Page 52 of Saint Baptiste 2

“What up, bro?” I greeted with a handshake that ended with us embracing.

He looked by me into the room. “She’s been like that since.”

I glanced over my shoulder at her. “I know. She’s not here. I don’t know what’s going to come after this but what I do know is that she needs to get off the floor.”

Turning his mouth down, he shook his head. “Nah. Tried that. The minute I moved her, she screamed and put up a fight. I put pillows down and let her be.”

I walked out into the hallway and closed the door behind me. Dragging my hand down my face, I sighed. “She can’t stay like that all night. She’s almost seventy. She needs to eat and replenish herself.”

“I tried to give her food and water before you got here,” Natasha cut in.

Looking over, I peeped her sitting on the top step, with her head tossed back against the wall. “She won’t do anything but what she’s doing now.”

We went silent but our thoughts were loud enough. In that moment, we all felt the same. I could say it with confidence because the thing we all wanted to say, it was heavy in the air. Thick. Building with every second that went by. There was a void. It was loud. Thick in the air. Suffocating almost.

“He died on me bro.” Blaise said, as he paced with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his basketball shorts “Walked in to see him. Haven’t seen the nigga in weeks, right? So I say, fuck it I’ll go see the fuck nigga. Tell ‘em about Inferno. Figured, fuck it. Why not? Shit what was the risk? Nigga couldn’t doubt me.” He laughed, placed his hands on his head and paced.

“I didn’t even go in on no other shit, fré,” He continued, trying to convince me. almost like a child who didn’t want to be punished. “On everything I love I didn’t. Couldn’t. You know why? ‘Cause when I looked at that man I didn’t see that man. He was small as fuck bro. Small as...” He shook his head. Continued to pace. Continued to dig. “I sat there. Kicked it with ‘em. Talked to him today more than I have in my entire fuckin’ life. Must’ve been in that bitch for a good hour before I realized...” He looked over at me, smirked, shook his head and ran his hands over the top of his head. “He wasn’t even breathin. Died on me. That was different. That shit was real different. Even in that position, he still didn’t give a fuck about what I had to say.”

He was spiraling. Every one of us were spiraling. Blaise spazzed. Natasha was emotionally unstable. And me? Well, I did what I did when I had too much on me; went silent. I had a lot to say. A lot of direction to give. A lot of feelings toward all of it. But, I chose to be silent. Just... observed. Just... listened. Blame Mercy, not me. The psychological damage behind that shit had really fucked with me. Fucked with Blaise too. Seemed like the only one of us who knew what to do with their emotions for real was Tasha. And moms. Moms could feel the most. The crying had gone up a full octave. She went from softly sobbing to straight up wailing.

However, what I heard over everything was us breaking... completely.

That last domino standing had fallen.

We hadn’t moved. Low key, it was like we were kids again. Well, me and Tasha at least. Back when we were little, Jah and B were older. Back in the day, me and sis used to sit at the bathroom door waiting for moms to finish up. Tonight, the three of us sat outside of the bedroom door listening to her weep, hopelessly.

Neither of us moved when we heard the front door open. Tasha made the call Blaise, and I were too proud to make. We had that talk, yeah. Got shit off our chest and all that. He told us he was around, regardless of what went on. Yeah, all of that shit was cool. But it was a pride thing. And before I called him, I would figure the shit out on my own. I was like that. We were like that. Didn’t want to need the nigga, but we did. It wasn’t for us though; it was for mama.

If there was anybody that could get her to move and eat, it was him. He had that effect on her. He was the golden boy. For several reasons. We didn’t hate him for it. Weren’t jealous or no shit like that. It made sense. He took care of home when Samuel was away. He was the man of the house. Of course he was different. Of course when Samuel was at his weakest, he called for Jah. Probably wanted him for this reason specifically. To ask him, instead of me, to take care of the family. I couldn’t. There was no fuckin’ doubt in my mind about that. I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to become that nigga.

There were Jahad’s, and then there were Saint’s. He was who he was, and me, me. The positions we played in the family were our positions for very specific reasons. When Jah handed me the crown, it wasn’t for everything,. It was specifically for the business. I did my best though. Handled what needed to handle. But I couldn’t and I would not try to carry them on my shoulders. They weren’t built for such heavy loads.

“Sis,” Jahad greeted once he made it to the top of the stairs. Natasha stood and embraced him. On his chest, she cried. On mine, she held her tears back. Even in grief, she was mindful of my discomfort with tears. Didn’t have to be though. After lying in bed earlier, thinking about what Samuel did to me... did to us... I never wanted Natasha to suppress another fucking tear for me again. She could feel. She was free to feel. Wanted her to know that. Eventually, when time permitted, I would have that talk with her.

Then he moved on to Blaise. He’d calmed down. The pacing stopped. The mumbling too. He just stood there, back against the wall, pulling from a blunt he wasn’t supposed to smoke in the crib. Didn’t give a fuck enough to say anything to him about it. Left him to deal how he needed to deal. Jahad didn’t address it neither. When they embraced, they held on to each other a little longer than usual.

Hugs between us never lasted more than a second. Why would they? Men weren’t supposed to hug. Only bitches gave hugs. Men shook hands. But because we were bonded by more than just blood, we embraced. Told each other I love you every now and then too. Some things, we really just did not give a fuck about. Most niggas told each other I love you because they were raised in the trench and life was fickle. We did it because we meant it. There was love, honor, respect and loyalty. Samuel stripped us of a lot of things but the one thing he didn’t strip us of was that bond. Their feud might’ve created tension, but the bond? The bond would never be broken. Shit, it literally couldn’t be.

I pushed myself up from the floor and stood tall when he approached me. Refused to be seen weakened. I couldn’t be. It had nothing to do with my position but everything to do with self-respect. I was a man. A man who often played tug of war with his feelings. I was torn. Would rather feel what wanted to be felt. But... seeing Jah. I couldn’t really put a finger on what it was exactly, but I had to tuck that shit. Had to be a pillar of strength, although... although inside a nigga was fucking dying.

Jahad approached. I extended my hand. He looked down at it, briefly, before we made eye contact. Instead of meeting my palm with his, he pulled me in for a hug. Embraced me the same way he embraced Blaise.

He gripped the back of my neck and said, “Be human, baby bro.”

What was I supposed to do with that shit?

How was I supposed to respond to that?

I couldn’t. Not who I was, as Saint Baptiste at least. But who I was at the core... that nigga responded. The soul of me... whatever it responded. And it listened.

CHAPTER 13

NAOKI

“Are you going to go see him? Before you leave?” Sienna asked before taking a sip of her wine.

I was leaving.

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