Page 4 of Mr. Calloway

I gently grabbed Savior from Z as his wails seemed to calm. “Sup, man? You're not sleepy or what?” I asked, kissing his forehead. “You never cry. You're my silent killer. Who does your daddy need to kill, huh? ’Cause I’ll do it. I’ll blow a nigga’s head clean?—”

“June!” Z shouted. “Let me go get him some milk. Keep the Chevy-daddy shit to yourself.”

Zaria hated when I talked to my boys like that, but shit, this was who I was, and the one thing I would never do was hide who I was from my kids.

While I waited for her to bring the bottle, I sat in her little mommy chair and rocked back and forth with Savior still in my arms.

My kids were my life and the only ones who not only held my bloodline but could be my voice for the future. Protecting them with my life was a priority, and if it meant talking a little recklessly from time to time, so be it. This was a lifelong commitment, and as my kids grew older, I would become more protective, especially while knowing that one or both of them could be carrying the very thing I thought would defeat me—cancer.

As I continued to rock in the chair, my eyes became heavy. I thought about how me not truly knowing anything about my bloodline other than Clark’s bitch ass could affect my kids.

The cold of darkness surrounded me, so that even though I could see, I couldn’t see. Cries of my sons pierced my ears with muffled sobs from Z layered on top like some sort of sad record playing. Suddenly, a sinister heckle transitioned into something monstrous, almost hyena-like. My heart raced as I tried to figure out what was happening.

“June!” Zaria screamed. “Savior!”

“Z, baby, I’m right here! Who has him?” I shouted back.

The dark was fucking with me because it was something I always hated. The dark, something that strips you of everything you know you need to face. The dark, which settles in so deeply, is a way to strike fear in you. The dark, something I had tried for years to overcome.

A light slowly emerged, and there he stood in the same suit, tailored to perfection, an evil grin on his face while holding my muhfuckin son in his arms.

The man who was like the disease that had spread and tried to kill me. Clark fuckin’ Mercier stood only inches away from me. I rushed forward as he and my son disappeared.

“What the fuck!” I shouted. “Clark!” I barked.

His voice echoed so loudly that I gripped the side of my head to get rid of him. “My bloodline will live forever.”

“Fuck you and your bloodline, nigga. You’re a dead nigga! I swear!”

His voice appeared again, only louder this time. “Who is Mr. Calloway? You are and will forever be a Mercier!” he roared.

“I’m not a fucking Mercier! I’m a Calloway, nigga! My kids are the Calloways! Bitch-ass nigga!”

That was when he appeared again. This time, I didn’t hesitate; I rushed at him, knocking him backward. The grip I had on his head was so tight, the vein bulging in his forehead was visible. The rage inside me was so intense, it made my body tremble, my heart race, and fire seem to shoot out of my head. Yet, even then, he laughed. I slammed his head against the dark floor repeatedly until blood oozed.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!”

“June!” Zaria shouted.

My eyes shot open. I didn’t even realize I had dozed off. I glanced down to see Savior still in my arms, staring at meoddly. I squeezed him tightly as the thought of losing him felt so real. Since my doctor’s visit, my dreams about Clark had become more frequent. I had simmered down for the sake of my family, but the feeling that was starting to come over me was a treacherous one.

Clark was beginning to bring out something in me that wasn’t Chevy or June. This was an extension of them both, but something more deadly. It was the primal Mr. Fucking Calloway, and if Clark knew what was best, he would do me the favor of killing himself.

Dionysus

PRESS PLAY

My head bounced around as I let the music blare through the empty house. I pulled the blunt from my lips as I shook the pan, flipping the perfectly circular pancake.

“Ah, shit!Nigga out here cooking like Ben Crocker,” I laughed. “Call me Chef Dio, on gang.”

I slid the pancake onto the plate, along with the other two, perfectly stacked. I added some strawberries and blueberries to the top, giving the plate a five-star feel. Today was all about Mars. I knew she was leaving soon, and although a nigga was still sad about it, I wanted her to know that even though she was leaving, she was going to do something she loved, and I was proud of her. It took a lot of courage to go to the other side of the world, not only to learn, but also to embark on an adventure into the unknown. This was a big deal not only for her but for us as well. This was a test to see if the direction we were headed was the right one. Yes, we were engaged, and I couldn’t see myself without her, but I needed to be sure this was the life she truly wanted.

I slid the plate on the tray along with juice, a rose, and my gun. I picked it up and walked up the stairs slowly. A nigga was walking so slow that my feet barely scooted across the floor. When I entered the room, Mars was sitting up, going through her phone. When she saw the tray, a wide smile appeared on her face.

“You made me breakfast?”