
"Hollon Zo." The 6-foot tall man sprinted up the stairs and back into the office, earning perplexed expressions from his friends— which he disregarded.
He seized his large iPhone from the desk and scrambled to his recent calls, clicking on Kross's contact. A silent prayer went through his brain as it rang a couple of times, making his way back down to the first floor of the townhouse where Tribute had still been at the entrance.
His heartbeat was damn near audible in his ears, and he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of his stomach momentarily with each passing ring of the phone.
Pick up, pick up, pick up.
"Hello?"
A sigh of solace left Kazani's full lips silently at the sound of his beloved brother's voice, "Whoopty where the fuck you at? Why did I hear from someone Harlem was shot at last night?"
A moment of silence went by before Kross's raspy vocals uttered anything.
"We both got shot at. I was wit' her the whole time at the hospital up until like an hour ago," His voice came out quieter and hesitant as if he was afraid of his older sibling being angry with him. "I'm at home now."
Kazani exhaled audibly, running his large hand down his brown face, blinking hard as he pondered the news Tribute—and now Kross— just told him about Harlem. A pit began to form in his lower abdomen with guilt— knowing that part of this was his fault.
After all, he made Harlem work for him later than usual, and he could've easily taken both of the young teens back home that night instead of letting them go alone.
"You good?" Kazani questioned Kross, who could be heard moving on the other end of the line. "You need anything Whoopty?"
"I'm straight. Could I stay witchu for the night, though?" His younger brother asked, pleading laced in between his vocals. "I promise I'll go to school tomorrow."
"I got some shit to handle right now, but Imma come to get you tomorrow since it's Friday and you don't got school the next day," Kazani promised his sibling on the other end, who let out an exasperated groan. "Imma call you back later, aight?"
He felt guilty that he couldn't come to get his brother, but he knew how his parents were, and he didn't want them to ask so many questions. The last thing he wished for was to get Kross in trouble— they didn't like them seeing each other after Kilan's passing.
"Aight." The line went dead, and the tall man turned to the shorter one who remained outdoors.
"You know Ion like giving second chances when you fuck with my bread, Zo. The first time I was like aight 'cause you were new, the second time I said you were pushing ya luck, but then the third time? Yeah, you had a death wish nigga."
"I know Kaze, but it wasn't even like that. Niggas jumped me and took my-," Tribute began to explain.
Kazani shook his head, dragging his large palm down his shiny waves, "If you weren't beefing wit' damn near every block known, you wouldn't have those issues lil' nigga."
It was no secret Tribute got into beef so often— sometimes even Kazani had to save the younger boy's ass multiple times so he didn't get hurt. It amazed the 22-year-old how Tribute didn't even have so much as a scratch on him, but God did have a funny way of looking out for people.
"Ion wanna take that risk witchu again, figure that shit out," He dismissed the conversation, placing his hand on the golden knob so he could close the door, but Tribute stopped him, slamming his palm against the white oak wood. "I know yo ass ain't just slam ya hand on my door."
Yeah, this lil nigga must be smoking angel dust, outta his goddamn mind.
Desperation reeked like a bad case of body odor after a day of playing ball off of him, "Kaze bro please, I can't let nothing happen to Harlem again. She's a kid, bruh. I need to make it right, I can't put her through this shit no more."
She's a kid.
The words rang in his head like an alarm blaring repeatedly, marinating into his subconscious mind, ceasing the word "no" from flying out of his lips.
That was the utmost truth; Harlem was an innocent girl who had done nothing but end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she had paid ever since because of her older brother's sins. Kaze knew and acknowledged it deep down, but he had been so hell-bent on getting his money back that he didn't give a fuck.
He had been so harsh with the younger teen, but then again, he didn't owe her any kindness.
His brain yanked at the recollection of his baby sister who perished because of his acts, the aching his chest always held for her since that traumatic day growing more prominent with each passing second. It laid waste, no matter how much he prayed for the thoughts to disappear they never did— the remorse having a tight hold on him relentlessly.
No one should have to pay for the sins of another, it wasn't at all just.
"Imma think about it. Come back here tomorrow and we gon' work a deal out for the meantime until she gets better," Kazani spoke out after a moment of pondering a decision with an elongated exhale, narrowing his honey irises at Tribute. "I swear to God Tribute if you fuck up my money again, you know what's gonna happen."
"I won't, I promise," The 16-year-old with the soft features pledged, holding his hand out, which Kazani in return dapped up, his embezzled Rolex dancing under the evening sunlight, the VVS1 diamonds gleaming faultlessly, praying he didn't regret his judgment.
I'm too nice to this little nigga, all he does is bring trouble to my door.
"IS THE FOOD HERE?" His overweight friend raised a question at an ear-splitting volume from the higher level, followed by a clamorous thump.
"SHUT YO FAT ASS UP CHEVY DAMN!" Scotti should at the same magnitude and Kaze cracked up, shaking his crown from side to side at his teammate's quarrel.
These niggas bro.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
ʜɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ'ꜱ! ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ɪ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴇɴᴄʜᴋɪᴅꜱ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴢᴇ ꜰᴏʀ, ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴀᴅ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ɪᴛ ʜᴀʀᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ. ʙᴜᴛ, ɪ'ᴍ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴏɴᴇ.
ɪ ᴘʟᴀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱᴏᴏɴ, ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ʙᴇꜱɪᴅᴇꜱ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍʏ ʜᴏʙʙʏ, ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏʟɪɴᴇ—ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ.
ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ꜱᴀɪᴅ, ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 60ᴋ ʀᴇᴀᴅꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴏᴋ, ɪ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ'ᴍ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴍᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ ɪɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴏᴋ :) ɪ'ᴍ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴛʀʏ ᴍʏ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ꜱᴏᴏɴ, ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴘʀᴇᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ, ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʀᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ.
ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ? ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?
ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴋᴀᴢᴇ'ꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴘᴏᴠ? ᴡʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴘᴏᴠ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ?
ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ?
ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ɴᴇxᴛ?
ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ʙᴏᴏᴋ?
100+ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ.