“Talking about real shit has never been our thing. Why can’t you just leave us where we are, instead of trying to force us to a place where it’s uncomfortable,” Ethic said, in frustration. He walked into the room and she was right on his heels.

“Uncomfortable for whom?” Dolce challenged. “For you? Because this...” She pointed between them. “…this shit here is what makes me uncomfortable. I’ve been available to you for years. Even after you brought that bitch, Raven, up in here. Who picked you up when you were drowning, after she died? Then, you go off to New York to take care of some new bitch, leaving me here, just dropping what we have…”

“I don’t owe you any explanations. We’re friends who fuck at times,” Ethic replied. He knew it was a bit harsh. Normally, he would spare her feelings, but she was picking on the wrong night.

“And that’s it? After all this time? That’s all I am? A friend to you?” Dolce said.

He didn’t answer her, as he slid into a pair of grey, jogging pants, allowing them to hang low on his waist, exposing the deep, V cuts that lead to his girth. Even after sex, he hung noticeably in the sweatpants. The print of thickness pronounced and distracting, as Dolce yelled at him. He had checked out of the conversation. He didn’t argue. The yelling and screaming, he wasn’t beat for it.

“I never made you no promises, ma,” he said.

Dolce scoffed. “You selfish, arrogant motherfucka,” she said, as she snatched up her clothes and put them on, quickly. “Next time you think to call me to come watch your kids, or cook a meal, or to suck your dick, don’t!”

He watched her storm out and sat down at the foot of his king-sized bed. He had so many things to deal with that remedying Dolce’s hurt feelings was simply not a priority.

6

Alani sat on her hands and knees, scrubbing, gripping the bristle brush so hard that her knuckles hurt, as she tried to clean the blood stains out of her wooden floor. Her blood-shot eyes burned, as she swiped at her tears with the back of her wrist. She had been crying for days. Her brother and her beautiful daughter were dead. She felt like she was drowning, trying to inhale air in a pool of water, and the slow suffocation was torture.

“Alani, let me help you, baby. You need to sleep.”

The voice behind her belonged to her aunt, Nannie. Normally, the soft alto filled with wisdom and strength was soothing to her; but today, it was like nails on a chalkboard. She was irritated, taking her anger out on everyone around her, as she mourned the loss of Lucas and her dear Kenzie.