Page 32 of Delirium 2

I glanced from the lunch meat at him. “Uh huh.”

He snorted and laughed a little before shaking his head. I looked away and went back to making the sandwich.

“You gon be mad at me until I croak out this bitch, ain’t you?”

I snorted. “Hm. Probably until I croak,” I corrected.

He laughed again and like before, went over his locs again putting me in the mind of Meech. Ugh. They were so close that they had some of the same mannerisms. That was another reason I didn’t like to be around Ezekiel fucking Christ. He reminded me way too much of my dearly de-fucking-parted brother. I hated it so much.

“What can I do to⁠—“

“Nothing. Leave me alone. Let me be,” I interrupted, slathering butter on one side of the bread. Sour dough. Fancy muthafuckas.

I wasn’t hating.

This household was just something that would take some getting used to, that’s all. I thought it was funny. In a good way. How I’d only been here for a couple of weeks and I’d been introduced to so much. It was really an entirely different world.

Zeke didn’t say anything. I could feel him staring at me though. So much… so intense… that I couldn’t look up at him and ironically, a knot formed in my throat. One that I swallowed down with a sigh. Tilting my head to the side, I slapped a few pieces of turkey onto that fancy bread and dug into the pack of cheese for a couple of slices. First Lady liked her sandwiches a certain way. With a lethal ass cheese pull.

“No disrespect sis,” Zeke started. “But you know… I loss my nigga too… right?”

I glanced up and over at him but said nothing. The sadness in his eyes was deafening. What was it with these tough ass Christ men and showing their emotions? I just knew they didn’t give a fuck about anything. That was before I got a chance to know them though, sadly. They kept showing me time and time again that they weren’t just brutal, money getting, cold hearted niggas. Should’ve known. People who’re raised in churches don’t just… turn to devils overnight.

Anyway.

Zeke was sad.

And I felt bad.

I hadn’t considered his feelings. Hadn’t considered the fact that he’d taken a loss too. Leaving had to be hard for him. Hearing those gunshots, knowing his boy was on the receiving end of them… it had to be tough.

Before I knew it, a tear fell. I sucked my teeth and rolled my eyes, quickly swiping it away.

“I didn’t leave my nigga on purpose, Rei,” Zeke mumbled, repeating what he’d already told me.

“I know,” I mumbled back, standing at the cabinets. Bending down, I dug around for that panini press. While I was down there, a few more tears fell. Tears I let fall freely because my hands were occupied. When I stood to put it on the counter, I wiped my wet face and looked over at Zeke. He was watching me, twiddling with one of his locs, frown plastered on his face.

“I fucked up,” he said through tight lips. “I shouldn’t have⁠—“

“What happened, happened because it was supposed to happen,” I interrupted, painfully.

It was time for Meech to go. No amount of wishing hoping, planning, or second guessing would have changed the outcome of what happened. If there was a flaw in the plan, it was a flaw in the plan for a reason. Meech was supposed to die like that. He was supposed to leave me. That was the way the story was written. I hated it. I hated it so much. And while I could admit that to Zeke, it didn’t completely cancel out the fact that I blamed him a little bit. I was like that. A clear thinker, but stubborn and stuck in my ways too.

Zeke didn’t say anything.

He went from twiddling his loc to just sitting there with his head down, eyes on the marble countertop. I swallowed and looked away, turning to plug the panini press up. While I stood there, waiting for it to heat up, my heart rate picked up. I looked up at the ceiling, sucked in a breath and looked back over at Zeke. He was in the same position. Something told me to walk over. Something told me to give him a hug. But I didn’t. I stood there. I wasn’t… what do you call it? Affectionate. I wasn’t good with giving hugs, showing compassion in a physical way, or anything like that. But the urge to turn and walk over was overwhelming. So much so that before I knew it, my feet were carrying me over in his direction.

I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around him. The scent of his cologne combined with potent weed smoke evaded my nostrils. I leaned my head on his back, on his shoulder and told him it was okay. Zeke didn’t move. He didn’t push me away. He didn’t say anything. He just let me hold him. And a couple of seconds into the hug, I felt tears fall on my arm. That broke me down. Ezekiel Christ? Dropping tears? In front of me. I held him tighter and dropped a few of my own.

The hug lasted a couple of minutes before I felt like it was okay to let go.

When I did, Zeke said, “I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I fucked with dawg. Anything you need, whenever… no matter the time or place… I’m there. Always. Forever. Until the fuckin’ casket drop.”

I didn’t say anything. I was back over at the panini press.

“You hear me?” He stressed, his voice climbing a couple of octaves. He sounded mad but he was just passionate.

“You don’t have to⁠—“