Moments had passed before he looked over and saw Bailey’s pale ass making her way out of the door and heading in his direction. His face fixated in a slight mean mug which cracked as she shoulder dance. “Yeeeeerrrrrrrr.” He spoke back as she slid into the side. “I was finna fuck you up, I swear. Taking so damn long.” He admitted, putting the car into drive and peeling off in the direction of the mall. “Where you wanna go? Lemme know. I don’t know if they got them outlets with the exclusive shit or the mall got it all.”
As promised, Gio pulled up in front of Bailey’s home bringing his car to a halt and putting it in park, glancing toward the doorway he noticed nobody was there or even coming down the walkway. After sending her a text to let Bailey know he was outside he honked the horn twice careless of the community around the people that it may have startled while waiting for the female. @bcilcy
Red. That was the only color Giovanni almost ever saw. Red for anger. Red for his fuck sessions. Red for everything he felt and it all lead back to his anger, that was always the answer. Years ago had you asked him why he was so angry at the world, he’d probably tell you some bullshit lie to avoid pity and to cover up the fact that he was like a raging bull because of his past, the things he’d seen and the things he’d experienced.
He’d seen a dead body before he even knew what a dead body was supposed to look like but the sight of his mother with a needle in her arm, a bullet through her dome and his fathers’ head blown to bits and pieces, splatters of blood stained each off white wall, leaving brownish stains while they both laid in their own pools of blood, that was something different — the scene etched and imprinted in his brain, even almost 13 years later; the image never faltered, not a single thing disappearing as he grew older everything remained the same as if it just happened and every day he thought about it, it was like a fresh wound or one that never healed quite properly. He couldn’t even say he had a great first 6 years of life, because the only memories he had of them was filled with arguments and crack, only to be repeated again and again until that unfortunate day.
“You could probably come over tomorrow, my parents won’t care.” The little boy stammered slightly, speaking his best friend as they walked up the pissy steps of the project building he lived in. “J-just make sure your mom says yes and we can play and watch BET when everybody goes to sleep.” He spoke, whispering the last part earning a soft childish giggle from the both of them, knowing good and well they had plans of being up to no good. “Okay. I’ll bring my cars.” His best friend answered as they reached the top and began running in the direction of their apartments, being a few doors down from each other they slapped their hands together like they watched their fathers do when they were greeting or leaving from each other and headed to their areas. “Don’t forget, ‘Te!” Gio yelled as he twisted the door knob to his home, not knowing the view that would greet him soon enough.
His parents not being the first thing he saw was no surprise to him, either they were home or they weren’t, he’d grown accustomed to what his life was. Dropping his book bag down at the door, he shoved it shut behind him careless of it not shutting completely because he was going right back out of it before walking to the living room where he stopped dead in his tracks. Red. Not uttering a sound or even making a move, he was in shock and couldn’t do anything more than just stare at the two of them. His father unrecognizable, his mother looked like a zombie. Once upon a time, her beautiful honey complexion was full of life and vibrant, little to no scars from her childhood but that was no more. Her forearms had needle marks scattered everywhere and his father; the black Italian man that women couldn’t help but want to fuck and suck every time he came around.. the only thing left in place from him shooting himself was the right side of his face. The only thing that brought him back to reality was the high pitched scream that rang through the floor directed solely into the area. The little boy was grabbed up by the female who screamed, unable to even react in anyway Giovanni stayed limp in her hold.
He hadn’t been back home or back to school in days, he hadn’t been himself in days; the once kinda bubbly, occasionally talkative and smiling boy hadn’t said much since the whole thing, being told it was just a phase and he would break out of it soon. He never did though. His anger grew, his aggression grew and after awhile he was acting out in school. Foster parents unable to keep him for more than a week because they believe he was possessed with some kind of devil left him tossed back and forth between Harlem and Atlanta, growing up in the streets eventually. Because of these things, he grew a hard shell and a harder interior. The facade of the happy person he tried to be when around people left anyone that’s as around to witness his bursts of anger amazed.
Red. Red for the passion that he rarely felt. Red for the love he never knew. Red for the anger that was always there. Red for the devils on his shoulders.
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