I fucked up by fucking Charli, but damn, this shit here was tearing a nigga up inside. I couldn’t take it at all, and I wasn’t about to act like it either. I mean, I did what I did for my own selfish reasons and nothing more. It was wrong, but I couldn’t take it back. But Tasha really hurt me with this one, and I wasn’t afraid to admit the shit.

It was crazy how the nigga was dead and gone and I was still being haunted by the shit him and Tasha did. The nigga was probably laughing at me from the grave. Ain’t this a bitch? That muthafuckin’ Kyron! I swear if he wasn’t dead, I’d kill his ass again. And that goddamned Tasha! Before I knew it, I smashed my fist into the side window. My knuckles began to bleed, but I didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t even feel them. I needed to release that tension. Fuck the food, I jumped in the van and headed back to the hospital.

I was furious when I went back up to Tasha’s floor, but I kept my fists balled up and contained my anger. One of the nurses stopped me.

“Mr. Macklin, what happened to your hand?” She pushed me over to a sink and immediately got to doing what nurses do. “Your wife had us page you. She woke up with a panic attack, but she seems to have calmed down.”

I took a deep breath. Still not saying anything. Her instincts must have told her to shut the fuck up and mind her business. She bandaged me up, and I took several deep breaths.

“Are you going to be okay? Do you need some ibuprofen?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you. Let me go check on my wife.”

By the time I made it back into the room, thankfully, Tasha was sleeping peacefully. They had brought her something to eat. But it looked like she barely touched it.

I eased out and went to go hang out in the waiting room. I had to clear my head. The shifts changed, and I went back into her room, and she was still sleeping. I got a few nods in while sitting in the recliner next to her bed. The nurses would come in and check her vitals, but that was it. She remained asleep.

TASHA