"In them streets I can't be saved. My mind's stuck up in a rage."
Hopefully, you didn't think this was the average love story. No, this story isn't about how Kentrell got better—it's about how he got worse. Sorry to break it to you.
Anger would be his downfall. His poison. Anyone and everyone was out to get him. He just wanted to be safe. He would make it so he would be safe.
A month had passed since Yvette first touched down in Baton Rouge. She had left for a while and promised Kentrell she'd be back. She was going to Miami to see her cousins. He never missed anybody this much.
She was an addiction, but it wasn't fed so easily. He wanted to see her face to face, he needed to feel her arms around him. He needed her in his sight, he needed to know she was okay.
A loud knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts.
"Come in." He mumbled, sitting up. Kendell revealed himself from the other side of the door.
"I'm bored." Kendell said, flopping onto his bed. This made Kentrell sigh.
"Not my problem."
"Can you take me to the east side?" Kentrell sucked his teeth.
"Won't you walk?" He suggested, sitting up because he was gonna take him anyway.
"Not in this damn heat." Kentrell pushed himself off the bed and slipped on some slides. Grabbing his car keys off of his dresser, he silently motioned his little brother out of the room and followed behind. Once they were out of the house and in the car, Kentrell turned to him.
"What you planning on doing 'round thea anyway?" He asked, backing out of the narrow driveway and into the street. "Won't be here long, now."
"Drop me off, then. But I'm finna dust these niggas in blackjack." Kendell said proudly.
"I'm definitely not leaving you now." He responded worriedly. In about fifteen minutes, the BMW pulled onto the side of the road, close to the house where boys around Kendall's age were crowded around a table and holding red playing cards.
"Yessirrrrr! Aye Tyler, you aight? You looking a lil...sick." With this, the group bursted out laughing and taunting Tyler, to which he replied with waving them off.
"Just come on with the cards, man." Kentrell and Kendell both got out of the car, approaching the crowded porch. I won't bore you with all the details in the middle, though.
Just know, at some point, Kentrell was either comfortable or delirious from the heat and went inside. He had no idea whose house it was, but they had A/C. He shuffled his suddenly heavy weight forward, looking for a kitchen—some type of water.
He sighed in relief as he came upon a small kitchen, going into the stranger's refrigerator. All of a sudden, a wave of dizziness caught him. He closed his eyes and breathed out, trying to ignore the popping noises in his ear. They almost sounded like...
Gunshots.
He stood up straight, trying to regain his balance as he was regaining his strength little by little. Someone was screaming inaudible nonsense, making Kentrell rush (the best he could) to the door. He busted through the broken up screen door to see a boy over a body. A body with three bullet holes.
Kentrell felt like he could control nothing as his body weight dropped to the floor. The dizziness went away and he could see his brother clearly now as he struggled to breathe.
"Trell..." Kentrell grabbed his brother's hand and the anger filled him slowly. But he could only cry. "You look like a bitch." Kendell whispered, smiling despite feeling his insides burn.
"Fuck you mane. Keep them eyes open." Kentrell chuckled as the tears dropped down his nose.
"I love you, big bro." Kendell blurted, squeezing his hand.
"I love you too, lil bro. Focus on me."
"Yb, I called 12." Knowing that he couldn't even be in the police's sight right then, he stood up straight.
"Who did this shit mane? I got they head personally." He asked the boy as he stepped off the porch.
"The nigga in the grey hoodie. Mike." Kentrell nodded and stepped off the porch without saying a word. He sped off the street in anger. Kendell died that night in the hospital. Ever since then, Kentrell was stuck in a rage.
The beginning of his downfall.