Page 254 of Not My Type
“Prezi alright?” Why is she concerned?
I ignore the worry in her eyes. “Mi a cut, don’t leave the room.”
“So what if mi hungry?”
“Mi nah stay long. Don’t leave the room,” I pull on my underwear, my shorts, grab my shirt, toss it over my shoulder, hand already reaching for my gun.
40 Minutes after…
Prezi sprawled out on the grave, gun hanging loose from his fingers, bottles everywhere—Hennessy, vodka—all empty. Drunk. I step closer, watching him. “Bro?”
His eyes snap open. Dark. Cold. Fingers twitch near the grip. “Wah yah do yah?”
I suck my teeth. “Yuh out yah drunk, gun inna yuh hand, liquor all ‘bout. How yuh ooman woulda feel if she see yuh like dis?”
Nothing. Just that dead stare, like he already decide sumn’ in his head. Like it wouldn’t take much for him to let go.
I crouch beside him, voice steady. “Yuh father dead, Nickoi. But yuh affi live on fi him. Same way mi live fi mi bredda dem.”
His jaw tightens. A slow breath drags out his nose. His fingers twitch again—this time, they go slack.
I kick the bottles out the way, take up the gun.
“Fawud nuh dawg.”
He doesn’t fight me.
I pull him up, gripping his shoulder tight.
NICKOI
Soon as I make it back inside, my phone rings and I look at it and realize that it’s 3 AM. Bro a so long yuh up? Why Juaqína a call me now?
I sigh and answer the phone. “Juaqína?” I say and I hear her shuffling around.
“Yes. Yuh alright?” her voice sleepy.
“Always,” I say.
“Okay. Mi just cyaa sleep because it’s on my mind that you get shot,” she’s feigning sadness. Eeeeh?
I breathe. “Mi Gov man... it’s just a graze.”
“Mi a come over in the morning mi and Gutta cause him tell me yuhwah talk to wi,” she says.
“Yah. Mi have sup’m fi dealid and a you and Gutta alone mi trust fi dweet,” I tell her.
“Okay... try to get some rest though,” she then adds. “I love you.”
Rest? Right now mi cyaa even sleep.
“Yeah mi a go sleep now,” I lie and hang up.
As the line goes silent, I step into the office, my gaze wandering for a distraction beyond the usual vices of smoke, drink, or desire. A smile graces my lips as I spot the canvas. Been a while, hasn’t it?
68. PROBLEM
Zara
