A/N: If y'all want that happy ending, I hope y'all have the patience to read through the bullshit it's gonna take to get there. That's all I'mma say.
Jason:
***
Sunday, 11:29am
Castle Hill Projects - Bronx, New York
It isn't a blissful float to the surface of reality, but rather a violent jolt, followed by a dry heaving fit and the regret of taking air for granted when Lauren can't seem to get what she needs in her burning lungs. She fists the bedsheets, left in disarray from her thrashing and tossing, and screws her eyes shut, tightening them as she fights off the visuals of her nightmare trapped in her faux vision. Alerted by the cold, damp sensation soaking her back and basketball shorts, Lauren reopens her eyes and confirms that it's just sweat and not pee. The birds singing outside the small bedroom window brings her temporary peace—peace that doesn't even last longer than four seconds, because she looks over and the spot previously occupied by Candy is empty.
Lauren puts that to the back of her mind for a moment so that she may remember the gentle, angelic, familiar voice of her former woman whispering from the grave to come home...that it's okay...that everyone's happy there and no earthly pain exists where she's at. She stutters out sobs and clutches her neck, clawing at her skin—punishing herself for not having the capability to tame her emotions nor the volume of her cries. Lauren covers her ears when the birds fade out and in come the parade of gunshots, like a marching band on a battlefield. Her heart contracts just as her body does, and all she wants is to go back to bed.
No, fuck that. All she wants is to be held and transported back to the past, where she can undo everything and choose better. But she's alone, and that's impossible, and nothing that is possible and worth reaching for to chase away the restless, hungry terrors forever is available for her to have. So she curls up into a ball with the covers over her body for a little while longer and uses the luxury of being alone to cry it all out.
"How down are you? Do you know where you begin and where you end? Because you KNOW it's blood in and blood out, right?"
"More down than you, probably. More down than anyone. I begin here, at the bottom, and end at the top, with all my opps in the fucking ground. They're not ready for me. But I'm ready for them. Especially Luca, that little fuck—he's gonna wish he shot me too."
"Hermanita, you know I'll follow you anywhere and support you with whatever. We're all we got. Just make sure that you know what you're doing. I'm in this for the money and the revenge, and for the family too, but nothing more than that. Is revenge ALL you want?" (Little sis.)
"What I want is power. I don't like how it feels to be powerless—to walk around here feeling like someone can take that from me again, and they know I won't do anything about it. That anyone can just do whatever they want. Fuck that. With me running shit, they'll all bow down to me. I will make them, te lo juro, mano. Eso es la verdad. Oíste? I won't be the fucking victim again. So yeah, blood in, blood out, but it won't be my blood for a long time." (I swear to you, bro. That is the truth.)
"Está bien. I believe you. With that being said, let's go make that happen. Let's go do some dirt! Call Emiliano, I'll round up my people, we'll go hit up one of the EC hoods." (All right.)
Lauren thrusts her forearm across her cheeks and uses her plain red t-shirt to wipe her eyes. "So fucking stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!" She punches her thighs repeatedly, sitting up and throwing the covers off her body. NOW is when she desires to have Candy with her; consoling her, reassuring her that it's all going to be okay even though she knows that isn't true. Lauren blindly feels around the bed for her Motorola Razr until she locates it underneath Candy's pillow. She flips it open and goes straight to speed dial. As the line rings, she scans the room for any sign that her girlfriend might still be here, but none of her possessions that she always takes outside with her is here. Lauren sucks her teeth and stares at the phone screen as Candy's voicemail tells her to leave a message. "De pinga, coño!"
Lauren scoots out of bed and darts around the room, searching for a pair of jeans to put on over her shorts since it's so fucking cold out here for no fucking reason, and she misses the heat. She tries Candy again and gets her voicemail again. And again. And again. "YOOOO!" she yells, on the verge of punching a hole in the wall as she finally gives in and leaves a message. "Where the fuck are you? You don't know how to answer your phone?! Lo juro por fucking Dios, you better have lost it somewhere or that shit better be dead—which is unfuckinglikely considering the immortal battery life that thing has—because if I find out you are deliberately ignoring my calls, it's gonna be you and me when I see you. Pick up my fucking calls!"
Lauren slams her phone shut and shoves both feet into her brand new Air Jordans 8 Retro, careful not to crease them no matter how forceful she's being, before taking her toothbrush, lotion, and cologne to the bathroom to freshen up. She calls Candy five more times there and doesn't get lucky. At this point, she's panicking and imagining worst case scenarios that put her through mental and physical hell. She storms out of the tiny bathroom and heads into the living room, desperate to ask those two voices she hears questions on Candy's whereabouts. But what she sees upon arrival stuns her so bad, she's rooted in place and doesn't have the words to say anymore.
"Hey," Chico, Randy's cousin, distantly greets as he takes the heroin needle out of his arm, loaded with track marks that weren't visible last night. He's shirtless, sinking into the old, floral cushion sofa, sharing his high with a strung out young woman, who is mindlessly watching the morning news on the box TV. He smiles at Lauren, his eyes staying at half-mast. "Don't mind us; we're just having some breakfast."
Lauren stares a few seconds longer before she blinks out of her judgmental shock and coldly asks, "Have you seen my girl?"
"Your girl?" the woman repeats incredulously, side eyeing Lauren. "You a carpet muncher? For real?" she cocks her head sideways.
"Chill," Chico tells her before Lauren does so in a less polite manner.
"That's crazy."
"Bitch, didn't I just tell you to shut the fuck up? Damn. That's your problem, you talk too fucking much. Shut up."
"Oye!" Lauren impatiently claps, startling them. "Where's Candy?"
"She went out two hours ago. To church, I think she said," Chico speaks slowly, like the moving line at the DMV. He doesn't pick up on Lauren's hurry, nor does he understand it. This high is too fucking good to grasp the concept of rushing anywhere to do anything but take a shot of paradise. "Jason took her."
"Jason took her?" Lauren grimaces. "The fuck you mean Jason took her?"
"Yeah. He usually goes with his daughter when his baby mom's drops her off for the weekend. Candy wanted to go, so they went together. Somewhere in Parkchester." Chico glances at the time on the cable box and smiles lazily. "Mass should be over now though. Just chill here and wait for them to come back."
Lauren clutches her chest and winces from the reoccurring pain in her lungs since the incident at the Yard Jerk. She can't respond right away or react the way she's eager to; the pain humbles her into taking a seat on the armchair across from the sofa, next to the fish tank. She breathes through it and swears like a sailor internally as she suddenly remembers she's all out of pain meds.
"Is you good?" asks Chico. But Lauren doesn't hear him, because his voice is softer now as the heroin hits him, and she also suffers from hearing loss.
"Huh?"
"What you going through over there? You need something?"
"You got ibuprofen or something? Oxy?" Lauren weakly asks.
"Fame holds all the oxys. He sellin' them right now, matter of fact. Why, what's good?"
"You want a shot? Shit, it's better than oxy. You look like you're about to see God and shit," the woman chuckles, nudging Chico to join in so she doesn't feel left out in finding this a laughing matter and having the perfect response for it.
"I'm not a fucking junkie," Lauren grumbles with a sneer, shivering from the pain.
"Neither are we," she says, peacefully shutting her eyes, sinking back into the sofa.
"You take oxy, it's basically the same thing, only this is liquid form...and has more euphoria to offer you. Don't rule it out...just 'cause you a hater. Society...will demonize this drug...before they demonize the worse ones they out there normalizing. Shit's crazy out here," Chico shakes his head as he nods off between his sentences. "It's there if you need it."
-
West Perrine - Miami-Dade
"Cuchillos! Ven!" Sasha calls and kisses at the dog, patting her thigh as she stands by the large black cage with door open. The pit bull comes running, but doesn't enter the cage without a few pets and a kiss from Sasha first. "Good girl. Vete, mor," she affectionately talks as she closes and locks the cage door. Sasha stands upright with a sigh as she crosses over to the living room, where Ariel, Raúl, Jhene, and Jaquan are all lounging, talking over one another about how much work they can get done in the hoods before officially gathering for Sunday dinner for real this time. "Do any of you need anything?"
"Why, what's up?" Ariel turns and looks up, over his shoulder.
"Can I have more of them lil empanadas?" Jaquan asks, as is expected of him every time he comes over and discovers Sasha has cooked. To be fair, everyone is always here now because of her cooking and how she does it so often; he's not the only hungry person constantly asking for her food.
"Help yourself," she gestures to the kitchen. Sasha rests a hand on Ariel's shoulder and she gently squeezes. "I'm going to be upstairs handling something for Lauren. I can't be disturbed; so if any of you needs something from me now, say it."
"Where are the candles for Jasmine's memorial? Are they all in the trunk?" whispers Jhene, now that Jaquan isn't in the area to hear her name. He's taking her death the hardest, given that he was in love with her despite her usually rejecting him.
"Yes. Take them to South Beach when you can. Lola will be expecting them."
"I'm coming!" Ariel quickly announces.
"We're all going," says Raúl, confused.
"I meant to drop them off. I wanna see my Cherry."
"Did you text Normani? Did she make it safely to the Bronx?" Jhene asks Ariel, frowning at the pending response to her text she sent Normani five hours before her flight.
"Apparently. I think she's meeting up with Fame..."
Sasha jogs up the steps and locks herself inside Lauren's bedroom. She grabs a wooden chair and fits the neck of it underneath the doorknob before wandering toward the windows to shut the blinds and curtains. Sasha removes her big suitcase from the closet, wheels it into the space with more room to work with, unlocks the padlock linked to the zipper, hauls out one of two moderate sized black urecimy briefcases, unlocks it with a numbered code, and then sets up the spyware equipment that was in them onto the bed. Just one laptop, a pair of headphones, and a small radio; Sasha properly hooks these things up to work with one another, taking her time—although she doesn't need much, as she's done this far too many times that it's as easy as riding a bike. Once there's signal and the frequencies between the covert bug planted in the wristwatch she gifted to Orion and her radio are harmonized, she gently puts on her headphones and dials up the volume. On the laptop, she does a little typing and clicking for a couple of seconds, and up comes a screen showing a fraction of his surroundings from the undetectable hidden camera that is also in the watch.
"Leave the problems to the Flores Cartel. We can't be careless and so eager; Candy has a CIA agent working for her now. We do too much, it can get us in a lot of trouble," Orion says into a phone.
The hand that holds it to his ear is the one that has the watch clasped to his wrist; if he switches hands, Sasha won't be able to hear whomever is on the other line. From the view of the camera, it looks like he's in South Beach, somewhere on Washington avenue, parked in his car with the windows up. Sasha knows it has to be Washington avenue because she memorized the storefronts and scenery like her own name, due to the fact that Orion spends a lot of time there when he isn't a couple of turns down the road to the brothel. And he's usually camping inside his car, having a bite to eat when he can't go too far from his post, eyeballing the tourist women, or shamelessly taking a nap. He doesn't work hard for Candy, he just pretends to.
"Wouldn't the solution be to take out the CIA agent?" a woman says, though not as coherent as Orion's voice.
"So they can put another? I don't know if he's operating alone or with a squad."
"Right. Let's not push it. Watch the agent, but make sure the agent isn't watching you. We don't need the CIA on our ass."
"De acuerdo." (I agree.)
"Mi marido sugiere que nos tomemos un descanso. Let Candy go crazy with paranoia and start accusing everyone. She'll be so anxious about the next attack, she'll create more trouble for herself. But after some time, when her guard is down again, we'll do another." (My husband suggests we take a break.)
"No deberíamos tomárnoslo con calma para que el bebé no se vea tan afectado?" (Shouldn't we take it easy so that the baby isn't so affected?)
"Eh?"
"She does need to be healthy if we're going to 'harvest the baby from her arms'—in your words. We risk losing the baby. It's not smart."
Sasha reacts with not too much shock, but internally she's exploding and impatient to know more. She jots down more key notes into her small red book of notes and waits for something better to fit the next piece to her puzzle, like a name or an address.
"Bueno. We'll talk soon. A new shipment just arrived and it has twenty million dollars written all over it. That should help us plenty with the real estate aspect of things."
"Ok. Keep me updated."
"Bye."
Sasha stops listening when Orion turns on the car radio and starts digging through his plastic bag of food sitting in the passenger seat. She carefully puts back her equipment and everything else inside the closet, and then sits at the computer desk to review all of her notes so far. Sasha is aware that this is a family related problem, but she doesn't yet have enough in her research to: see the bigger picture, understand everyone's motives, know who exactly is involved and how many people are involved, determine which future steps are necessary and stupid to take, how long this plan has been in the works and what other plans there are, etc.
She's going to have to get a lot more closer to Orion than she initially thought.
*
"Yo. Yooo. Yo!" Randy aggressively shakes Lauren's shoulder, her head shaking with it since it hung loosely against it—as she has been slumped in the armchair for two hours. He uses both hands and rattles her body awake. "YO! Boss!"
Lauren doesn't simply wake up. Her eyes fly open and her body reacts before her slow brain can catch up to it, and the next thing she sees when she becomes aware is Randy stumbling back, holding his jaw. She blinks out of her hazy state and rubs out the blur in her vision before teetering forward, struggling to find her footing as she slurs out apologies and reaches to fix her mistake by touching the spot she punched Randy in...if she can find his face. She keeps missing, and he isn't having any of it, so he pushes her hands away and curses up a storm as he retreats to the freezer and makes himself a ball of ice wrapped in a rag to nurse the throbbing pain.
"Every fucking time I come back to this place, it's always something! Shit, bro! Fucking junkies in this fucking family—always an unlimited fucking supply! Motherfucker! Diablo, que maldito azaroso pendejo, siempre metiendo con esa vaina!" (Damn, what an annoying fucking idiot, always messing with that stuff!)
Lauren glances around the living room and sees that Chico and his girl are passed out on the sofa. Normani also enters the living room, as a pleasant surprise, just exiting from the bathroom she rushed into the second she and Randy got in the apartment. Normani glances at Lauren, at the bag of vomit on the floor by the armchair, the small track mark on her inner elbow, and sighs with a head shake.
"What did you do?" she calmly asks, dropping her purse on the cold, hard floor in lieu of the coffee table that doesn't exist in this apartment.
Lauren covers up her mistake with a hand and went into the bathroom, Normani trailing closely behind. She looks herself in the small box mirror placed above the sink that looks like one she'd have in prison if the warden used the budget to upgrade facilities, and sees the evidence in her sunken eyes—the aftermath of shooting up in her weary face. Lauren switches on the cold water and splashes her face with it several times, runs it through her hair, rinses her mouth with listerine, and repeatedly slaps her cheeks until most of the haziness is gone.
"Lauren..." Normani tries again, squeezing herself inside the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. "What's going on? Why'd you go ahead and do that for?"
"I don't know. I didn't have any more pain meds, and I was in a lot pain. That was the only thing around. I had to take it before it got worse," Lauren replies truthfully, hanging over the sink, too embarrassed to look at Normani.
"You coulda called someone. Where's Candy?"
Lauren grits her teeth and backs up from the sink, joining her hands behind her head with widened eyes. "She still isn't here..." she mumbles to herself. "Mani, what time is it?"
"It just turned two o'clock. Why? Where'd she go?"
Lauren winces from her pain again, but not the ones from her injuries. The emotional one. She tightens her lips and grunts, rejecting the images that flash in her head and disturb her—images of Candy in a car somewhere secluded, making out with Jason, having a lovely time talking with him and rejecting her phone calls on purpose, bouncing on his dick because she probably can't help herself, exploring the better parts of New York with him. She's already sick from the heroin, she doesn't want to be sicker. Lauren whimpers and covers her mouth, breathing intensely through her nose as she restlessly taps her foot and stares with bulging eyes at the rusty pipes beneath the sink.
"Call her right now, see if she picks up."
Normani gets her phone out her puffy coat pocket and hits Candy's line. She looks at Lauren while she waits, counting the rings. It gets to the third one before she's directed to her voicemail. "She always picks up, that's so weird."
"No," Lauren whispers, her heart rate spiking. "She rejected your call. That means she's—"
"Hold on," Normani runs out the bathroom and is heard yelling from the living room, interrupting Randy's yelling at Chico and the other junkie. "Yo, you know where Candy's at?"
Lauren wills away the urge to throw up and rushes out the bathroom, holding her stomach. She joins them in the living room. "Is she still with your cousin?"
"Yeah, they out shopping right now," Randy says, disinterested. He quickly switches back to scolding Chico and his girlfriend. "You and your bitch better bounce right now before I slap the dog shit out of you AND her! And if I catch you here again, I swear on my mama, I'mma light your ass up! Get moving, come on," Randy grabs him by the shirt and throws him toward the door to leave, and then he yanks the woman by her arm and throws her too. "Get the fuck out this house you fucking low life pieces of shit."
"Let me make sure I heard you correctly," Lauren says darkly. When Chico and his girlfriend are finally out of the apartment, she asks Randy, "YOUR cousin, Jason, is out shopping with MY girl?"
"Yeah, that's what he said when I asked him what was up with the block, you know, 'cause Candy is tryna move shit out here. He said he dropped his daughter off after church and that Candy wanted to go shopping, so he was like, 'word, let me put you on to some stores out here that might have the things that you like' and shit. Why? She didn't call to tell you?"
"No! She isn't picking up my fucking calls! I've been trying to reach this bitch since the morning—ohhhh my God when I see her," Lauren paces the living room, eager to hit something with her knuckles that turn paper white. "Yo, I can't. I can't with her—she's driving me fucking crazy. You better say something to your cousin before I do, because when I see him I'mma break his fucking face."
"Nah, nah, nah, I got him, don't worry about it. Let me handle him," Randy quickly rushes out, in no mood to have a repeat of Lauren murking his childhood friend at that party. "I'mma call him right now and tell him to bring Candy's ass back home."
"Lauren, take it easy. Don't do something stupid," Normani tries taming the beast walking back and forth like a Tiger in a cage. "Maybe she just didn't want to—"
Lauren impulsively bolts out of the apartment door, slamming it behind her, forgetting her jacket to keep her warm wherever she's going. They can follow her, but they can't stop her.
*
Four hours later, Candy is back at the apartment with Jason, hauling numerous shopping bags from various stores—some she's never even heard of—and food they picked up on the way home. She's smiling like she has nothing to be afraid of, hasn't done a single thing wrong all day long, and like she just had the time of her life. Because she did! She wasn't expecting to, but she took a chance and didn't regret a single second spent outside with Jason, even during unlikable moments involving crackheads in the streets and the traffic all over Manhattan. That normalcy she and Lauren keep reaching for, she acquired it since the morning, and held on to it for as long as unapologetically possible. This was her form of escapism; and she wasn't about to limit herself to just one kind, with one person.
Contrary to Lauren's belief, she didn't fuck Jason. He did flirt with her, and she was flattered by it, but there wasn't any cheating going on unless you count cheating as enjoying another man's company and having fun spending amicable hours with him. She isn't even interested in Jason. But he is such a sweetheart, and there's something about the men in New York in comparison to Miami that she thoroughly enjoys. The guys in Miami, she seems them as lying little self absorbed bitches; the guys here in New York, she sees them as tough, aggressive, fashionable sweethearts who know how to make anything a good time outside of clubbing or driving around in an expensive rental car just to flex and fuck in.
She's a queen. She knows she's a queen. And everybody out here is so fast to make her feel like one. Plus, Jason did talk a lot of attractive business to her and introduced her to some associates of his throughout the day so that she'd gain more connections just like she wanted. With business blooming in New York, she'd be netting eighty million dollars per month instead of the fifty she's currently making. So, no, the day wasn't solely about pleasure. Lauren may not like the way she networks, but it pays.
"Yo, where y'all at?" Jason looks out the window as he talks on the phone to someone who isn't Randy. "My cuzzo ain't here right now. I don't know, I didn't ask him all that. Pero what's the word? What's everybody doing? Oh word??"
Candy plops down on the couch with an open shoe box beside her, and she excitedly tries on the pair of wheat coloured Timberland boots Jason picked out for her so that she blends in as an official New Yorker. They fit like she was made to wear them, and when she jumps up with a squeal and shows him, he shares her enthusiasm and gets a closer look, getting her to twirl for him and stomp to assure that it looks right on her as she moves around.
"That's what's up, shorty. Aight, so boom, everybody's outside turning up right now, and a lot of my peoples are waiting to meet you. You tryna step out again or you good over here? I know I took you to a lot of places, you must be tired," he says, resting the phone against his chest, next to one of his two long braids that extend beyond his nipples.
"Where would we go?"
"Right here," he points to the door, but he means to the basketball court between the two project buildings in that direction. "We'll be right by the building, so it ain't really a trip. Hold on," he goes back to the phone. "Yo, it's mad brick outside, how y'all got the energy for all this? Ohhhh, aight, I see, I see. Word. Nah, look, shorty's pregnant, tell 'em to chill with the smoking—if they're gonna do it, just keep a distance from Candy. Heard you. Aight, peace."
"Thank you for that; that was very considerate," Candy smiles.
"I got you," he winks and zips up his leather Avirex yellow and grey 'inner city championship' jacket that compliments Candy's fur coat and the hints of amethyst and (newly) light blue she wears to earn points with the street gang here (who wear yellow, grey, and blue). "What you know about getting lite?"
"Getting what?"
*Play "Shake Nation Anthem" by Ron Browz*
The frigid frost of winter ripping through the streets of New York has nothing on the rising heat in the bigger basketball court, drawing in large crowds like moths to a flame. The projects may be a scary place most times, but to those who grew up in it and learn to love it gets to reap the benefits of the community coming together at night to have fun with shared interests. One of the interests occurring tonight was the weekly battle of "getting lite", which consists of people crowding around in the form of a square or circle—depending on how many of them there were, and in this case it had to be a square because a circle was far too small—and a cycle of dancers taking turns to jump in and show off their footwork, if they aren't pushed in by somebody beside them.
Jason takes Candy through the projects where little kids and pre-teens are out occupying the playgrounds, running toward the dance battle, riding their bikes within the community; the adults that rather hang out in the streets than stay secluded upstairs (knowing that these things tends to get out of hand too often), chilling, drinking and smoking, catching up for those of them that had actual daytime jobs and are just getting back. Music blares from the boombox at the court, taking over the atmosphere—accompanied by people shouting and clapping their hands to the beat, one-one-two-three, on an indefinite loop. Candy wears a perpetual smile that expands when the screaming gets louder after someone busts a particular move that's hard to do for anyone who hasn't practiced it dozens of times, and the suspense of finally witnessing it all gets to her.
Jason introduces her to his boys first, two black guys who go by the names Carti and Dojo—Carti being the one he was on the phone with upstairs. And the guys assigned by Randy to look out for her join them, some of them having girlfriends who introduce themselves to Candy in good spirits but secretly dislike her because she represents competition and the money they don't have. Everybody flocks to Candy like magnets to metal, and they hardly give her room to breathe as Jason takes her to the front of the square so she can witness the dance. After every fourth clap, they shout "heyyy!", layered by someone in particular shouting the next words that act as lyrics, or the collective simultaneously chanting the same things.
"Big Dog, b-big Dog! Big Dog, b-big Dog! Keep it lite, keep it lite, keep it lite, AYEE! Keep it lite, keep it lite, keep it lite!"
The heavyset man in the middle of the square floats around on his feet, side to side, front to back, graduating from the basic box step to more intricate footwork and the rocking and shaking of his shoulders and body. He repeats his moves before stepping out and someone else jumping in like a firecracker, exploding everywhere in erratic dancing moves, using his hat to perform tricks as the crowd hypes him up.
"Do your thing, do your thing, do your thing! HEY!"
"Lucky luck! Luck, lucky luck! Lucky luck! Luck, lucky luck! Aye! Aye!"
Lucky bends his leg and hops over it, then hops behind it, spins and falls on his back with the same leg bent and the other outstretched like his arm above his head. He scurries off to retake his spot in the crowd as another skips into the center, reaching for the sky, hopping and then bouncing on her knees, spinning as she comes back up just to fall again. She then performs a trick with her sneaker, flipping it in the air and catching it with her mouth. Candy issues a confused yet entertained laugh and claps her hands with them, getting the hang of shouting with everyone else. The energy invigorates her like Cuban coffee in the morning; at last, she understands that being in shitty neighbourhoods like these can make her feel more alive and elated than the environments she's accustomed to.
"Bad man! Ba-bad man! Keep it lite, keep it lite, keep it lite!"
"You wanna try?" asks Jason, giving her a little nudge.
"Are you kidding? I'd make a fool out of myself," Candy rejects. She accepts the bottle of water Carti gives her and smiles. "Thank you."
"So, whats good? Where you from in Miami?" Carti asks, inserting himself beside her with his hands in his oversized black coat pockets. He looks intimidating—like an emo kid who turned to the streets and most likely gets called to deal with getting rid of the bodies because he's crazy like that.
"Coral Gables."
He snorts. "So you one of them rich girls from the jump? Bougie and shit?"
"Yeah. Why? Is there an issue?"
"Nah. I know you care about your paper, which means I won't go without my pockets full if we working together."
"Her story is crazy. She's not no ordinary bitch who started pushing just because she had money and connections. Don't underestimate her," Jason warns Carti and everyone else who's paying attention. "Listen to her stories and the people who know her. Even Fame will tell you about her; my cousin don't give a fuck about nobody, but he always thinks twice about messing with Candy. She's the real deal."
"How real we talking?" asks Dojo, skeptical. "New York is a different playground. Florida is full of that soft shit."
"I wouldn't say 'soft' is a word associated with me in any way," Candy retorts, wickedness and pride in her grin. "You don't know me now, but you will. How sweet or sour I can be depends on you. Make me happy, I'll make you rich. Upset me, and the only richness you'll know is the soil that keeps you six feet under. I don't play games. There's a big difference between a street gang and a cartel."
"Oh yeah? What's that?" Dojo smirks, getting closer to Candy.
"Structure and consistency. Power."
"Viva la Santa!" (Long live the Saint!)
Candy's head whips in the direction behind her and she gasps when she sees Normani cruising toward her, looking like she's America's Next Top Model. "La sangre del Santa," Candy replies, running and meeting Normani halfway for a hug. She holds her tighter than what's typical; remembering Jasmine and how devastated Vice Angeles must be back home, especially without the support of their boss. They continue hugging, taking advantage of how healing it is to be in each other's arms, before Candy pulls away and kisses Normani's forehead. "Happy you made it. How are you, honey?"
"I'm hanging in there. We all are. Would be a lot better if you were home," Normani sighs. She observes the nature of their surroundings and chuckles. "Girl, this ain't even your scene. What you doing out here?"
"Having fun!"
"Hold up, let me take a photo," Normani says, getting out her Samsung and holding it up for proof to accompany her story when she'd tell everybody what she witnessed their boss doing.
"Hi, I'm Jason," he says, holding out his hand.
Normani puts away her phone with wide eyes aimed at Candy after she processes how attractive the mystery man of the day is. She tilts her head as a silent 'GIRL' before shaking his hand, batting her lashes at him. "Normani. It is certainly nice to meet you. Mm! Goddamn. You single, Jason?"
He throws his head back in laughter. "Yeah."
"That's so weird. You are fine as hell, I don't believe you. You must model or something, right?" she inches closer to him, practically eating him from head to toe with her eyes.
"I used to on the side. How about you? You deadass got the looks for it," he also looks her up and down.
"Hey, is Lauren with you?" Candy interrupts, visibly worried when she checks her phone for the second time today and finally looks at all of the missed calls.
Just as Normani opens her mouth to answer, they both are shown why they don't have to. And Candy is speechless—paralyzed from the shock of seeing what she believes is to be a ghost. Someone she thought she'd never see again. And her heart flutters but cramps up at the same time, and she's bombarded with flashbacks that chill her to her core. She doesn't know how she should take it when Lauren presents herself to the "party" wearing what she vowed to never wear again: maroon dress shirt, black slacks held up by elegant, black suspenders, polished dress shoes on her feet, gold chains around her neck with the largest one carrying a Scorpion pendant that glimmers with shiny, red eyes, and a thick, black, wool trench coat that extends to her knees to top it all off. And to Lauren's surprise, Candy's wearing light blue eyeshadow for the first time ever since abandoning Estrabao Cartel. Insane how that aligns.
Candy swallows the phantom ball in her throat and fills her lungs with the air that Lauren influenced to escape her. "Hi—"
Lauren skips Candy and goes straight for Jason. She says nothing as she slowly invades his personal space, sizing him up like she could eat him for dinner and have his bones (clean of flesh) for dessert. Jason got the warning ahead of time to not react like he normally would, or evade taking accountability for his actions today if Lauren pressed him on it. He quiets his ego telling him to go against Randy's advice when he feels the eyes of the people he's known since childhood on them, and hears the whispers of speculation and instigating as he does nothing. Lauren raises a firm pinky finger, encompassed with a thick brass signet square ring, to his face and takes her sweet time saying what he needs to hear.
"No estoy en el negocio de repetirme, así que te dejaré esto claro una vez," she threatens—her voice low, wrathful, and commanding. Lauren glides her hand across the air, pointing her finger back at Candy. "This is my girl. Ella puede actuar como si estuviera soltera...but she isn't. Don't make her mistakes your own. Porque escúchame muuuuy bien, singao, I will handle you quicker than you can nut, and make sure your funeral is a closed casket one. You don't wanna play with me," she says with a contradictory look in her smiling eyes that invites him to try it. "You're not built to play with a motherfucker like me. So do yourself the fucking favour of staying the fuck away from her. Oíste?" (I'm not in the business of repeating myself, so I'll only make this clear to you once. She can't act like she's single... Because listen to me veryyyy carefully, motherfucker. Do you hear me?)
"I hear you," Jason stiffly responds, perpetually flexing his jaw to soothe his nerves.
"Baby, you can't—"
"And YOU," Lauren makes a sharp turn to Candy and captures her wrist in a death grip. She pulls Candy toward her and coldly says into her ear, "didn't you get my voicemail? I warned you it's gonna be you and me. Vamos."
Lauren forces Candy to walk with her, overpowering her resistance and her protests to stay here and talk it out. She ignores Candy's worries over what she meant by that, as well as her complaining and useless attempts to defend herself. Lauren isn't interested in having a calm, constructive conversation about the disrespect she was put through today. Regardless of what Candy was doing, the principles cannot be ignored, and she really needed her today.
When they're upstairs inside the apartment, Lauren throws the door shut as Candy barges ahead and speed walks into the room they were occupying up until tonight. Candy goes straight to packing like Lauren commanded her to outside, frantically shoving her new clothes into her suitcase and tossing out the old ones she no longer cares to keep. Lauren yanks off her coat and tosses it aside.
"I can't believe you threatened him like that. We weren't even doing anything."
"Ah no?"
"No!"
"Thanks for telling me that any of those times that I called you! Nooo, you'd rather have me entertain those thoughts, and neglect your responsibility as my girl to tell me what the fuck you're up to when you're not around!"
"I ignored everyone's phone calls today on purpose. I get a ton of phone calls all the time, Lauren! I was too busy and in the moment to even care—"
"I'm not everyone, Camila!" Lauren rages, impulsively picking up one of the empty alcohol bottles on display atop the dresser and flinging it to the far right side of the room, causing Candy to flinch and turn around when it shatters. "All it takes is for you to put yourself in my shoes, you narcissistic bitch. Because I guarantee if I dissed you like that, you'd be fuming—maybe even a lot angrier than I am! Now, I give you grace, because you and I are both learning how to properly love each other and not repeat the same mistakes we made in the past, but the difference between you and I is that I'm the only one who sees them! WOW, your family did a number on you for real, mamita, because you are just like them. And I'm sick of it—I'm sick of being sick of this shit!"
"I can't believe you're comparing me to them over me not answering your phone calls. I wasn't disrespecting you on purpose, I didn't wake up today wanting to hurt you—"
"Oh my God, DO YOU EVEN LISTEN TO ME?! DO YOU??"
"Stop yelling at me and then maybe I will!"
Lauren chokes the air to death and trembles as she does it, fighting her second impulse to get violent and take it out on anything else. She ignores her destructive tendencies for their sake—for Candy's sake, but she isn't sure how much fight she has in her anymore to do so. To cope with the discomfort of keeping her wrath at bay, she flashes back to that time during the prison riot when she was getting in some good hits and choking Candy half to death. The fact that she even has to do that to soothe herself devastates her. She's so sick with guilt, she turns her back to Candy and hunches over the dresser to mentally pray to her Orishas for forgiveness. Lauren covers her eyes when they betray her and spill the tears she bit back for too long. She uses her sleeve to destroy the evidence of her 'weak' emotions and slams her fist on the dresser top, rattling the objects there.
"I apologise. It wasn't my intention to hurt you. I don't like seeing you like this," Candy says like she's afraid to speak and trigger more yelling. She hesitates approaching Lauren...but she really wants to hold her right now. "Baby?"
Lauren takes a series of deep breaths as she picks her head up, tilts it back, and closes her eyes. She continues to wipe away her tears, tuning Candy out. She hears her brother's voice instead—family who has betrayed her for a lot less than she's forgiven—recalling the conversation they had after successfully they proved themselves worthy to form and lead the street gang, Los Carnales.
"Blood in, blood out. You come in the same way, you leave the same way. This can't be changed."
"Trust, it won't be. I'll leave the same way when I'm the old head on the streets telling youngins my story. Blood in, blood out."
"Eso, Lauren. You'll be OLD."
"And you'll be with me, with more wrinkles than me. We're survivors, you and I."
"Yeah. But one never knows. Don't let this shit get to your head, 'cause I'd hate to be the only one left."
*Highly recommend you play "Nothing At All" by Santana ft. Musiq Soulchild*
Candy's feathery touch on her shoulders brings her back, but she recoils and moves away. She isn't aware of how red her puffy eyes are, but she has an idea that she doesn't look so good judging by the remorse and concern on Candy's face. The cartel leader's breath hitches as she internalizes everything Lauren presents to her, but mainly the distance between them. Lauren stares at her, but there's absolutely nothing behind those emerald eyes—nothing to indicate that this was just a fight, that it was over, that it wasn't over, that she's no longer upset. Nothing.
'I am a victim of my time, a product of my age
There was no choosing my direction.
I was a holy man but now, with all my trials behind me, I am weak in my conviction.'
"Hey..." Candy stands alone, freezing to death—but not from the room's temperature. "Say something," she pleads.
Lauren glances at Candy's suitcase and finishes packing for her. She carries on her silence as she swiftly folds the last of the clothes and fits them where they belong. And whenever Candy tries to mend the distance between them, she always evades her with impeccable timing. Candy's frustration gets to her and she abruptly sobs.
"Stop it! Stop being that way with me, I can't stand it!" she cries out in agony. Candy doesn't stop trying, and Lauren doesn't stop missing her. Lauren packs away her belongings without succumbing to Candy once. "Please. What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?"
'And so I walk to try to get away
Knowing that someday I will finally have to face the fear that will come from knowing that
The one thing I had left was you...
And now you're gone...'
Lauren puts on her coat, tossing her wavy hair behind the collar, and she buttons it up, still not acknowledging Candy. But what she does do is drop to her knees before Candy and kisses her stomach, leaving their baby out of this. When Candy gets over the initial shock of contact and goes to fork her fingers through Lauren's hair, like a sixth sense, Lauren gets out of the way and rushes to grab her suitcase.
Candy realizes what Lauren is about to do and becomes hysterical. She tries blocking the path to the door, but Lauren pushes her out of the way. Candy bounces back and leaps for the door as it opens, shutting it and putting herself in between the knob and Lauren. She wonders if she's real anymore the more Lauren yanks on the knob, ignoring her cries and weakening 'I love yous'—too determined to walk out rather than stay and work things out.
"Please stay—no, stop, Lauren—Lauren!" Candy gasps when she's cast aside again and the older woman successfully lugs her suitcase out the door. She doesn't have any energy left for round two, so she lies there on the floor, convulsing.
'You were a victim of my crimes, a product of
My rage. You were a beautiful distraction.
I kept you locked away outside and let misery Provide, and now I am ashamed. And so I walk To try to find some space,
Where I can be alone to live with my mistakes
And the fear that will come from knowing
That the one thing I had left was you,
And now you're gone.'
Outside the building, Lauren meets up with Normani and Randy, and explains nothing to them. At this point, it's not obvious that she was crying or distraught. They walk with her to the curb, where she hails a taxi cab. After her suitcase is stuffed inside the trunk, she opens her own door and bids them farewell for now.
"Keep her safe. Make sure she gets back to Miami, when she's ready, safely. I don't want any fucking surprises. You got me?" she tells Randy more than she tells Normani. Normani, she can trust with Candy.
"Why isn't she coming with you?" Normani questions, perplexed.
Lauren remains faithful to her commitment in not explaining herself anymore, and disappears inside the taxi, urging the driver to get a move on.
'Is there nothing at all that I can do
To turn your heart? Is there nothing to lean on That could help erase the scars?
Te quiero mi cielo, and I could use a little Strength before I fall. Is there nothing at all?'
'I am victim of my time, a product of my age.
You alone are my obsession.
You were the one I left behind
You've been heavy on my mind
It's been a lonely road I've traveled.'
Six and a half hours later, Lauren is back in Miami, conflicted about how she can be so relieved to be back in the same place that destroyed her, and for that so-called vacation to be over so soon. But this is home, and she's beginning to understand that better. This is where she'll always belong. Once upon a time, she promised. She can take the sweltering, muggy heat and being surrounded by unforgiving oceans and hurricanes that can take her under any minute—oceans that she can surrender herself to at any time. She can tolerate the people here that are a threat to her sanity, because at least it's what she knows. She tries not to be too hard on herself for barely lasting two days in New York before she was running for the hills. At least here, she has more control on things and knows exactly what to expect from this city.
She came into this life separate from everyone else—as Lauren, the leader of Los Carnales, obligated to no one else, associated with no one else. Her power wasn't at risk of being stripped from her grasp until her heart saw something it liked. And if she were leaving soon, that's how she'd prefer to have it before she's gone for good. She will no more ask anything of anyone except from herself; wake up, stay sharp, fall victim to nothing.
'Is there nothing at all that I can do
To turn your heart? Is there nothing to lean on That could help erase the scars?
Te quiero mi cielo, and I could use a little Strength before I fall. Is there nothing at all?'
When she enters her home, the lights are off but the TV is on in the living room. Her dogs bark and spin around in their cages, their wagging tails slapping against the bars as they wait for her to greet them. Lauren leaves her suitcase by her sneakers and shows some love to her loyal animals, letting them out their cages to fully give them what she's been neglecting to give. They lick her face and hands, and jump around, unable to stay still as she tries to pet them. Lauren giggles and reaffirms her loyalty to Cuchillos and Desí.
"Tan pronto?" Sasha's voice startles her. She has her hands on her hips, standing at the second-to-last step, freshly showered with her curly hair dripping wet. "What happened??" (So soon?)
"I stopped fooling myself," Lauren says as she rises to her feet, dusting herself off. "Hey."
Sasha observes her "new" look with intrigue. The scorpion pendant answers her question. She famously kinks her brow, motioning to the necklace. "Alacrán."
"That's right," Lauren husks, removing her coat and rolling up her sleeves as far as they can go. She meets Sasha halfway.
"Do we wear those colours now? No more white?"
"No. I wear these colours. You keep on what you have."
Sasha's gaze falls to the obvious mark in the area of Lauren's left arm that isn't covered in tattoos. Knowing Sasha, she doesn't miss a single thing. She boldly takes Lauren's arm in her warm hands and runs her fingertips over the track mark. She suppresses her anger and avoids jumping to conclusions. "Will I be seeing more of this?"
Lauren reflects on the mind blowing, euphoric high she experienced earlier and mulls over the possibility of experiencing that again. But there is also the memory of Randy's cousin getting high with his baby, endangered in his possession, and how Chico and his girlfriend was, and how she doesn't want to be like any of them. "No. Which reminds me, I need to stock up on more pain meds—"
"I already did that for you. They're in the bathroom cabinet upstairs; forty pills. Use them wisely."
Lauren breaks out into a small smile for something major that meant a lot to her: consideration, thoughtfulness. "Thank you. I'm gonna go get some rest; I've had a long fucking day. Be up early tomorrow, we have a lot to discuss."
Sasha curtly nods. "Do you need anything before it's 'goodnight'?"
Lauren takes another second. She does need something. She looks into Sasha's kind eyes and barely nods before she goes in for a hug. Sasha accepts Lauren into her welcoming arms and embraces her warmly, gently holding the back of her head with the other arm clasped around her upper back. Lauren tightens her arms around Sasha's waist and hides her face in her shoulder, breathing her in. They stay like that for a while, getting what they individually needed out of that hug before parting ways. Lauren hikes up the stairs and Sasha watches after her, seeing to it that she arrives safely to the top.
"Sweet dreams, Lo. I'll see you in the morning."
'Te quiero mi cielo, and I can use a little
Strength before I fall. Is there nothing at all?
Is there nothing at all?'
***