Page 38 of He Snatched My Soul

As soon as I hopped in my whip, I sped out of my parent’s driveway. With no destination in mind, I cruised the streets as Finesse2Tyme’s “Mixed Feelings” blasted through my ride. The song title fits because, at the moment, a nigga definitely had mixed feelings. Anastasia showing up fucked my head up. I was good until I saw her ass. She had to step foot back in Melville, disrupting my muthafuckin’ life.

Outta sight, outta mind— the saying rings true. As long as my ex was off with her life, doing what the fuck she was doing, I was good. Seeing her phone calls and text messages was one thing, which I ignored, but having her here in the flesh was another.

After about two hours or so of driving, I ended up at Omar club. When I got there, he was in his office doing payroll. I made sure to stop at the bar and grab a bottle of Hennessy from behindthe bar before heading up to his office where I found him sitting behind his desk in front of a stack of papers.

“What up, nigga?” Omar spoke to me when I entered his office. I pushed the door closed and sat on the sofa near the wall, popped open my bottle, and took the brown liquid to the head. “Damn, you good, bruh?”

I looked up at my homie, and he had a look of confusion on his face. Omar knew me better than anyone, so he knew some shit was up.

“Anastasia.” That was all I said.

“What about her? She’s still trying to contact you?”

“She’s back.” I took another shot of my drink.

“Back? In Melville?” I nodded. “When did this shit happen?”

“I don’t know for sure. All I know is my mama called me on my flight home and let me know she was at their crib.” I blew out a deep breath.

“Damn, bro. What the fuck she doing back here?”

“I don’t know man.” I raked my hand down my face.

“How ol’ girl feel about this? Didn’t you say that was wifey?”

“I didn’t tell her.” I sighed.

“Oh shit. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts about Modesty?” Omar questioned with a perplexed expression.

“Hell nah. It’s just… I wasn’t expecting to feel all these mixed fucking emotions, nigga. I’m digging, Juicy, like a mu’fucka. I-”

“Nigga, who the fuck is Juicy?” His eyebrows knitted together, and I chuckled.

“Modesty, nigga. That’s the name I gave her. That pussy is wetter than Niagara Falls and tastes juicier than a Georgia Peach.” I licked my lips. Just speaking on that fat pussy had me ready to pull up on Modesty’s ass and knock them tight walls down.

“Yeah, yo’ ass is pussy whipped.” Omar teased me, and all I could do was smirk.

A nigga probably was gone off the pussy. I wasn’t afraid to admit that shit, but not to my boy.

“Maybe you should talk to Anastasia. See what she gotta say. I think y’all having a conversation would help on both ends. At least you can finally get closure.”

“Nigga, I ain’t no bitch! Fuck I need closure for? The bitch left me!” I spat.

“Man, that’s why? All that anger you got built up inside for her is only going to spill over in whatever you are trying to do with ol’ girl. Just talk to Anastasia and stop being a punk about the shit.”

“Man, fuck her. Anastasia and I ain’t got shit to discuss.” I stood up, staggering a little. “I’m out. I’ll holla you later.” I gave Omar some dap.

“Where are you off to?” he asked.

“Where I should have went instead of coming here to see yo’ ugly ass, nigga.”

“Fuck you, pussy-whipped-ass nigga.”

We both laughed before I walked out of his office and outside to my ride. I drove back uptown with my mind on one thing, and that was getting to my girl. For some reason, a nigga started to feel nervous. Why? I guess because I was afraid that Modesty might not want to see me. She hasn't made any attempt to contact me to let me know she made it home like I told her to. That let me know she’s probably in her feelings about earlier, and I couldn’t say that I blamed her. But I had to see her. Call me a simp nigga, but I was having withdrawals and needed to see her.

I pulled up to Modesty’s high-rise building, parked my ride, and hopped out. I tried calling her phone as I walked into the building, but the shit went to voicemail. I tried again and got the same results. Either she turned her phone off or she had my ass blocked. Knowing this was a fancy-ass building where youcouldn’t just walk upstairs, but instead had to be announced, I knew getting past this rented cop at the front desk was not going to be easy.

“Hey, my man, I’m here to see Ms. Modesty Blackwood,” I said to the security guard, who looked at me over his thick ass glasses. I was hoping he didn’t ask me for her apartment number because I never got that shit.

---