The Good Kid
The fluorescent lights of the school gym cast a sterile glow over rows of folding tables, each adorned with colorful tri-fold boards and neat rows of science projects. Parents and siblings wandered through the aisles, pausing to read handwritten descriptions or watch students explain their experiments. Royce trailed behind Rana and Tyrell, his tall frame sticking out among the crowd as they wove through the maze of projects.
“You could’ve at least found some fucking hot coffee,” Royce muttered under his breath, sipping from the lukewarm coffee Rana had handed him when they arrived.
Rana turned and swatted at him with a rolled up piece of paper she was holding. “This is a Catholic school. Could you not curse for a couple hours?”
“At least, I ain’t say god damn.” That comment earned Royce another swat from Rana. “I’m just saying!” he protested.
“You’re lucky that you’re in my good book right now since you decided to make time for Roni,” Rana snapped, shooting him a pointed look over her shoulder. “It’s about time you make some time to support her. It’ll be good for her to see you here.”
Royce sucked his teeth, but didn’t say anything further as he scanned the gym. This wasn’t his scene—quiet, academic, full of earnest conversations about hypothesis testing and chemical reactions. He knew he stood out like a sore thumb. He wasn’t a terrible student by any means, but no one would claim that LSU had him there to play school.
“Damn, they got her in the back,” Tyrell said as he nodded toward a table near the far wall. “Should’ve got her moved to the middle or something.”
“See if y’all had her at a public school, they wouldn’t be trying to hide the Black kids,” Royce said to Tyrell.
“You’re probably right,” Tyrell muttered under his breath.
“Don’t get him started, Tyrell,” Rana said through clenched teeth as they passed a group of parents around another student.
Roni stood behind her project with the confidence of someone who knew she’d nailed it. Her curly hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and she wore a bright yellow blouse that matched the vibrant colors of her project board. The title, “The Effects of Different Types of Fertilizers on Plant Growth,” was written in bold letters at the top. Below were meticulously arranged charts, graphs, and photos of plants at various stages of growth. Small pots of plants were lined up neatly in front of the board, each labeled with the type of fertilizer used.
“Man, look at you doing science and shit,” Royce said as they approached. He bent slightly to read the board, squinting at the detailed graphs. He gestured at everything with the cup of coffee. “We wasn’t doing nothing like this back in Houma. You got us looking beaucoup stupid.”
Roni’s face lit up, her smile wide and full of pride. “It’s not that hard. You just have to follow the processes and methods.”
“That sound like something that’s hard, Roni,” Royce said, setting the cup down and tugging at the leaves of one of the plants. “You gonna have to change your name so I don’t make you look bad.”
Her grin grew wider. “You could do it, too,” she said, adjusting on of the pots.
Royce laughed. “Nah, you and Rana the smart ones. All the boys got was knowing how to run fast.”
Roni began explaining her project in detail, her voice animated as she pointed to different sections of her board and described the results of her experiment. Royce nodded along, doing his best to keep up. He didn’t understand half the technical terms she was throwing out, but he made sure to give her his full attention.
“Look, I’m just gonna go tell these people the best project right here,” Royce said when she finally paused for breath. “But I already know you gonna win because Lafittes the best at everything they do, huh?”
“Yep!” Roni said, her excitement bubbling over.
…
As the crowd began to thin out, Rana nudged Royce, pulling aside near the concession stand. “So,” she began, her tone softer now. “how are you really doing?”
Royce shrugged, taking a sip of a Sprite that he’d trade the coffee for. “I’m straight. Like I been telling you. Same old shit, you know?”
Rana frowned, her sharp eyes scanning his face. “Ro, you know I worry about you. I know you haven’t really dealt with… with what happened. And now, you have so much pressure on you with everything. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s easier to deal with everything now when your life is simple.”
“Simple? Shit, I wish this was simple,” Royce laughed, but there was little humor in his tone. “They don’t call the motherfucker NFLSU for nothing. And I ain’t even talking about the regular student shit like going to class.”
“You know what I mean,” Rana said, crossing her arms. “You got all this fame and attention on you, suddenly got all this money. It’s only going to get more complicated, and you need to start thinking long term now because the decisions you have to make aren’t going to get easier.”
Royce sucked his teeth, shaking his head. “Come on, man. Ain’t nobody worried about what’s gonna happen years down the road right now. I’m living the college life. Shit’s good.”
Rana jabbed a finger in his direction. “That’s another thing. I know you be over there messing with them fast ass little girls. Daddy started popping them out young and look where that got him. You know those hoes be looking at you like a meal ticket.”
“Ain’t you say this a Catholic school? That’s what the pull out method for,” Royce laughed. “And if all else fail, it’s a good thing I got that money so I can buy a couple plane tickets to Chicago and for a $600 set of pills.”
Rana let out a frustrated sigh, clearly unsatisfied with his answer. Spotting Tyrell chatting with a parent nearby, she waved him over. “Talk some sense into your brother-in-law.”
Tyrell approached, his expression puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Royce is going to end up like Travis Hunter because he doesn’t know these hoes are out here looking for some money while getting trains run on them,” Rana said, jabbing a thumb in her brother’s direction. “Tell him he needs to grow up.”
Tyrell held his hands up and looked at the floor for a moment. “I’m not saying nothing about that. That’s just wild though, bae.”
Royce nodded. “That shit is fucking wild. I would be participating in the train. I wouldn’t be in a relationship with them.”
“You need Jesus,” Rana shook her head in exasperation.
…
Roni’s name was announced as the winner of the top prize. Her hands flew to her face in shock before a wide grin broke out, and she hurried to the front of the gym to accept her ribbon and certificate. There was a small smattering of applause from the crowd—except for Royce.
Royce stood up and clapped the loudest, whistling and shouting her name as she waved her award high in the air.
Rana tried to make him sit down, giving an embarrassed smile to a family sitting behind them.
…
Royce walked out of the school gym alone, his footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. The science fair had left him with a rare sense of pride, but as he approached the parking lot, the weight of his thoughts began creeping back in. His phone buzzed again in his pocket, but he ignored it.
As he stepped into the cool evening air, the sound of heels clicking on pavement broke the stillness behind him.
“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice called, smooth and confident.
Royce turned, his eyes landing on a woman in her late 30s, dressed sharply in a tailored blouse and fitted skirt. Her hair was impeccably styled, and her heels clicked with precision as she approached. There was a flirtatious edge to her smile, her red lipstick catching the faint glow of the streetlights.
“This is going to sound crazy, but I feel like I know you from somewhere. Do you have a kid here?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as her eyes swept over him before returning to his face.
Royce hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “No, first time I ever been here. Maybe from TV or something?”
Her smile widened, revealing perfectly white teeth. “That’s it. You’re the one from LSU. I knew I recognized you. You were all over WBRZ.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” Royce said with a small laugh. “I ain’t think too many people would recognize me without the pads and helmet.”
“Oh, it’s hard not to,” she said, her tone dripping with suggestion. She stepped closer, her perfume wafting through the air—a subtle, expensive scent that Royce couldn’t quite place. “You’re even more impressive in person.”
Royce smirked. “Impressive, huh?”
She reached in her designer handbag and pulled out a sleek business card. Flipping it over, she scrawled something on the back before handing it to him. Her manicured nails brushed against his fingers as he took it.
“You should give me a call sometimes. If, you know, you need—anything,” she said, her voice soft but deliberate.
Royce glanced at the card. Her name, Kristen, was printed in bold letters along with her number. He raised an eyebrow, catching the playful glint in her eyes. “Yeah, I might just do that.”
A child’s voice called out from across the lot. “Mom! Beau is taking forever!” A boy, maybe nine or ten, ran toward her, holding a jacket in his hands.
Royce’s expression shifted as he glanced between her and the boy. “I don’t do married women, though.”
She let out a light laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not married,” she said, leaning in slightly. “Divorced. So, no need to worry about that.”
Royce chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Alright. Cool.”
She gave him one last lingering look before turning toward her son, who had stopped a few feet away. She waved, then glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
With that, she walked away, her heels clicking against the pavement as she took her son’s hand and led him back into the school. Royce stood there for a moment, watching her leave, the card still in his hand.
Sliding it into his pocket, he shook his head with a small smirk before getting into his car.
As he dove home, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror while he sat at a stop light, the familiar voices of doubt creeping back in.
Can’t even let a night about Roni be about Roni. Everything always has to be about Royce and that’s why Romeo is dead.
Royce reached over and turned the music all the way up, letting the bass from the speakers and the hum of the engine drown the voice outs.
Dying to Live
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17041
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 8025
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
This boy really a hoe 
-
djp73
- Posts: 13298
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
Gave Cam the business for hanging with a single mother and now look what Royce doing.
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17041
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Playing the Game
The house reeked of stale cigarette smoke and spilled liquor. The mismatched furniture—a torn recliner, a lopsided dining table, and the worn-out couch Poochie slouched on—was arranged haphazardly across the cramped living room. Dim light seeped through a single overhead bulb, its fixture coated in a thin layer of dust. The air felt heavy, the kind of place where every breath seemed to carry someone else’s bad decisions.
Random people lingered in the corners of the room, their faces a blur of apathy and occasional bursts of laughter. A woman with smeared mascara and a frayed jean jacket sat cross-legged on the floor, rolling a blunt on the back of an old magazine. A man with sunken eyes and a jittery leg hovered near the door, muttering to himself between drags of a cigarette. The TV on the wall played a rap video on low volume, the beats competing with scattered conversations and the clinking of bottles.
Poochie sat slouched in the middle of it all, a bottle of cheap beer in one hand and his gaze fixed on the screen. He looked more detached than ever, his once vibrant demeanor dulled by the haze of the room and the weight of his own disillusionment. Beside him, Natalia sat perched on the edge of the couch, her posture stiff and her face drawn with discomfort.
“Babe,” she said, leaning closer to him. Her voice was low but edged with urgency. “Can we go? I feel like I’m going to catch something in here.”
Poochie didn’t even glance at her. “You can leave if you want,” he muttered, taking another sip of beer.
Natalia’s frustration bubbled over. She ran a hand through her hair, her voice rising. “Seriously? This is who you are now? You’re just going to sit here all night pouting and drinking? What’s next you’re going shake your fucking can on Convention?”
Finally, Poochie turned to her, his expression cold and distant. “What’s your fucking problem, man? I ain’t ask you to come with me.”
“My problem is you,” Natalia snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the room’s noise. A few heads turned, but Meech and his boys just smirked, clearly entertained by the couple’s quarrel. “It’s real childish that you’re throwing everything away because of one semester. How can you even look at yourself as a man running away like this?”
From his spot in the recliner, Meech chuckled and leaned forward, a gold chain glinting under the dim light. “You gonna let her talk to you like that, P? Seems like she ain’t think you were much more than a nigga that played football.”
Poochie’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond to Meech. Instead, he looked back at Natalia, his eyes narrowing. “You think this shit fucking easy? I’m in the damn portal. Ain’t nobody giving up shit. Just let a nigga fucking drink and get off my fucking dick, damn.”
Natali’s breath caught, her voice trembling as she pressed on. “So, what? You’re going to be a washed up could’ve been at 19? Out on the corner talking about you could’ve gone to the league and wasting your life away with them until you get killed?”
Meech laughed louder this time, raising his double cup. “Watch your mouth, girl. We family.”
Natalia ignored him, her focus locked on Poochie. “You’re better than this, babe. You’ve been through worse and come out on top. I know you can beat this.”
Poochie stood abruptly, towering over her, his shadow stretching across the dingy walls. “Then maybe you don’t know shit, bitch,” he said, his tone icy.
Tears welled in Natalia’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She grabbed her bag and stormed toward the door, her voice shaking as she threw one last look over her shoulder. “You need to figure your shit out, because this,” she gestured around her. “This ain’t fucking cute.”
The door slammed behind her, rattling the thin walls and drawing a brief silence over the room. Meech broke it with a laugh, shaking his head as he took a swig from the cup. “Man, you don’t need her ass. I been telling you that. She a seen and not be heard bitch and don’t realize she need to be seen and don’t need to be heard. Get you one of these ones in here for the night.”
Poochie sank back onto the couch, his eyes drifting back to the flickering TV screen. Meech leaned forward, his tone shifting from mocking to serious. “Say, cuz, you know you don’t need all that football shit to get by. You got family right here. Stop making money for them white folks playing school and come fuck with a nigga for some real money. You know I’m on the frontline with my soldiers.”
Poochie stared at the screen, the images blurring into a kaleidoscope of lights and motion. The words sank into him, wrapping around his already fraying resolve. He didn’t respond, but the weight of Meech’s proposition—and everything it implied—pressed down on him like a boulder. In the background, the chatter and laughter of the room continued, oblivious to the quiet storm brewing inside him.
~~~~~~~~~~
The sun was dipping low, painting the Baton Rouge skyline in shades of orange and pink. Royce and Alix sat on the balcony of his apartment, the hum of the city below fading into the background. Royce had draped his arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head against his chest, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her cup. It was a quiet, intimate moment, but Royce’s mind was anything but quiet.
Alix’s phone buzzed against the small table beside them, lighting up the screen with a notification. She shifted slightly but didn’t move to pick it up. Royce glanced down at her, his curiosity winning out. He tilted his head just enough to catch the name on the screen: Dominic. She quickly flipped it face down.
His lip curled up in disgust reflexively, but he didn’t say anything as he looked away. Instead, he tightened his arm around her, pulling her a little closer.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Alix said softly, her voice almost lost in the gentle breeze.
“Thinking,” Royce replied, his tone neutral.
“About what?”
Royce hesitated, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the last sliver of sun disappeared behind the rooftops. “Shit, life,” he said vaguely. “Trying to figure out how all the chess pieces moving on the board. Feel like I been going a hundred miles an hour for a minute.”
Alix shifted, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “Since when you became the thinking type? Are you getting philosophical on me now?”
He smirked, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift. “Fuck I might be. Get on my Kevin Gates shit. All praise to Allah. But on some real shit, been a lot on my mind lately.”
Her phone buzzed again, breaking the moment. Alix reached for it this time, glancing briefly at the screen before setting it back down. Royce caught the small smile she tried to suppress, and it made him want to snatch the phone from her and toss it over the railing.
“Tell that nigga he gotta wait until tomorrow,” he said, his voice steady but edged with something unspoken.
Alix met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “Is that what you told whatever bitch you had coming over here tonight when I called you?”
Royce exhaled sharply, the tension simmering just below the surface. “Look, I’ve been thinking about us. And this.”
The words hung in the air, catching Alix off guard. She straightened up slightly, her brow furrowing. “Us?”
“Yeah, us. You know, you and me,” Royce said. “We’ve been doing this shit for years now, but I’m trying to have more with you.”
Alix blinked, her surprise evident. “More? What does that even mean, Royce?”
“Man, I’m trying to have what my sister got with Tyrell. You’re the one that been telling me to do something, so shit, I’m doing something,” he admitted, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his words. “You not tired of playing around like this? I want some real shit, Alix.”
Her brow furrowed, and she looked down at her lap. Her lips parted, but no words came out. She looked away, her fingers nervously tapping against her thigh. “Why now?” she finally asked. “Why are you saying this now? Out of the blue?”
Royce shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the vulnerability coursing through him. “Because I should’ve been said this. Ain’t it better late than never? But I ain’t about to act like it don’t bother me that you talk to other niggas. It does.”
Alix sat quietly, her fingers tracing the seam of her jeans as she processed his words. Her gaze eventually fell on the large charm hanging from Royce’s necklace, the light from the apartment catching on the gold and diamond encrusted pelican. “I noticed this earlier. Is it new?” she asked, her tone soft as she deflected the conversation.
Royce glanced down at the necklace, his hand brushing over it. “Yeah. Got it last week. It’s for home. I would’ve got an alligator but I think they would’ve ran me out of here with pitchforks if I had done some shit like that.”
“It’s nice. A lot, but nice,” Alix said, her fingers lightly grazing the charm before pulling back. “You’ve been through a lot. I get why it means something to you.”
Royce nodded, watching her closely. “You do, too. I’m serious about this, Alix. So, what you trying to do?”
She didn’t look at him, instead leaning back against the railing and staring out over the city. The weight of his words lingered between them, but she didn’t respond directly. Instead, she let out of a soft sigh and stood, brushing her hands on her thighs. “You hungry? I’m fucking starving.”
Royce blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift. “Yeah, I could eat, I guess.”
“Let’s go to Parrain’s,” she said, her tone light but purposeful. “You don’t have anything in this apartment anyway. Should use some of that money to do make some groceries.”
He stared at her for a moment, his mind still on the unanswered question hanging in the air. But he nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Works for me.”
As they stepped back into the apartment, Royce grabbed his keys, his thoughts racing. He wasn’t sure what her suggestion meant—whether it was a way to avoid the conversation or her way of keeping him close without committing. Either way, he followed her out the door.
The house reeked of stale cigarette smoke and spilled liquor. The mismatched furniture—a torn recliner, a lopsided dining table, and the worn-out couch Poochie slouched on—was arranged haphazardly across the cramped living room. Dim light seeped through a single overhead bulb, its fixture coated in a thin layer of dust. The air felt heavy, the kind of place where every breath seemed to carry someone else’s bad decisions.
Random people lingered in the corners of the room, their faces a blur of apathy and occasional bursts of laughter. A woman with smeared mascara and a frayed jean jacket sat cross-legged on the floor, rolling a blunt on the back of an old magazine. A man with sunken eyes and a jittery leg hovered near the door, muttering to himself between drags of a cigarette. The TV on the wall played a rap video on low volume, the beats competing with scattered conversations and the clinking of bottles.
Poochie sat slouched in the middle of it all, a bottle of cheap beer in one hand and his gaze fixed on the screen. He looked more detached than ever, his once vibrant demeanor dulled by the haze of the room and the weight of his own disillusionment. Beside him, Natalia sat perched on the edge of the couch, her posture stiff and her face drawn with discomfort.
“Babe,” she said, leaning closer to him. Her voice was low but edged with urgency. “Can we go? I feel like I’m going to catch something in here.”
Poochie didn’t even glance at her. “You can leave if you want,” he muttered, taking another sip of beer.
Natalia’s frustration bubbled over. She ran a hand through her hair, her voice rising. “Seriously? This is who you are now? You’re just going to sit here all night pouting and drinking? What’s next you’re going shake your fucking can on Convention?”
Finally, Poochie turned to her, his expression cold and distant. “What’s your fucking problem, man? I ain’t ask you to come with me.”
“My problem is you,” Natalia snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the room’s noise. A few heads turned, but Meech and his boys just smirked, clearly entertained by the couple’s quarrel. “It’s real childish that you’re throwing everything away because of one semester. How can you even look at yourself as a man running away like this?”
From his spot in the recliner, Meech chuckled and leaned forward, a gold chain glinting under the dim light. “You gonna let her talk to you like that, P? Seems like she ain’t think you were much more than a nigga that played football.”
Poochie’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond to Meech. Instead, he looked back at Natalia, his eyes narrowing. “You think this shit fucking easy? I’m in the damn portal. Ain’t nobody giving up shit. Just let a nigga fucking drink and get off my fucking dick, damn.”
Natali’s breath caught, her voice trembling as she pressed on. “So, what? You’re going to be a washed up could’ve been at 19? Out on the corner talking about you could’ve gone to the league and wasting your life away with them until you get killed?”
Meech laughed louder this time, raising his double cup. “Watch your mouth, girl. We family.”
Natalia ignored him, her focus locked on Poochie. “You’re better than this, babe. You’ve been through worse and come out on top. I know you can beat this.”
Poochie stood abruptly, towering over her, his shadow stretching across the dingy walls. “Then maybe you don’t know shit, bitch,” he said, his tone icy.
Tears welled in Natalia’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She grabbed her bag and stormed toward the door, her voice shaking as she threw one last look over her shoulder. “You need to figure your shit out, because this,” she gestured around her. “This ain’t fucking cute.”
The door slammed behind her, rattling the thin walls and drawing a brief silence over the room. Meech broke it with a laugh, shaking his head as he took a swig from the cup. “Man, you don’t need her ass. I been telling you that. She a seen and not be heard bitch and don’t realize she need to be seen and don’t need to be heard. Get you one of these ones in here for the night.”
Poochie sank back onto the couch, his eyes drifting back to the flickering TV screen. Meech leaned forward, his tone shifting from mocking to serious. “Say, cuz, you know you don’t need all that football shit to get by. You got family right here. Stop making money for them white folks playing school and come fuck with a nigga for some real money. You know I’m on the frontline with my soldiers.”
Poochie stared at the screen, the images blurring into a kaleidoscope of lights and motion. The words sank into him, wrapping around his already fraying resolve. He didn’t respond, but the weight of Meech’s proposition—and everything it implied—pressed down on him like a boulder. In the background, the chatter and laughter of the room continued, oblivious to the quiet storm brewing inside him.
~~~~~~~~~~
The sun was dipping low, painting the Baton Rouge skyline in shades of orange and pink. Royce and Alix sat on the balcony of his apartment, the hum of the city below fading into the background. Royce had draped his arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head against his chest, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her cup. It was a quiet, intimate moment, but Royce’s mind was anything but quiet.
Alix’s phone buzzed against the small table beside them, lighting up the screen with a notification. She shifted slightly but didn’t move to pick it up. Royce glanced down at her, his curiosity winning out. He tilted his head just enough to catch the name on the screen: Dominic. She quickly flipped it face down.
His lip curled up in disgust reflexively, but he didn’t say anything as he looked away. Instead, he tightened his arm around her, pulling her a little closer.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Alix said softly, her voice almost lost in the gentle breeze.
“Thinking,” Royce replied, his tone neutral.
“About what?”
Royce hesitated, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the last sliver of sun disappeared behind the rooftops. “Shit, life,” he said vaguely. “Trying to figure out how all the chess pieces moving on the board. Feel like I been going a hundred miles an hour for a minute.”
Alix shifted, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “Since when you became the thinking type? Are you getting philosophical on me now?”
He smirked, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift. “Fuck I might be. Get on my Kevin Gates shit. All praise to Allah. But on some real shit, been a lot on my mind lately.”
Her phone buzzed again, breaking the moment. Alix reached for it this time, glancing briefly at the screen before setting it back down. Royce caught the small smile she tried to suppress, and it made him want to snatch the phone from her and toss it over the railing.
“Tell that nigga he gotta wait until tomorrow,” he said, his voice steady but edged with something unspoken.
Alix met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “Is that what you told whatever bitch you had coming over here tonight when I called you?”
Royce exhaled sharply, the tension simmering just below the surface. “Look, I’ve been thinking about us. And this.”
The words hung in the air, catching Alix off guard. She straightened up slightly, her brow furrowing. “Us?”
“Yeah, us. You know, you and me,” Royce said. “We’ve been doing this shit for years now, but I’m trying to have more with you.”
Alix blinked, her surprise evident. “More? What does that even mean, Royce?”
“Man, I’m trying to have what my sister got with Tyrell. You’re the one that been telling me to do something, so shit, I’m doing something,” he admitted, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his words. “You not tired of playing around like this? I want some real shit, Alix.”
Her brow furrowed, and she looked down at her lap. Her lips parted, but no words came out. She looked away, her fingers nervously tapping against her thigh. “Why now?” she finally asked. “Why are you saying this now? Out of the blue?”
Royce shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the vulnerability coursing through him. “Because I should’ve been said this. Ain’t it better late than never? But I ain’t about to act like it don’t bother me that you talk to other niggas. It does.”
Alix sat quietly, her fingers tracing the seam of her jeans as she processed his words. Her gaze eventually fell on the large charm hanging from Royce’s necklace, the light from the apartment catching on the gold and diamond encrusted pelican. “I noticed this earlier. Is it new?” she asked, her tone soft as she deflected the conversation.
Royce glanced down at the necklace, his hand brushing over it. “Yeah. Got it last week. It’s for home. I would’ve got an alligator but I think they would’ve ran me out of here with pitchforks if I had done some shit like that.”
“It’s nice. A lot, but nice,” Alix said, her fingers lightly grazing the charm before pulling back. “You’ve been through a lot. I get why it means something to you.”
Royce nodded, watching her closely. “You do, too. I’m serious about this, Alix. So, what you trying to do?”
She didn’t look at him, instead leaning back against the railing and staring out over the city. The weight of his words lingered between them, but she didn’t respond directly. Instead, she let out of a soft sigh and stood, brushing her hands on her thighs. “You hungry? I’m fucking starving.”
Royce blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift. “Yeah, I could eat, I guess.”
“Let’s go to Parrain’s,” she said, her tone light but purposeful. “You don’t have anything in this apartment anyway. Should use some of that money to do make some groceries.”
He stared at her for a moment, his mind still on the unanswered question hanging in the air. But he nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Works for me.”
As they stepped back into the apartment, Royce grabbed his keys, his thoughts racing. He wasn’t sure what her suggestion meant—whether it was a way to avoid the conversation or her way of keeping him close without committing. Either way, he followed her out the door.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 8025
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
What a ... weird conclusion to have there. I wonder where that goes
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17041
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
New Sheriff in Town
The buzz around LSU’s football program was palpable as the campus hummed with the news: Dan Lanning, fresh off leading Oregon to a national championship, had been named the Tigers’ new head coach. It was the kind of move that changed the trajectory of a program overnight, sending ripples through the college football world.
…
The auditorium of the LSU Football Operations Center was packed to capacity. Reporters, photographers, alumni, boosters, and even a few players who had remained on campus crowded the room. Purple and gold banners draped the walls, and the podium stood adorned with the LSU logo and a microphone that was now the center of attention.
Athletic Director Scott Woodward stepped up to the podium first, his tailored suit and calm demeanor exuding confidence. He adjusted the microphone slightly, smiling as the murmurs in the room died down.
“Thank you all for being here today,” Woodward began, his voice steady and commanding. “As everyone in this room knows, LSU football is not just a program—it’s a legacy. And it’s a legacy built on the shoulders of champions, of men who don’t just play the game but redefine it. Today, we are taking the next step in ensuring that legacy continues.”
The audience leaned forward, anticipation crackling like electricity in the air.
“After an extensive search, it became clear that there was one man who embodied the vision, the drive, and the championship mentality that LSU demands. That man is Dan Lanning.”
The room erupted in applause as Lanning stepped out from the side of the stage, clad in a sharp gray suit with a purple-and-gold LSU tie. He smiled, shaking Woodward’s hand firmly before stepping up to the microphone.
“Thank you, Scott,” Lanning began, his voice resonant and full of energy. “And thank you, LSU, for welcoming me into your family. This is a special place, and I don’t take the responsibility of leading this program lightly.”
He paused, scanning the room with a calm but commanding gaze. “LSU is a program with unmatched potential. The talent here, the passion of the fans, and the support from this university—it’s a winning combination. My job is to ensure that we don’t just meet expectations but exceed them.”
Lanning spoke of his journey at Oregon, his experience under Kirby Smart at Georgia, and how he planned to bring that championship mindset to Baton Rouge. He emphasized discipline, innovation, and the importance of creating a team culture that mirrored LSU’s tenacity.
“This is a place where champions are made,” Lanning continued, his tone rising with conviction. “And I promise you, we will do everything it takes to bring LSU back to the top. This is just the beginning.”
The crowd broke into another round of applause, and cameras flashed as Lanning stepped back from the microphone. Woodward returned to the podium, thanking everyone for their support and promising exciting times ahead for LSU football.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce leaned back in his seat, idly tapping his pen against a notebook as the professor droned on about postmodern literature. The room was stuffy, the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the blinds doing little to help. He cursed whatever advised had decided that this course would be easy enough for him to pass to keep him eligible, already feeling that it was more boring than watching paint dry.
Bree sat across the room, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers briskly moving across her laptop as she jotted down notes. Royce found himself watching her longer than he meant to, noticing the way her brow furrowed when she concentrated.
Royce had also noticed Dominic a few rows back, shaking his head as Dominic hunched over his laptop.
As the lecture wound to a close, students began packing up their things. Royce remained in his seat, taking his time as he stashed the notebook ins his bag. Bree stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder, but her pace slowed when she noticed Royce lingering.
“Waiting for me?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice as she adjusted the strap of her bag.
“That depend on if you’re going to curse me out again or not,” Royce replied, a grin spreading across his face. “Figured it’s been a minute since we talked.”
Bree arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smile. “It has been a while. Guess I’m over the whole Emilia thing. We were never really serious, anyway. When I really thought about, I realized you were right.”
“Still,” Royce said, stepping closer to her and putting his hand on the chair behind her. “I was on some fuck shit and that was wrong of me. You’ve been a day one. First chick that was fucking with me up here. I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”
The faint smile on Bree’s face lingered, but her eyes softened with curiosity. “Day one, huh? I didn’t know I was that important to you.”
“C’mon now. You knew that,” Royce said, shaking his head. “Maybe we can kick it later. You know, catch up and shit.”
Bree tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe,” she said, brushing past him playfully as she headed toward the door. “Text me.”
Royce watched her leave, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He hadn’t expected her to brush off the past so easily. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he started toward the exit.
As he reached the door, Dominic fell into stride alongside him, his expression hard and unwelcoming. “You just be running behind all the white girls out here, huh?” Dominic asked, his tone sharp.
Royce sucked his teeth. “Nigga, fuck off. Go find you something safe to do.”
Dominic shook his head, his posture stiff with tension as he walked. “I’m trying to figure out why you fucking with Alix if you got other chicks out here. She know? She probably should know if she don’t.”
Royce’s jaw tightened and his lip curled. “That’s some ho shit, first of all. You a grown ass man going shoo-shoo about what I’m doing because you trying to fuck. If I know about you from her, why wouldn’t she know what I’m doing from me? You smart, right? That’s why you here? Figure it out, but when you do that, figure out how to mind your fucking business, too.”
“I’m just saying,” Dominic pressed, his voice rising slightly. “It’s kinda fucked up to be doing some shit like that, but I guess that’s not beneath you.
Royce stopped and turned toward Dominic. “Bruh, you better than this. They got beaucomp bitches on this campus. You ain’t gotta fuck Alix if this what you gotta stoop to to do it. Don’t be a pussy. Just go in the union and get some shots up. But on the real, stop worrying about what the fuck I’m doing, nigga. Don’t think I won’t bat the piss out of you on these people campus. Remember one of us paying to be here and one of us being paid to be here.”
Dominic held his ground for a moment, his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing, but he eventually stepped back, his expression a mix of anger and resignation.
“That’s what I thought, bitch ass nigga. Next time you talk to me, if you don’t want no static, make your fucking tone match,” Royce said as he continued walking, his mood darker.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce made his way to the old apartment, the familiar sense of chaos greeting him as soon as he stepped through the door. The worn-out couch, a coffee table now buried under a mountain of empty bottles and crumpled pizza boxes, and the faint aroma of Dewon’s latest culinary experiment—it had changed a lot in the couple months since he’d moved out.
He went to close the door behind him, but Dewon waved his hand to stop him.
“Leave that shit open. The fucking heater in here is broken and as long as I’m awake, I’m keeping that shit open. Ain’t like you in the room closest to the door anymore,” Dewon said.
“They ain’t kick your ass out of here yet?” J.J. asked, sitting up to dap Royce up as he walked in. “Thought they would’ve realized that you bringing down the APR at this bitch.”
“Wasn’t it you niggas talking about hitting the portal so y’all could go to Texas State or some shit and take intro to putting the motherfucking fries in the bag?” Royce shot back, as he dapped up Dewon and flopped down onto the couch. “Y’all not in the portal no more?”
J.J. shook his head, kicking his feet up on the cluttered coffee table. “Nah, decided to stick it out for another year at least. Especially with Lanning coming in. Might not get on the field, but shit, might get some boost next year from at least practicing with a natty winner.”
Dewon nodded, scratching his chin. “And I ain’t want to go to the middle of nowhere to be real with you. Motherfucker talking about come out to Pullman, Washington or Huntington, West Virgina. Do they got niggas out there who don’t play football? I already gotta watch where I’m going here. I’m not trying to watch where I’m sleeping.”
“Facts,” Royce said, laughing as he leaned back on the couch. “I wouldn’t have done that shit in y’all situation either. My potna went to Nevada, that’s the kinda spot I’d be trying to land. Somewhere that got the interstate running through it.”
“What you think about Lanning?” Dewon asked Royce.
Royce shrugged as he pulled out his phone to respond to a text from Bree. “I ain’t really had no problem with Kelly, but that’s why they not letting me make decisions about the head coach. If the motherfucker can win a national championship at Oregon then he can win one here, right?”
“They wanted him last year at Alabama, too,” J.J. said. “Must like being down here in the South. Strange they ain’t have us meet with him, though.”
“Signing day is in like a week. My guy has to hit the ground running,” Dewon said.
“Gotta get guys out the portal, too,” Royce added.
The conversation trailed off from there. Royce leaning back on the worn couch, half-listening as J.J. scrolled through his phone, commenting on the comments Dewon had been leaving on some less-than-ideal looking girls on Instagram.
“Bro, this bitch looks like she eats sheet metal,” J.J. laughed, turning his phone around to show Royce the offender.
“Don’t put your dick in there. She definitely bite people,” Royce said to Dewon.
Dewon laughed, lounging in the recliner. “Man, she cool people. And she cook for a nigga. Everyone need love anyway.”
“Everyone need minerals but when they say iron they not talking about chewing on actual fucking iron,” J.J. said, shaking his head.
“They are, though,” Royce said plainly, raising an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Yeah, it is iron,” Dewon added, looking between Royce and J.J.
“Y’all fucking lying. It’s just like some mineral shit in food,” J.J. said, pointing at his phone as he said it as if it was making his point.
Royce sat up and leaned forward. “Yes, iron is a fucking mineral, nigga. Real fucking iron is what you’re eating.”
The three of them fell into silence for a moment before all bursting into laughter.
“Yo, dog. I ain’t come to this bitch to play school, but fuck y’all. I thought it was like potassium. Just some shit in bananas that you can’t see,” J.J. said, shaking his head as they laughed at his expense.
“Bruh,” Dewon said, dropping his head in his hands.
“Nah, y’all not about to tell me you can see that!”
Their banter was interrupted by a knock on the doorframe. A lanky guy stood in the hallway, his frame silhouetted by the dim light from the corridor.
“Yo, Chris!” Dewon called out. “What’s good, bro?”
Chris shifted his weight, adjusting the strap of his backpack. “Not much, just heading to my place. Saw y’all’s door open and thought I’d say hey.
J.J. leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Your girl got you on a curfew or something. It’s early as fuck, man.”
Chris chuckled. “Nah, just got some work to finish. You know how it is.”
“Fuck that shit. I’m glad I ended up with an easy schedule this semester,” Dewon said.
Royce sat up straighter on the couch, watching the exchange without saying anything. He studied Chris for a moment before leaning back again, his expression neutral. He didn’t need to say anything: the dynamic was interesting enough on its own.
“Alright, man,” J.J. said, giving him a nod. “Don’t let us keep you. Say what’s up to your girl for us.”
Chris nodded, glancing toward Royce briefly before stepping back into the hall. “I’ll catch y’all later.”
As Chris walked away, the sound of his footsteps fading. Royce gestured over his shoulder. “Who that?”
“Dude that lives down the hall. Cool dude even though he a little quiet on some shit,” Dewon said.
J.J. glanced at the door for a moment, as if listening for footsteps before turning back to Royce. “His girl that chick you used to always be talking to when you lived here. Josefina or whatever the fuck her name is.”
Royce sat forward, pointing over his shoulder. “That mouse looking ass motherfucker pulled that? Stop it, bruh. That dude look like he on some Michael Sam shit. Or one of them they-them ass motherfuckers.”
“Them eclectic bitches like dudes like that. Some of them want ‘em in touch with their softer side. It’s cool, ain’t nobody want they ‘earthy’ asses anyway,” Dewon said, laughing.
“No, nigga. They don’t want you,” Royce said, shaking his head, causing J.J. to laugh.
The conversation shifted back to football, classes and what J.J. or Dewon was teasing the other about. Royce leaned back on the couch, shaking the curiosity of what anyone would see in a guy like him and going back to exchanging texts with Bree to set something up for later.
The buzz around LSU’s football program was palpable as the campus hummed with the news: Dan Lanning, fresh off leading Oregon to a national championship, had been named the Tigers’ new head coach. It was the kind of move that changed the trajectory of a program overnight, sending ripples through the college football world.
…
The auditorium of the LSU Football Operations Center was packed to capacity. Reporters, photographers, alumni, boosters, and even a few players who had remained on campus crowded the room. Purple and gold banners draped the walls, and the podium stood adorned with the LSU logo and a microphone that was now the center of attention.
Athletic Director Scott Woodward stepped up to the podium first, his tailored suit and calm demeanor exuding confidence. He adjusted the microphone slightly, smiling as the murmurs in the room died down.
“Thank you all for being here today,” Woodward began, his voice steady and commanding. “As everyone in this room knows, LSU football is not just a program—it’s a legacy. And it’s a legacy built on the shoulders of champions, of men who don’t just play the game but redefine it. Today, we are taking the next step in ensuring that legacy continues.”
The audience leaned forward, anticipation crackling like electricity in the air.
“After an extensive search, it became clear that there was one man who embodied the vision, the drive, and the championship mentality that LSU demands. That man is Dan Lanning.”
The room erupted in applause as Lanning stepped out from the side of the stage, clad in a sharp gray suit with a purple-and-gold LSU tie. He smiled, shaking Woodward’s hand firmly before stepping up to the microphone.
“Thank you, Scott,” Lanning began, his voice resonant and full of energy. “And thank you, LSU, for welcoming me into your family. This is a special place, and I don’t take the responsibility of leading this program lightly.”
He paused, scanning the room with a calm but commanding gaze. “LSU is a program with unmatched potential. The talent here, the passion of the fans, and the support from this university—it’s a winning combination. My job is to ensure that we don’t just meet expectations but exceed them.”
Lanning spoke of his journey at Oregon, his experience under Kirby Smart at Georgia, and how he planned to bring that championship mindset to Baton Rouge. He emphasized discipline, innovation, and the importance of creating a team culture that mirrored LSU’s tenacity.
“This is a place where champions are made,” Lanning continued, his tone rising with conviction. “And I promise you, we will do everything it takes to bring LSU back to the top. This is just the beginning.”
The crowd broke into another round of applause, and cameras flashed as Lanning stepped back from the microphone. Woodward returned to the podium, thanking everyone for their support and promising exciting times ahead for LSU football.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce leaned back in his seat, idly tapping his pen against a notebook as the professor droned on about postmodern literature. The room was stuffy, the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the blinds doing little to help. He cursed whatever advised had decided that this course would be easy enough for him to pass to keep him eligible, already feeling that it was more boring than watching paint dry.
Bree sat across the room, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers briskly moving across her laptop as she jotted down notes. Royce found himself watching her longer than he meant to, noticing the way her brow furrowed when she concentrated.
Royce had also noticed Dominic a few rows back, shaking his head as Dominic hunched over his laptop.
As the lecture wound to a close, students began packing up their things. Royce remained in his seat, taking his time as he stashed the notebook ins his bag. Bree stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder, but her pace slowed when she noticed Royce lingering.
“Waiting for me?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice as she adjusted the strap of her bag.
“That depend on if you’re going to curse me out again or not,” Royce replied, a grin spreading across his face. “Figured it’s been a minute since we talked.”
Bree arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smile. “It has been a while. Guess I’m over the whole Emilia thing. We were never really serious, anyway. When I really thought about, I realized you were right.”
“Still,” Royce said, stepping closer to her and putting his hand on the chair behind her. “I was on some fuck shit and that was wrong of me. You’ve been a day one. First chick that was fucking with me up here. I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”
The faint smile on Bree’s face lingered, but her eyes softened with curiosity. “Day one, huh? I didn’t know I was that important to you.”
“C’mon now. You knew that,” Royce said, shaking his head. “Maybe we can kick it later. You know, catch up and shit.”
Bree tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe,” she said, brushing past him playfully as she headed toward the door. “Text me.”
Royce watched her leave, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He hadn’t expected her to brush off the past so easily. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he started toward the exit.
As he reached the door, Dominic fell into stride alongside him, his expression hard and unwelcoming. “You just be running behind all the white girls out here, huh?” Dominic asked, his tone sharp.
Royce sucked his teeth. “Nigga, fuck off. Go find you something safe to do.”
Dominic shook his head, his posture stiff with tension as he walked. “I’m trying to figure out why you fucking with Alix if you got other chicks out here. She know? She probably should know if she don’t.”
Royce’s jaw tightened and his lip curled. “That’s some ho shit, first of all. You a grown ass man going shoo-shoo about what I’m doing because you trying to fuck. If I know about you from her, why wouldn’t she know what I’m doing from me? You smart, right? That’s why you here? Figure it out, but when you do that, figure out how to mind your fucking business, too.”
“I’m just saying,” Dominic pressed, his voice rising slightly. “It’s kinda fucked up to be doing some shit like that, but I guess that’s not beneath you.
Royce stopped and turned toward Dominic. “Bruh, you better than this. They got beaucomp bitches on this campus. You ain’t gotta fuck Alix if this what you gotta stoop to to do it. Don’t be a pussy. Just go in the union and get some shots up. But on the real, stop worrying about what the fuck I’m doing, nigga. Don’t think I won’t bat the piss out of you on these people campus. Remember one of us paying to be here and one of us being paid to be here.”
Dominic held his ground for a moment, his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing, but he eventually stepped back, his expression a mix of anger and resignation.
“That’s what I thought, bitch ass nigga. Next time you talk to me, if you don’t want no static, make your fucking tone match,” Royce said as he continued walking, his mood darker.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce made his way to the old apartment, the familiar sense of chaos greeting him as soon as he stepped through the door. The worn-out couch, a coffee table now buried under a mountain of empty bottles and crumpled pizza boxes, and the faint aroma of Dewon’s latest culinary experiment—it had changed a lot in the couple months since he’d moved out.
He went to close the door behind him, but Dewon waved his hand to stop him.
“Leave that shit open. The fucking heater in here is broken and as long as I’m awake, I’m keeping that shit open. Ain’t like you in the room closest to the door anymore,” Dewon said.
“They ain’t kick your ass out of here yet?” J.J. asked, sitting up to dap Royce up as he walked in. “Thought they would’ve realized that you bringing down the APR at this bitch.”
“Wasn’t it you niggas talking about hitting the portal so y’all could go to Texas State or some shit and take intro to putting the motherfucking fries in the bag?” Royce shot back, as he dapped up Dewon and flopped down onto the couch. “Y’all not in the portal no more?”
J.J. shook his head, kicking his feet up on the cluttered coffee table. “Nah, decided to stick it out for another year at least. Especially with Lanning coming in. Might not get on the field, but shit, might get some boost next year from at least practicing with a natty winner.”
Dewon nodded, scratching his chin. “And I ain’t want to go to the middle of nowhere to be real with you. Motherfucker talking about come out to Pullman, Washington or Huntington, West Virgina. Do they got niggas out there who don’t play football? I already gotta watch where I’m going here. I’m not trying to watch where I’m sleeping.”
“Facts,” Royce said, laughing as he leaned back on the couch. “I wouldn’t have done that shit in y’all situation either. My potna went to Nevada, that’s the kinda spot I’d be trying to land. Somewhere that got the interstate running through it.”
“What you think about Lanning?” Dewon asked Royce.
Royce shrugged as he pulled out his phone to respond to a text from Bree. “I ain’t really had no problem with Kelly, but that’s why they not letting me make decisions about the head coach. If the motherfucker can win a national championship at Oregon then he can win one here, right?”
“They wanted him last year at Alabama, too,” J.J. said. “Must like being down here in the South. Strange they ain’t have us meet with him, though.”
“Signing day is in like a week. My guy has to hit the ground running,” Dewon said.
“Gotta get guys out the portal, too,” Royce added.
The conversation trailed off from there. Royce leaning back on the worn couch, half-listening as J.J. scrolled through his phone, commenting on the comments Dewon had been leaving on some less-than-ideal looking girls on Instagram.
“Bro, this bitch looks like she eats sheet metal,” J.J. laughed, turning his phone around to show Royce the offender.
“Don’t put your dick in there. She definitely bite people,” Royce said to Dewon.
Dewon laughed, lounging in the recliner. “Man, she cool people. And she cook for a nigga. Everyone need love anyway.”
“Everyone need minerals but when they say iron they not talking about chewing on actual fucking iron,” J.J. said, shaking his head.
“They are, though,” Royce said plainly, raising an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Yeah, it is iron,” Dewon added, looking between Royce and J.J.
“Y’all fucking lying. It’s just like some mineral shit in food,” J.J. said, pointing at his phone as he said it as if it was making his point.
Royce sat up and leaned forward. “Yes, iron is a fucking mineral, nigga. Real fucking iron is what you’re eating.”
The three of them fell into silence for a moment before all bursting into laughter.
“Yo, dog. I ain’t come to this bitch to play school, but fuck y’all. I thought it was like potassium. Just some shit in bananas that you can’t see,” J.J. said, shaking his head as they laughed at his expense.
“Bruh,” Dewon said, dropping his head in his hands.
“Nah, y’all not about to tell me you can see that!”
Their banter was interrupted by a knock on the doorframe. A lanky guy stood in the hallway, his frame silhouetted by the dim light from the corridor.
“Yo, Chris!” Dewon called out. “What’s good, bro?”
Chris shifted his weight, adjusting the strap of his backpack. “Not much, just heading to my place. Saw y’all’s door open and thought I’d say hey.
J.J. leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Your girl got you on a curfew or something. It’s early as fuck, man.”
Chris chuckled. “Nah, just got some work to finish. You know how it is.”
“Fuck that shit. I’m glad I ended up with an easy schedule this semester,” Dewon said.
Royce sat up straighter on the couch, watching the exchange without saying anything. He studied Chris for a moment before leaning back again, his expression neutral. He didn’t need to say anything: the dynamic was interesting enough on its own.
“Alright, man,” J.J. said, giving him a nod. “Don’t let us keep you. Say what’s up to your girl for us.”
Chris nodded, glancing toward Royce briefly before stepping back into the hall. “I’ll catch y’all later.”
As Chris walked away, the sound of his footsteps fading. Royce gestured over his shoulder. “Who that?”
“Dude that lives down the hall. Cool dude even though he a little quiet on some shit,” Dewon said.
J.J. glanced at the door for a moment, as if listening for footsteps before turning back to Royce. “His girl that chick you used to always be talking to when you lived here. Josefina or whatever the fuck her name is.”
Royce sat forward, pointing over his shoulder. “That mouse looking ass motherfucker pulled that? Stop it, bruh. That dude look like he on some Michael Sam shit. Or one of them they-them ass motherfuckers.”
“Them eclectic bitches like dudes like that. Some of them want ‘em in touch with their softer side. It’s cool, ain’t nobody want they ‘earthy’ asses anyway,” Dewon said, laughing.
“No, nigga. They don’t want you,” Royce said, shaking his head, causing J.J. to laugh.
The conversation shifted back to football, classes and what J.J. or Dewon was teasing the other about. Royce leaned back on the couch, shaking the curiosity of what anyone would see in a guy like him and going back to exchanging texts with Bree to set something up for later.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 8025
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
This dude is absolutely relentless
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17041
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Fraying Lines
The sun dipped lower in the sky as Arianna unlocked the front door to the apartment complex, Jonah following close behind with his usual easy gait. Her backpack hung loosely from one shoulder, her keys jingling in her hand. The weight of the day lingered in her posture, the unspoken stress of balancing classes, life, and everything else gnawing at the edges of her mind.
When they turned the corner into the parking lot, Arianna’s steps faltered. She recognized the car immediately, the dull silver paint catching the faint glow of the streetlights. Her jaw tightened, her fingers curling into a fist around her keys.
Jonah noticed the change in her demeanor instantly. “Isn’t that Deshawn’s car?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
“Yeah,” Arianna replied, her tone clipped. She exhaled sharply, adjusting the strap of her backpack. “I guess she took that nigga back.”
Jonah frowned, glancing at her sideways. “I thought Royce took care of that.”
Arianna huffed a humorless laugh. “Royce handled it as much as Royce was ever going to handle it. Ain’t much he can do if Toni’s ass turns around and tells the motherfucker that everything cool.”
Jonah didn’t respond immediately, his brows furrowing as they approached the apartment. He pushed the door open for her, and they stepped inside, the faint hum of the television drifting down the hall.
“Guess I’ll be in your room,” Jonah said, sensing the brewing tension. He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly before heading toward her door.
Arianna nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. She strode toward Toni’s room, her steps brisk and deliberate. Her stomach twisted with frustration and unease, but she wasn’t about to back down now.
The door to Toni’s room was slightly ajar, and Arianna nudged it open with the back of her hand. The sight before her made her stop in her tracks. Toni and Deshawn were sprawled across the bed, Deshawn’s arm slung lazily over Toni’s shoulder as she rested her head on his chest. The faint scent of his cologne hung in the air, suffocating and invasive.
“Fuck is that nigga doing in here?” Arianna asked sharply, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.
Toni sat up slightly, her expression caught somewhere between defiance and weariness. “What does it fucking look like, Arianna? He’s here with me.”
Arianna’s glare darted to Deshawn, who barely moved, his eyes half-lidded in an infuriatingly smug way. “He got to go. Now.”
Toni crossed her arms, leaning back against the headboard. “This is my shit, too. I can have whoever I want in here just like you bring whoever the fuck you want to this bitch.”
“This ain’t about who apartment it is,” Arianna snapped, her voice rising. “You forget what that nigga did already? He drop some dick off on you and everything alright? What you waiting for? His ass to break your shit?”
Deshawn finally stirred, sitting up with a slow smirk. “You gotta relax, man. I ain’t here to cause no trouble. I’m just hanging out with my girl.”
“Boy, ain’t nobody talking to you,” Arianna shot back, her eyes narrowing. She turned her attention back to Toni. “Toni, I’m fucking serious. You start letting him back in now and you know he’s gonna be bouncing your head off the floor soon.”
Toni’s face flushed with anger. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. If I wanted your advice, I would’ve asked for it. Stop trying to fix every-god damn-thing.”
Arianna blinked, taken aback by the venom in Toni’s voice. “I ain’t trying to fix nobody, Toni. I’m trying to make sure you straight.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Toni said, her voice cracking slightly. “Just stay the fuck out of it.”
The words stung more than Arianna cared to admit. She opened her mouth to argue further but stopped herself, the weight of the moment settling heavily in her chest. Without another word, she turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Back in her own room, Arianna found Jonah lying on her bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when she walked in, his face softening with concern. “You good?”
She shook her head, dropping her bag on the floor and sinking into her desk chair. “No. Fuck.”
Jonah sat up, watching her carefully. “You wanna talk about it?”
“No,” she said curtly, pulling her laptop out of her bag and opening it. Her fingers moved briskly over the keys as she navigated to a job search website.
Jonah frowned, leaning forward. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a job,” Arianna said, her tone clipped. “I need to get the fuck out of here.”
“Ari,” Jonah began, but she cut him off with a sharp look.
“I ain’t living like this, Jonah. I’m not trying to be the one cleaning up after everyone’s shit when they can’t get out of their own way. I need my own shit, my own life.”
He sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “Alright. If that’s what you need.”
“It is,” she said firmly, her eyes fixed on the screen. But as she typed, the weight of everything—the argument, the disappointment, the feeling of being trapped—pressed down on her, threatening to crush her resolve.
~~~~~~~~~~
The morning air was thick with humidity as Mike stood on the cracked pavement outside Treg’s house, a squat, weathered structure tucked into the shadows of downtown Houma. The neighborhood was quiet except for the occasional bark of a distant dog or the rumble of a car engine passing by. Mike shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes darting toward the door. He hated being here, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.
The door creaked open, and Treg appeared, his ever-present smirk widening when he saw Mike. “There he go,” Treg said, stepping out and lighting a cigarette. He gestured for Mike to follow him around the side of the house.
Mike’s stomach churned as they moved to the backyard, where Treg reached into a beat-up duffel bag and pulled out a smaller, tightly wrapped package. He tossed it to Mike, who caught it awkwardly, the weight of it unfamiliar in his hands.
“Same deal as last time,” Treg said, exhaling a plume of smoke. Then, with a sly grin, he held out a wad of cash. “Except now, you get a little bit of munyun to put in your pocket.”
Mike stared at the money, his throat tightening. “I don’t know, man…”
“Don’t start that shit,” Treg interrupted, his tone hardening. “You wanna eat, don’t you? You wanna take care of your girl, get her some nice shit so some other nigga don’t come snatch her young ass up? You ain’t trying to be no broke nigga all your life, huh? This is how you do it.”
The words hit Mike like a gut punch. He looked down at the cash, his fingers twitching. It wasn’t like he had any other options. Reluctantly, he took the money and stuffed it into his pocket, his jaw clenched. “Yeah. Alright.”
Treg chuckled, patting Mike on the shoulder. “Good man. And don’t be fucking late this time.”
Mike didn’t respond, turning on his heel and walking back toward the street. The cash felt like a weight in his pocket, heavier than the package he carried. He made a silent vow to himself: he wouldn’t go to Reg this time. He’d find someone else. Someone who didn’t make him feel like he was betraying himself.
…
At school later that day, Mike was surrounded by the usual crowd—Laila and a couple of their friends, laughing and chatting near the bleachers during lunch. The conversation was light, drifting between classes, music, and plans for the weekend. Mike leaned against the fence, the cash in his pocket burning a hole in his mind.
“So,” Mike said casually, looking at Laila, “you trying to, you know, actually go on a date or whatever this weekend? Somewhere nice, though. I’m talking fancy-fancy. Somewhere like that C’est Bon place?”
Laila raised an eyebrow, a skeptical smile playing on her lips. “Fancy, huh? Where’d you get that kind of money?”
Mike shrugged, forcing a grin. “You know me. Always finding a way.”
Her smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She didn’t press the issue, but Mike could feel her watching him for the rest of the lunch period.
…
Later, when they were alone, Laila cornered him in the hallway near a staircase. Her arms were crossed, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. “Alright. You got two minutes to tell me what’s going on. When could you afford to take me out?”
He leaned against the wall, feigning nonchalance. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Where’s the money coming from? And don’t give me that ‘always finding a way’ crap.”
Mike hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Why does it matter? I’m just trying to do some nice shit for you.”
“It matters because I know you, and I know when you’re hiding something,” Laila shot back, stepping closer. “Tell me the truth.”
Mike looked away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me,” she challenged.
The tension between them crackled like static electricity. Mike finally met her gaze, his expression a mix of anger and guilt. “I’m doing what I have to do. That’s all. Just take the free meal and we can go have a good time.”
Laila’s eyes widened as understanding dawned on her. “Mike… you’re not—”
“Don’t,” he cut her off, his voice rising. “Don’t try to tell me I don’t have to do it because I do. You think I wanna be doing this? You think I got a choice?”
“You always have a choice!” she countered, her voice trembling. “This isn’t you, Mike. It doesn’t have to be.”
“Well, maybe it is now,” he said bitterly, pushing off the wall. “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what I’m dealing with.”
Laila stepped back, her face a mix of hurt and anger. “I do know because I’ve been here with you the whole time. You’re better than this. You need to listen to me and let me help you.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge, but Mike didn’t respond. He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the empty hallway.
The sun dipped lower in the sky as Arianna unlocked the front door to the apartment complex, Jonah following close behind with his usual easy gait. Her backpack hung loosely from one shoulder, her keys jingling in her hand. The weight of the day lingered in her posture, the unspoken stress of balancing classes, life, and everything else gnawing at the edges of her mind.
When they turned the corner into the parking lot, Arianna’s steps faltered. She recognized the car immediately, the dull silver paint catching the faint glow of the streetlights. Her jaw tightened, her fingers curling into a fist around her keys.
Jonah noticed the change in her demeanor instantly. “Isn’t that Deshawn’s car?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
“Yeah,” Arianna replied, her tone clipped. She exhaled sharply, adjusting the strap of her backpack. “I guess she took that nigga back.”
Jonah frowned, glancing at her sideways. “I thought Royce took care of that.”
Arianna huffed a humorless laugh. “Royce handled it as much as Royce was ever going to handle it. Ain’t much he can do if Toni’s ass turns around and tells the motherfucker that everything cool.”
Jonah didn’t respond immediately, his brows furrowing as they approached the apartment. He pushed the door open for her, and they stepped inside, the faint hum of the television drifting down the hall.
“Guess I’ll be in your room,” Jonah said, sensing the brewing tension. He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly before heading toward her door.
Arianna nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. She strode toward Toni’s room, her steps brisk and deliberate. Her stomach twisted with frustration and unease, but she wasn’t about to back down now.
The door to Toni’s room was slightly ajar, and Arianna nudged it open with the back of her hand. The sight before her made her stop in her tracks. Toni and Deshawn were sprawled across the bed, Deshawn’s arm slung lazily over Toni’s shoulder as she rested her head on his chest. The faint scent of his cologne hung in the air, suffocating and invasive.
“Fuck is that nigga doing in here?” Arianna asked sharply, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.
Toni sat up slightly, her expression caught somewhere between defiance and weariness. “What does it fucking look like, Arianna? He’s here with me.”
Arianna’s glare darted to Deshawn, who barely moved, his eyes half-lidded in an infuriatingly smug way. “He got to go. Now.”
Toni crossed her arms, leaning back against the headboard. “This is my shit, too. I can have whoever I want in here just like you bring whoever the fuck you want to this bitch.”
“This ain’t about who apartment it is,” Arianna snapped, her voice rising. “You forget what that nigga did already? He drop some dick off on you and everything alright? What you waiting for? His ass to break your shit?”
Deshawn finally stirred, sitting up with a slow smirk. “You gotta relax, man. I ain’t here to cause no trouble. I’m just hanging out with my girl.”
“Boy, ain’t nobody talking to you,” Arianna shot back, her eyes narrowing. She turned her attention back to Toni. “Toni, I’m fucking serious. You start letting him back in now and you know he’s gonna be bouncing your head off the floor soon.”
Toni’s face flushed with anger. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. If I wanted your advice, I would’ve asked for it. Stop trying to fix every-god damn-thing.”
Arianna blinked, taken aback by the venom in Toni’s voice. “I ain’t trying to fix nobody, Toni. I’m trying to make sure you straight.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Toni said, her voice cracking slightly. “Just stay the fuck out of it.”
The words stung more than Arianna cared to admit. She opened her mouth to argue further but stopped herself, the weight of the moment settling heavily in her chest. Without another word, she turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Back in her own room, Arianna found Jonah lying on her bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when she walked in, his face softening with concern. “You good?”
She shook her head, dropping her bag on the floor and sinking into her desk chair. “No. Fuck.”
Jonah sat up, watching her carefully. “You wanna talk about it?”
“No,” she said curtly, pulling her laptop out of her bag and opening it. Her fingers moved briskly over the keys as she navigated to a job search website.
Jonah frowned, leaning forward. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a job,” Arianna said, her tone clipped. “I need to get the fuck out of here.”
“Ari,” Jonah began, but she cut him off with a sharp look.
“I ain’t living like this, Jonah. I’m not trying to be the one cleaning up after everyone’s shit when they can’t get out of their own way. I need my own shit, my own life.”
He sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “Alright. If that’s what you need.”
“It is,” she said firmly, her eyes fixed on the screen. But as she typed, the weight of everything—the argument, the disappointment, the feeling of being trapped—pressed down on her, threatening to crush her resolve.
~~~~~~~~~~
The morning air was thick with humidity as Mike stood on the cracked pavement outside Treg’s house, a squat, weathered structure tucked into the shadows of downtown Houma. The neighborhood was quiet except for the occasional bark of a distant dog or the rumble of a car engine passing by. Mike shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes darting toward the door. He hated being here, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.
The door creaked open, and Treg appeared, his ever-present smirk widening when he saw Mike. “There he go,” Treg said, stepping out and lighting a cigarette. He gestured for Mike to follow him around the side of the house.
Mike’s stomach churned as they moved to the backyard, where Treg reached into a beat-up duffel bag and pulled out a smaller, tightly wrapped package. He tossed it to Mike, who caught it awkwardly, the weight of it unfamiliar in his hands.
“Same deal as last time,” Treg said, exhaling a plume of smoke. Then, with a sly grin, he held out a wad of cash. “Except now, you get a little bit of munyun to put in your pocket.”
Mike stared at the money, his throat tightening. “I don’t know, man…”
“Don’t start that shit,” Treg interrupted, his tone hardening. “You wanna eat, don’t you? You wanna take care of your girl, get her some nice shit so some other nigga don’t come snatch her young ass up? You ain’t trying to be no broke nigga all your life, huh? This is how you do it.”
The words hit Mike like a gut punch. He looked down at the cash, his fingers twitching. It wasn’t like he had any other options. Reluctantly, he took the money and stuffed it into his pocket, his jaw clenched. “Yeah. Alright.”
Treg chuckled, patting Mike on the shoulder. “Good man. And don’t be fucking late this time.”
Mike didn’t respond, turning on his heel and walking back toward the street. The cash felt like a weight in his pocket, heavier than the package he carried. He made a silent vow to himself: he wouldn’t go to Reg this time. He’d find someone else. Someone who didn’t make him feel like he was betraying himself.
…
At school later that day, Mike was surrounded by the usual crowd—Laila and a couple of their friends, laughing and chatting near the bleachers during lunch. The conversation was light, drifting between classes, music, and plans for the weekend. Mike leaned against the fence, the cash in his pocket burning a hole in his mind.
“So,” Mike said casually, looking at Laila, “you trying to, you know, actually go on a date or whatever this weekend? Somewhere nice, though. I’m talking fancy-fancy. Somewhere like that C’est Bon place?”
Laila raised an eyebrow, a skeptical smile playing on her lips. “Fancy, huh? Where’d you get that kind of money?”
Mike shrugged, forcing a grin. “You know me. Always finding a way.”
Her smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She didn’t press the issue, but Mike could feel her watching him for the rest of the lunch period.
…
Later, when they were alone, Laila cornered him in the hallway near a staircase. Her arms were crossed, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. “Alright. You got two minutes to tell me what’s going on. When could you afford to take me out?”
He leaned against the wall, feigning nonchalance. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Where’s the money coming from? And don’t give me that ‘always finding a way’ crap.”
Mike hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Why does it matter? I’m just trying to do some nice shit for you.”
“It matters because I know you, and I know when you’re hiding something,” Laila shot back, stepping closer. “Tell me the truth.”
Mike looked away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me,” she challenged.
The tension between them crackled like static electricity. Mike finally met her gaze, his expression a mix of anger and guilt. “I’m doing what I have to do. That’s all. Just take the free meal and we can go have a good time.”
Laila’s eyes widened as understanding dawned on her. “Mike… you’re not—”
“Don’t,” he cut her off, his voice rising. “Don’t try to tell me I don’t have to do it because I do. You think I wanna be doing this? You think I got a choice?”
“You always have a choice!” she countered, her voice trembling. “This isn’t you, Mike. It doesn’t have to be.”
“Well, maybe it is now,” he said bitterly, pushing off the wall. “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what I’m dealing with.”
Laila stepped back, her face a mix of hurt and anger. “I do know because I’ve been here with you the whole time. You’re better than this. You need to listen to me and let me help you.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge, but Mike didn’t respond. He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the empty hallway.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 8025
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Oh man.. he about to be a chalked outline huh
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17041
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47