Page 11 of Ruger

Nani laughed. "Bitch, please. Ruger is fine as fuck. I know for a fact ya ass been over there rubbing it out to the image of him."

"Girl, fuck you." We both laughed as I watched Professor King enter the classroom. "Na, I gotta go. My professor just walked in. I'll call you after my class is over."

"A'ight. I am sorry for ditching you, though, and I love you."

"It's all good. I love you too." I blew her a kiss before hanging up. I knew I wasn't calling her back. This wasn't the first time she'd ditched me for a nigga, so I'm sure it wouldn't be the last.

I met Nani one night at a bar in Royal Oak. She was in an altercation with another female and her friends and seemed tobe outnumbered. I wasn't trying to insert myself into her beef, but since she was alone, I couldn't help but step in and help her.

Ghana taught me how to fight, so I wasn't worried about losing. However, Nani was like a buck twenty and five-foot-three. Those girls were twice her size, and I just couldn't let them jump on her. I could tell she was scared because she thanked me so many times that night for saving her. After that, we were inseparable. She told me her life story of how she grew up in the system, didn't know her parents, and had been couch-surfing at friends' homes who didn't really want her there. Her first relationship with Demontae Harvey was the best relationship she'd had. He treated her like a queen and tricked her out, but because she didn't know real love and had an insatiable desire for bad boys, she fumbled him.

I'd had to nurse Nani's wounds in more ways than one. From niggas beating on her, mentally abusing her, to taking advantage of her vulnerability. Each time, I said nothing. I allowed her to vent and cry on my shoulder, gave her the best advice I could give, and always was a supportive friend.

I knew how sensitive she was, but I was fed up with being the friend to pour until I was empty. I had always shown up for Nani, but it was never reciprocated when I needed her to be there for me. I loved her, but I loved me more.

While listening to my professor give a crash course on psychology, my phone buzzed next to me with a text. Thinking it was Nani texting me to ask for something, I picked it up and frowned seeing the unknown number on my screen.

734-322-2112:

Ya smart mouth ass don't know how to cook?

Me:

???

734-322-2112:

?????

I had no idea who this was, but taking a wild guess, I replied.

Me:

Ruger?

734-322-2112:

Get ya ass in the kitchen and eat something, Mona.

Me:

Why do you care if I eat? You left me here by myself.

734-322-2112:

Eat.

Me:

Clearly, you know I can't cook. Are you going to come cook for me??

A few minutes went by without a reply, so I sent him the question marks again. Still nothing. I scoffed as I retrained my focus on the laptop. When I woke up this morning, I had only taken care of my hygiene, drank some coffee, and eaten an apple. The food I had last night was demolished the moment I set my ass in that chair to eat, so there were no leftovers.

I was starving, so I texted Ghana to see if he could bring me something to eat. He had yet to return my text, but I'm sure he was the one who told Ruger, who was now texting me some bullshit.

My first class ended at ten-thirty as I made my way downstairs to see what the hell I could eat.

"This shit has to be a crime. I'm being forced to stay here, and I can't even get a decent meal." I fussed while going through the cabinets, finding snacks — snacks that were all too freaking healthy for me. I was tempted to walk to a local store around here, but I didn't have the codes to the door or elevator.

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