Page 124 of Falling Into Gravity

“They was offering control,” he yelled back, arms flying in the air before landing on his head.

“You don’t get it, Z,” Malik said. “This app is the only thing I built with my name on it. My pain…my code…my rules. You think I’m ‘bout to let three dudes named Todd, Hunter, and Brady decide what’s best for Crescent?”

Zaire rubbed his head. “So what, you just gonna keep struggling? Bein’ broke and bruised and stubborn, like that’s some badge of honor?”

“I ain’t broke,” Malik snapped. “Not in the ways that matter.”

Zaire stepped closer. “You know why I left Crescent? ‘Cause I knew I couldn’t survive if I stayed. Not the way we was livin’.You? You still in it. And instead of takin’ a rope when somebody throw it down, you tryna climb up the side with bloody hands.”

Malik looked at him. “I don’t want they rope. I want wings.”

Zaire’s jaw flexed.

“I just wanted better for you, bro.”

Malik’s eyes softened. He understood why Zaire thought this was a good idea. That didn’t make the truth less truthful though. “Then don’t try to force me to be something I ain’t. You wanted better? I want that too. But it gotta bemine. My way...our way, cuh.”

“It’s open,” Quesha yelled, not bothering to get up.

Aku stepped inside slow, heels tapping the floor with soft authority. The scent hit her first—cocoa butter, old weed, and something faintly sweet, maybe incense. She stood still for a second, eyes dragging across the living room. One couch leaned against the wall, cushions a little slumped but still firm. Baby pictures in dollar store frames lined the wall. A graduation cap hung nearby, faded but proud.

It was clean, yet lived in and Aku took it all in—not judging, just curious. She was nosy by nature.

“Back room,” Quesha called again, still folding laundry on the floor, still not looking up. No greeting, no questions…just said it like she already knew who had walked in and why.

Aku adjusted her jacket and moved forward, boots clicking down the hallway. She passed a bathroom door left ajar, caught a glimpse of cracked tile, then turned the corner.

Pharoah sat in a black motorized wheelchair with a thin blanket draped over his lap. His skin was rich, his eyes sharper than she expected, despite the weight they carried. His hair waslined up, even if a little grown out. A blunt peeked from behind his ear, and a small oxygen tank clung to the back of his chair, quiet and untouched for now.

He didn’t flinch or look surprised to see her.

“You… Malik… girl?” he asked, slurred but clear enough to understand. There was no pity in his tone, no performative warmth…just curiosity and calm.

Aku nodded and stepped closer. “I’m Aku.”

“I know who you are,” he said with a smirk. “That…nigga…talk about you…like you…part of… his…spine.”

Her lips twitched, but she kept her composure. She held out the envelope she brought. “This is for the sessions. Malik told me what happened. He wanted to make sure it was handled.”

Pharoah took it without hesitation, eyes still locked on her face. “You…prettier…than I expected.”

Aku raised a brow. “You expected ugly?”

“Nah,” he shrugged. “Just didn’t think a girl that fine would be ridin’ for Malik. Thought y’all went for safe and soft.”

“He ain’t either,” she said, sitting across from him. “But I’m not either.”

He chuckled. “He got him a firecracker.”

“I’m usually funnier.”

“That’s…what he said,” Pharaoh’s twisted smile made an appearance.

“I been off my game.”

“You… still got it.” Pharoah nodded like he’d just confirmed something. “You came...that says a lot.”

“I don’t do halfway, not with him.”

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