BBBBBBBBBLLLLLLLL KIZZZZY!
They tried to shoot him, how is he not a victim lmaoCaptain Canada wrote: ↑26 Sep 2024, 08:58Boy really a permanent victim. I know you going to conveniently find that strap at the worst possible moment too
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 7, Episode 5
Lana twirled her fork in the pile of linguini, watching the noodles wrap around the tines like blonde strands of hair. Across the table, Sharon sipped her iced tea, eyeing her friend with a mixture of concern and curiosity. The bustling café around them faded into a dull hum as Lana's mind drifted to her plans for later that day.
"So, you're really thinking about dropping out?" Sharon's voice cut through Lana's reverie, sharp as the knife beside her plate.
Lana looked up, meeting her roommate's gaze. "It’s just a thought," she admitted, her voice soft but tinged with an undercurrent of excitement. "You know how I've always talked about writing and traveling, but never had the time?"
Sharon nodded, her brow furrowing. "Yeah, but I didn't realize it was such a big deal to you. I mean, we're so close to finishing. I know it hasn’t been the easiest of times for either of us. I just feel like ever since you started seeing Richie…”
The mention of his name sent a flutter through Lana's chest. She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, buying time before responding. "It's not because of him, exactly. But being at his place, away from campus... it's given me space to think, to really focus on what I want."
Sharon leaned forward, her lunch forgotten. "Lana, I'm worried about you. You've been spending every night at his apartment, and now you're talking about dropping out? Don't you think you're moving a little fast?"
Lana's fingers tightened around her fork, "I know it seems sudden," she began, her voice gaining strength. "But this isn’t because of Richie. I just am now finally seeing the life that actual want, doing things that I actually want to do.”
The clatter of dishes and murmur of conversation swelled around them as Lana tried to find the words to make her friend understand. She had spent the previous three and half years at NYU learning about herself, trying to find herself. She found it instantly with Richie.
Sharon reached across the table, her hand covering Lana's. "I just don't want you to throw away everything you've worked for," she said softly. "College, your future career... that's important too."
Lana met her friend's eyes, seeing the genuine care there. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her decision settling around her shoulders. "I know," she replied. "And I appreciate you looking out for me. But I can always go back to school, I can always finish my degree. It’s not like it resets. A ton of Richie’s friends have done that…”
Lana's words trailed off as her eyes caught movement on the small TV mounted in the corner of the café. The familiar jingle of a breaking news alert cut through the ambient chatter, drawing both women's attention.
The screen flickered to life with a stern-faced news anchor, her crimson blazer a stark contrast to the somber expression she wore. "An update on the arrest of star football player Kam Seidu-Harris," she announced, her voice carrying an undercurrent of urgency.
Lana’s eyes widened as the anchor continued, "The running back for the University of Kentucky arrested on charges of assault and battery, has been released from county jail on bail."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis as Lana stared at the screen, her mouth agape. Her mind reeled, trying to process the information that had just been thrust upon her.
"Oh my God," Sharon whispered, her voice barely audible over the sudden pounding in Lana's ears. "Lana, did you know about this?"
Lana shook her head, unable to tear her gaze from the screen. Kam's face, a face she'd once known as well as her own, now seemed like that of a stranger. The strong jaw she'd traced with her fingertips countless times was now clenched in barely concealed fear. His eyes, which had once looked at her with such warmth, now seemed cold and distant.
…
Inside the precinct, the same officers who had arrested Kam sat across from him and Cole in a stark interrogation room. Detective Alderman leaned forward, his tone and demeanor altered by the presence of a lawyer now in the room. "Mr. Seidu-Harris, we appreciate you coming in."
Cole interjected smoothly, his voice carrying the polished edge of years of courtroom experience. "Before my client says anything further, I'd like to remind you that Kam's statement has remained consistent from the moment of his arrest. In fact," he paused, pulling out a thick folder from his briefcase, "I have here transcripts of every interview conducted thus far."
Officer Turk shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "We understand that, Mr. Gabriel, but—"
"Furthermore," Cole continued, his tone sharpening, "Kam's account aligns perfectly with the video evidence recovered from the scene. I assume you've had ample time to review the footage?"
Detective Alderman's jaw tightened. "We have, but—"
Cole cut him off again, his voice rising. "Then I fail to see why we're here. My client has cooperated fully, despite the egregious mishandling of his arrest. Do you have any idea the damage you've caused to Kam's reputation? His future earning potential as a star athlete?"
Kam sat silently, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. It was playing out exactly how Cole and his team had prepped him.
"Now, gentlemen," Cole continued, leaning forward with a predatory gleam in his eye, "I think it's time we discuss the very real possibility of a lawsuit against your department. False arrest, defamation of character—the list goes on. I'm sure the media would have a field day with this story."
The officers exchanged worried glances, the weight of Cole's threats hanging heavy in the air. Detective Alderman cleared his throat, clearly trying to regain control of the situation. "Mr. Gabriel, we're simply trying to ensure we have all the facts straight."
"The facts have been straight from the beginning," Cole retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. "Kam was a victim, is a victim. You couldn’t see that, you could only see a criminal, for whatever those reasons might be and we’ll have plenty of time to examine those at a later date. My client’s life was in danger that night, it was in danger when you put him in county jail with trumped up charges for the sole purpose of putting him in danger and he continues to be in danger with his travel restrictions that force him to be in this city where an attempt on his life was just executed and by the grace of God failed.”
…
The heavy door slammed shut behind Cole and Kam, leaving Detective Alderman and Officer Turk alone in the interrogation room. The silence that followed was thick with tension, broken only by the distant hum of fluorescent lights and the muffled sounds of the precinct beyond.
Detective Alderman slammed his fist on the table, causing the metal surface to rattle. "Damn it!" he growled, his face flushed with anger. "You didn’t tell me it was a fucking city lawyer."
Officer Turk leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his thinning hair. "How the fuck was I supposed to know? He just looked like a regular lawyer to me."
The detective stood up abruptly, pacing the small room like a caged animal. His shoes squeaked against the linoleum floor with each turn, a grating counterpoint to the storm of thoughts whirling in his mind. "We need to think this through," he muttered. "The way he’s talking, there's going to be some fucking talking head on television spouting off about police brutality and racial profiling."
Turk nodded glumly, his eyes fixed on a water stain on the ceiling. "I know you like the motherfucker for the shooting but come on, man, this is going to look bad on us; both of us. Like we’re some fucking Keystone cops."
Alderman stopped his pacing, bracing his hands on the back of a chair. The metal creaked under his grip as he leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "You and I both know there's more to this story. You don’t hire a lawyer with that expensive fucking suit if you’re just a victim."
"Our gut isn't gonna hold up in court," Turk replied, his tone resigned. "And it sure as hell isn't gonna stand up to that shark of a lawyer or the court of public opinion."
The detective's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. He collapsed into the chair, the metal legs scraping against the floor. "I’m not letting that motherfucker walk."
Turk leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Look, maybe we need to play the long game here. Drop the charges for now, let the media frenzy die down. We can keep digging, quietly. If there's something to find, we'll find it."
Alderman nodded slowly, his mind already racing with possibilities. "Yeah... yeah, that could work. We'll tell the DA we're continuing the investigation, but we're dropping the charges for now due to insufficient evidence."
…
The early evening sun set across the cracked pavement of the basketball court, its golden light softening the harsh edges of the surrounding apartment buildings. A group of kids, ranging from pre-teens to older teenagers, huddled in a tight circle near the rusted chain-link fence. Their voices were low, punctuated by occasional bursts of nervous laughter and hushed exclamations.
Tyson, a lanky thirteen-year-old with nappy locks and eyes that seemed too old for his face, stood at the center of the group. His friends leaned in, their expressions a mix of fascination and apprehension. The air around them crackled with a palpable tension, as if they all knew they were crossing some invisible line.
"Don’t go fucking telling anyone," Tyson whispered, his eyes darting around the empty court. "I mean it. Not your mommas, not your big brothers, nobody."
The others nodded solemnly, their curiosity outweighing any misgivings they might have had. The youngest of the group at barely eleven, bounced on the balls of his feet, his sneakers scuffing against the concrete.
"Come on, Ty," he urged, his voice a mix of excitement and impatience. "What you got?"
Tyson's hand disappeared into the waistband of his baggy jeans, emerging a moment later with something wrapped in a faded bandana. The fabric fell away, revealing a dull metal object that caught the fading sunlight.
A collective gasp rippled through the group. Some of the kids took an involuntary step back, while others leaned in closer, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.
"That shit real?" A stocky fourteen-year-old left the question hanging in the air.
Tyson nodded, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. "Hell yeah, nigga, it’s real."
The gun lay heavy in Tyson's palm, its presence transforming the familiar basketball court into something alien and dangerous. It was smaller than some of them had imagined, but no less intimidating for its size.
"Where'd you get it?" asked the only girl of the group, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tyson shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite the tremor in his hands. "Found it.”
The kids exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. They all knew that 'found' could mean a lot of things in their neighborhood.
"It got bullets in there?" another asked, his eyes never leaving the weapon.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Kam just tossed the blick into a random yard? That boy deserve to go to jail for that goofiness. I know they got rivers all around that bitch.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 7, Episode 6
Detective Alderman shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. The district attorney's office felt oppressively small, the walls lined with law books and framed diplomas seeming to close in around them. Beside him, Officer Turk sat rigid, his jaw clenched tight.
District Attorney Marissa Chen paced behind her massive oak desk, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. The sound echoed in the tense silence, each step like a hammer fall.
"Let me get this straight," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "You rushed for me to charge him only to turn around, what, two days later, and ask me to drop them?”
Alderman cleared his throat. "We were hoping that a few days inside would, perhaps, change his statement. It didn’t and he lawyered up, a city lawyer at that, and the way its looking, ma'am, we don't have enough evidence to make the charges stick. The witness statements are contradictory, and the ballistics report is inconclusive."
Chen stopped pacing, fixing them with a glare that could have melted steel. "Inconclusive? I thought you felt good about him.”
Officer Turk spoke up, his voice steady despite the sweat beading on his forehead. "We did, and we still do. It’s just that nobody can say for certain that they saw Seidu-Harris fire the shots. And we haven't been able to locate the weapon."
The district attorney's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Of course you can't find the weapon. I'm sure it's at the bottom of the nearest river by now."
She moved around the desk, perching on the edge directly in front of the two officers. The morning sunlight streaming through the window behind her cast her face in shadow, making her expression unreadable.
"Gentlemen," she said, her tone deceptively calm, "do you have any idea what kind of pressure I'm under here? We have a fucking shooting at one of our most popular nights clubs and a high-profile athlete at the center of it all. The media is having a field day. The governor is breathing down my neck. And you want me to just... let it go?"
Alderman leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. "We understand the pressure, ma'am. But without solid evidence, we risk losing the case entirely. It could be seen as a witch hunt, targeting him because of his status."
Chen's eyes narrowed. "A witch hunt? Is that what you think this is, Detective? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like two of my best officers are trying to protect a star athlete at the expense of justice."
The accusation hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Turk opened his mouth to protest, but Chen held up a hand, silencing him.
"Let me be very clear," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "If I don't get a collar on this shooting, heads will fucking roll.”
…
Kam's phone buzzed angrily in his hand, his father's name flashing on the screen like a warning sign. He took a deep breath, steeling himself before answering. The news of his arrest had spread like wildfire, one phone call after another.
"Hey, Dad," Kam said, trying to keep his voice steady.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Kwame's voice boomed through the speaker, causing Kam to wince. "You got fucking arrested?!”
He could picture his father's face, brows furrowed in disappointment, worry lines deepening around his eyes.
"It’s not even like that. It was all a big misunderstanding," Kam pleaded, his free hand gesturing uselessly in the air.
"A misunderstanding? You were in fucking jail, man!"
Kam sank onto his couch, "I know, I know. But it was just a mistake. The cops thought... it doesn't matter. They let me go, no charges."
Kwame's heavy sigh crackled through the phone. "You should have called me. You know how scary it is to find out your son got arrested from the fucking TV?"
“I just didn’t want to worry you since I knew it’d all blow over.”
“You’re good?”
Kam paused, the words landing heavier than he expected, “Yeah, I’m straight.”
“I got a fight I’m cornering this week but I’ll be up there next week.”
The thought of his father hovering over him made Kam's stomach churn. "No, Dad, that's not necessary. I mean, I actually meant to talk to you about that. Mark and them were thinking it’d be best if I go someplace for a while. The school’s people are probably going to take back the apartment by the end of the week and going to Jersey just seems…”
“Yeah, yeah, just let me know when,” Kwame said excitedly, “We got plenty of space for you, man.”
"Yes, sir," Kam replied, relief washing over him.
As Kam ended the call, he noticed movement in his peripheral vision. Yassy stood in the doorway of his bedroom, her hair tousled from sleep, eyes wide with a mixture of concern and hurt.
"You’re going to Tampa?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He hadn't meant for her to overhear, hadn't wanted to have this conversation just yet. The weight of the past few days pressed down on him, making his shoulders slump.
"Yeah," he said, running a hand over his face. "Don’t really have a choice, really.”
Yassy took a step into the room, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She'd been a constant presence since his arrest, a pillar of support when everything else seemed to be crumbling around him. Now, looking at her, Kam felt a pang of guilt.
"When were you going to tell me?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. The oversized t-shirt she wore - one of his - made her look small, vulnerable.
Kam sighed, "I was going to. I just... I needed to figure things out first."
"Figure things out?" Yassy's voice rose slightly. "Kam, I've been here with you through all of this. I thought we were in this together."
The hurt in her eyes was like a physical blow. Kam stood, wanting to close the distance between them, but Yassy took a step back.
"We are," he insisted. "But like, I’m not trying to fucking drag you into this shit with me either.”
Yassy shook her head, her curls bouncing with the movement. "And you couldn't talk to me about it? You just decided?"
The room felt smaller suddenly, the air thick with unspoken words.
"I'm sorry," Kam said, his voice low. "I didn't mean to shut you out. I just... I really want to fucking handle this shit and put it behind me and I don’t really know how but…”
Yassy's expression softened slightly, but the hurt remained. "I could have helped you figure it out. That's what I've been trying to do but you don’t talk to me, not really.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“You haven’t even told me what happened,” she took a step towards him, “What really happened.”
Kam's jaw clenched, his eyes darting away from Yassy's intense gaze. The memory of that night flashed through his mind, the deafening crack of gunshots. He shook his head, trying to dispel the images.
"It's not a big deal," he muttered, moving towards the kitchen to put some distance between them. "Just some bullshit that got out of hand."
Yassy followed him, her bare feet padding softly on the linoleum. "Not a big deal? Kam, someone tried to shoot you. Your own teammate. That's not just some bullshit."
The refrigerator hummed in the silence as Kam opened it, staring blankly at its contents. The cool air washed over him, a stark contrast to the heat rising in his cheeks.
"Look," he said, grabbing a bottle of water and turning to face her, "It was just a stupid fight in the locker room. Things got heated, words were said. You know how it is."
Yassy leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. "No, I don't know how it is. That's why I'm asking you to explain it to me."
Kam twisted the cap off the water bottle, the plastic cracking under his grip. He took a long drink, buying time, feeling Yassy's eyes on him the whole time.
"Motherfuckers still mad about the shit from the beginning of the year," he finally said, his voice low. "Me still getting all the carries, still being that guy. I guess it just ate him up to the point that his homeboys gassed him up to do some dumb shit and he actually followed through with it.”
He paused, the real reason circling in his mind. He hadn’t spoken to Ashley since that night, typing up a text a few times but deciding against it, weary it might show up in court at some point if it ever went to trial.
Yassy's expression softened slightly. "But that doesn't explain why he'd try to shoot you. There has to be more to it."
Kam's fingers tightened around the water bottle, the plastic crinkling. "Niggas do nigga shit and do dumb shit. You can’t be trying to make fucking sense of it.”
"So who shot them?" she challenged, taking a step closer to him.
The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in.
"I don’t know," he shrugged, “It was a bunch of getting money niggas in there having a fucking time, maybe one of them saw the hammer and just started blasting at them, I don’t know.”
“I’m not a fucking idiot,” she crossed her arms, “I know you carry and I haven’t seen that gun since I’ve been here.”
“What the fuck did niggas want me to do?” he snapped angrily, “Just get fucking smoked in there?”
Yassy's eyes widened, but she remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
"The motherfucker should have just stayed on their side," Kam said, his words tumbling out in a rush. "One second we're arguing, the next he's pulling out a gun. What I’m supposed to do, just stand there and get lit up? Fucking bleed out on some dirty floors?”
He closed his eyes, the memory washing over him in vivid detail.
"I didn't mean to kill him, I swear. I was just trying to protect myself."
Kam's voice broke as he paced the kitchen. "I get it, don’t nobody want to sleep next to somebody that killed someone," he whispered, unable to meet Yassy's gaze, “I’ve seen how you look at me now.”
He slid to the floor, placing his back against the cabinet.
Yassy stood still for a moment, processing the information. Then, without a word, she crossed the kitchen and sat down next to Kam, her shoulder pressed against his.
"Hey," she said softly, reaching out to take his hand. "Look at me."
Reluctantly, Kam raised his eyes to meet hers.
"You're not a killer," Yassy said firmly. "You defended yourself. He was going to shoot you, Kam. You didn't have a choice."
Kam shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. "Don’t nobody gonna care about that shit."
Yassy squeezed his hand, her touch grounding him. "I can't imagine what you're going through," she said. "But you can't blame yourself for this. You were protecting yourself. Anyone in that situation would have done the same thing."
She reached up, gently wiping a tear from his cheek. "This doesn't change who you are, Kam. You're still the same person I fell in love with. The same person who works his ass off, who takes care of me, who makes me laugh even on my worst days."
…
The veteran detective leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes as the security footage played on the screen before him.
"There," Officer Turk said, pointing at the screen. "That's him entering for the second time."
Alderman leaned forward, squinting at the image. Kam's figure was unmistakable, his frame and distinctive hair easily identifiable even in the low-quality footage. He watched as Kam paused at the entrance, exchanging nods with the bouncer before disappearing inside.
"He didn’t pat him down the second time either," Turk noted, jotting it down in his notebook. "That's about twenty minutes before the shooting."
Alderman nodded, his mind racing. "And we know he came out to his car before this, right?"
"Yeah," Turk confirmed, rewinding the footage. "Here, at 1:37. He comes out, goes to his car for about three minutes, then heads back in."
They watched in silence as the scene played out. Kam emerged from the club, his body language tense. He moved quickly to his car, a sleek black Dodge Charger parked in the VIP section. The camera angle didn't provide a clear view of what he did at the vehicle, but when he re-emerged, his gait seemed different.
"You think that's when he got the gun?" Turk asked, voicing the thought they both shared.
Alderman sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "I know for a fact he did. But we can't prove it from this footage alone."
They fast-forwarded through the next twenty minutes of footage, watching as the nightlife ebbed and flowed outside the club. At 2:03 AM, chaos erupted. The club doors burst open, people streaming out in a panic.
"There," Alderman pointed, his finger tracing Kam's path as he emerged from the crowd. Unlike the panicked patrons around him, Kam moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the parking lot as he made his way to his car.
They watched as Kam reached his vehicle, quickly unlocking it and sliding into the driver's seat. Right behind him, another figure appeared, running towards the car. The camera caught a clear shot of his face as he glanced over his shoulder.
"That's Marlon," Turk said, his voice tight with excitement. "And then they drive off.”
“I want another crack at that motherfucker,” Alderman sipped his lukewarm coffee, spitting the contents back into the cup.
“I don’t think he’ll come back in,” Turk scoffed, “Don’t make a difference anyway with that lawyer.”
“Not fucking Kam, Marlon. We need to start sweating that fat fuck, he knows something.”
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Trying to throw us off with Marlon. Yassy gonna talk on the stand. 100 years for Kam.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 4997
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Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Oh damn, this man on his Ray Lewis shit huh
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 7, Episode 7
Kam slumped on the edge of the stiff hotel bed, his gaze fixed on the generic landscape print hanging crookedly on the wall. The room smelled faintly of bleach and stale cigarettes, a far cry from the comfortable apartment he'd called home just days ago. Now, that space felt like a distant memory, stripped away along with his scholarship and his future.
A gentle knock at the door roused him from his brooding. Kam hesitated, then shuffled across the thin carpet to answer it.
"Hey, man," Mark said softly, his eyes scanning Kam's disheveled appearance, “You never know when you’re going to be in front of the cameras again, keep it clean.”
Kam nodded wordlessly and stepped aside. Mark entered, carrying a polished wooden box under his arm. The fluorescent light from the hallway caught the edge of something metallic inside before Kam closed the door, plunging the room back into shadow.
"The good people from Home Depot shipped this over," Mark said, setting the box on the small desk by the window. He opened it carefully, revealing the gleaming Doak Walker Award trophy nestled in velvet. "I was going to just have them send it down to Tampa but figured you might want to see it first.”
Kam stared at the trophy, its surface reflecting the muted glow of the bedside lamp. Football was the last thing on his mind.
"Thanks," Kam mumbled, his voice hoarse from disuse, “You did what I asked you to do?”
“I still don’t think it was a good idea,” Mark sighed, “But yeah, I gave his nephew a couple hundred dollars to put on his books. What do you even know about this guy?”
“He kept my head on my shoulder,” Kam scoffed.
“It could be seen as something else,” Mark warned him, “At least let me run background on this guy. Do you remember his last name?”
“Just Ali,” Kam answered, “Besides, ain’t like he involved anyway. I just wanted to thank him for looking out, that’s all.”
Mark shrugged, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, “I met with the coaches and some of the administration this morning.”
Kam's head snapped up, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest despite his best efforts to quash it. But Mark's expression, a mixture of frustration and resignation, quickly extinguished that spark.
“It’s not happening, Kam,” Mark continued, “Even with the charges dropped, Kyrie off the team, they just don’t want it right now. We could make another pass at them in the spring or the summer, even, but…”
“What about the draft?” Kam asked, his conversation with Jamal before all of this even happened still fresh in his mind.
“Will you make an NFL roster? Yes. Might even get drafted,” Mark explained, “But in terms of pure earning potential, it’s still maximized with another year in college.”
“I’m not playing at Northern Illinois or somewhere,” Kam shook his head, “I don’t care how much money they give me.”
“I can make the Michigan thing real.”
“Come on,” Kam sucked his teeth, “We both know that door has been closed.”
“They’re losing two guys to graduation,” he insisted, “They just saw you win the Doak, lead the country in rushing.”
“They also saw me get arrested for killing somebody.”
“Your charge, which has been dropped by the way, was for assault and battery. Until they actually put murder one on the table, and it ain’t happening with Cole and me by your side, you’re just a college student that was involved in a fight, at a club that turned sideways because some other violent individuals took it there.”
Even Kam wasn’t buying what Mark was selling.
“Those are the facts,” Mark looked into his eyes, “I know you think I made up that million dollar number but it’s going to happen, I’m going to make it happen.”
…
The lights of the library study room buzzed faintly as Yassy hunched over her textbook, desperately trying to focus on the words swimming before her eyes. The final exams had creeped up on her amidst the chaos with Kam, sending her scurrying back to Muncie for what seemed like a trivial endeavor given the circumstances. Yassy's pencil tapped an anxious rhythm against her notebook, her mind drifting far from the economic theories she was supposed to be reviewing.
Across the table, Tess cleared her throat for what felt like the hundredth time. Yassy glanced up, catching her friend's expectant gaze.
"So..." Tess began, her voice a forced whisper, "Have you heard anything new about Kam?"
Yassy's grip on her pencil tightened. "No," she replied curtly, returning her attention to her notes.
But Tess wasn't deterred. "Come on, Yass. You must know something. I mean, it's all over the news. Did he—"
"Jesus Christ, Tess!" Yassy snapped, slamming her textbook shut. The sound echoed through the quiet room, drawing startled looks from nearby students. Lowering her voice, Yassy leaned across the table, her eyes flashing. "Kam got shot at, okay? He didn't do anything wrong. And it's none of your damn business anyway."
Tess recoiled, her eyes wide with surprise at Yassy's outburst. "I'm sorry, I just... I thought you'd want to talk about it. You've been gone, and I'm worried about you."
Yassy felt a pang of guilt, but the frustration still simmered beneath the surface. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I know you're trying to help, but it’s just so frustrating to hear everyone acting like he didn’t get shot at too.”
Outside the study room's glass walls, students rushed by, their faces pinched with exam stress. Yassy envied their simple worries, longing for the days when her biggest concern was acing a final.
"I don’t even want to be here," Yassy whispered, her voice barely audible. "Like he could get arrested again at any point. They could come back for him at any moment."
Tess reached across the table, squeezing Yassy's hand. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed. Let's just focus on getting through these exams, okay? One thing at a time."
Yassy nodded, grateful for her friend's understanding. She opened her textbook again, determined to lose herself in the familiar comfort of academia. But as she stared at the pages, her mind wandered to Kam, wondering where he was and if he was okay. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on her, making even the simplest tasks feel insurmountable.
…
Kam's heart pounded as he pulled into the dimly lit parking lot behind the strip mall. He killed the engine of his rental and sat for a moment, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
It was stupid. So stupid. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed that gun, needed the cold comfort of steel to protect himself in a world that he had seen be hostile and unpredictable.
Taking a deep breath, Kam stepped out of the car and made his way towards the row of overflowing dumpsters at the far end of the lot. The smell of rotting food and stale grease assaulted his nostrils, making him gag slightly.
He approached the spot where he'd hastily stashed the weapon a few weeks ago, his eyes scanning the ground frantically. The gun should be right here, tucked behind this rusted garbage can. But as Kam dropped to his knees, his hands scrabbling through the detritus scattered around the dumpster, a sickening realization began to dawn.
It wasn’t there.
Panic surged through him, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Kam's movements became frenzied, tossing aside soggy cardboard boxes and empty bottles. He crawled on his hands and knees, ignoring the grime that caked his palms and soaked through his jeans.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, his voice rising with each repetition. "What the fuck?"
But as the minutes ticked by, the truth became inescapable. Someone had found the gun. Maybe a curious kid, or a homeless person looking for anything of value. Or worse, what if the police had been tipped off?
Kam stumbled to his feet, his mind racing. He spun in a slow circle, suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings. Was that a camera mounted on the corner of the building? Had someone seen him searching? The shadows seemed to close in around him, every distant sound making him flinch.
He stumbled back to his car, fumbling with the keys as he tried to unlock the door. Once inside, Kam slumped against the steering wheel, his body shaking. He was supposed to be on his way to Tampa, turning down Mark’s offer to buy him a flight for the sole reason of being able to drive down with the gun. Now he’d have twelve hours to think about his mistake and perhaps the rest of his life in a jail cell.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
as in two not guilty football players? absolutely