Chapter 13
EARLY FEBRUARY, 2020
The past couple of weeks. For Micah, they have been him running on autopilot.
He was starting to get a bit avoidant with everyone, only really ‘hanging’ out at basketball practice, only showing up to things he had to.
With Jeremiah, he completely stayed away from
him. He figured it was really the best. Micah didn’t want to keep taking his anger out on him, and he didn’t want them to get into something that just wouldn’t work.
He sighed as he focused down on making his pieces.
Micah was making some small plates, bowls, and cups for his baby.
“Micah, excellent work as always,” his professor sat down next to him, examining his work. Micah glanced over, “Ah—focus, Micah,” he nodded. “What are you using your dishes for?”
Micah smiled at the compliments, “For my new baby comin’,” he answered as he focused.
“UGH!” Micah looked back, seeing Junie’s pot collapse.
“Junie,” their professor stood up. “What’s the issue?”
“I jus’ can’t get it,” she shook her head.
Sighing, the professor turned back to Micah, “Could you lend Junie a hand while I continue checking everyone’s work?” he asked Micah.
Micah furrowed his brows, “Me?” he asked, and the professor nodded.
“You, go ahead,” he looked over at Junie.
Micah looked back at Junie who he thought looked cute all mad.
He stood up, dragging his stool next to hers. “Wassup?” she asked as he sat down.
“Act like you ain’t jus’ hur him tell me ta come ova, JuJu,” Micah smirked.
Junie just laughed, leaning back. “Aight, help me then teacher pet,” she smiled at him.
Micah chuckled a bit, reaching over her and grabbing her clay. He then stood up and began to knead it on the table, and Junie just shook her head as she watched the way Micah’s muscles moved in his arms.
“Niggas got babies n fiances n shit,” Junie whispered to herself.
“Huh?” Micah looked back, throwing the clay down once more to get some more of the water out. “Fuck you say?” he smirked just as he finished kneading it.
He sat down, patting the clay for her, then when it was ready, he slammed it down on the wheel so it’d stick. “Aight,” he focsed, grabbing the sponge and dampening the clay. “Go head, start it off,” he told Junie.
Junie sighed, looking back at Meilie, who was currently hyper-focused, with her headphones on, throwing a pot almost half the size of her body.
“How y’all so good at this? I knew I shoulda jus’ took drawin’ n paintin’—I’m good at that!” Junie whined.
Micah just chuckled. “You’re dramatic, jus’ like yo roommate,” he shook his head. “Go head, Junelle.”
“Nigga, don’tchu dur call me my gov,” Junie smacked her lips, rolling her eyes at him.
She then focused on her clay. She put her foot on the wheel. Junie suddenly got nervous, feeling Micah’s stare. “Stop lookin’ at me,” she huffed, pushing hard down on the wheel, causing it to speed up so fast that it almost flew off the wheel, and Junie stumbled trying to grab it as it flew into Micah’s lap.
Micah only laughed, “Es whatcho ass get,” he teased. “Now iss yo turn ta dry the clay. I’m tired, nigga,” he laughed, passing the clay back to her.
Junie rolled her eyes, going around him to dry her clay. Micah couldn’t help but also look at her, shaking his head.
Once she was finished, she sat down, putting her clay on her wheel. “Start slow,” Micah spoke before she put her foot on the wheel.
Junie looked up at him from the corner of her eye, and Micah only nodded. She sighed, returning her attention to her wheel.
She pressed her foot down on the pedal with light pressure, feeling Micah put his hand on top of hers. “Okay, first, apply a but if pressure, gettin’ yo shit ta look clean before you start openin’ yo pot up,” he explained.
Junie just looked at him in confusion, and Micah sighed before moving her hands out of his way. “Keep et same pressure,” he referred to her foot as he started forming her pot for her.
She just stared at him in confusion but also turned on at this big, jock-ass nigga so invested in art.
Usually, when she would encounter athletes, they only cared about sports and sex. Nothing more, nothing less.
“You payin’ attention?” Micah asked, breaking her from her thoughts.
“Sorry, you jus’ fine as shit—put a papa bag on or sum,” Junie laughed, making Micah laugh and shake his head.
“Anyway,” Micah chuckled, grabbing her hands. He then guided her with his hands on top of hers into creating her pot.
“AHHH!” Junie jumped up, clapping her clay-covered hands together. “I did it, Professor Pete! I did it!” she exclaimed.
Well… I mostly did, but Imma let her have that. Micah thought.
“Congrats, Junelle—Thank you for helping, Micah. Keep it up,” Pete told him.
Micah just smiled, returning back to his seat.
•••
“You tryna fuck my fren, Micah?” Meilie asked as she clung onto his arm as they walked through the halls after class.
She was the only person who refused to leave him be, probably because she was the only person who he could be his full self around. That’s what he believed—although, lately, Micah had been keeping her at a small distance too.
“Not at all—I think Junie fine as shit, but Ion need no more drama at the moment. I’m really bein’ a good nigga,” Micah told her.
Meilie sighed, feeling his energy. She was an empath, so she could feel Micah’s heart hurting every time she was near him, and sometimes all she wondered during the day was how she could help.
“Well, yeah—oop,” Meilie let him go, turning around, so she could face him, but then she bumped into someone. “My bad…” she turned around, seeing that it was Jeremiah.
She just blinked, “Sorry,” she told him again.
Jeremiah just gave her a smirk, looking up to see Micah’s eyes elsewhere. “Wassup,” he greeted him, seeing that Micah still didn’t look.
“Wassup,” he spoke low. Jeremiah just sighed, not saying another word, walking past Micah and Meilie, heading out to the parking garage, so he could go visit his father.
He hadn’t seen him in a while, and he wanted to spend a few hours with him before basketball practice.
Jeremiah drove in silence. His mind for the past couple weeks have been replaying homecoming night frequently.
He sighed as he gripped the wheel; Jeremiah’s mind was now stuck on Micah refusing to even look at him.
Maybe it is for the best. Jeremiah thought to himself.
It still saddened him. The amount of regret he felt for hitting Micah.
He just wanted to help, and it ended up like this again.
Jeremiah didn’t know what to do besides try and fall out of love with Micah—a feat that he didn’t know if he could, considering he probably had feelings for Micah for a while now and never realized.
It could’ve spanned over years.
A sigh left Jeremiah’s mouth as he pulled up into the driveway of his father’s home, over in the West Side of Louisville.
He parked and got out of his car, raising a brow in confusion when he saw another car there.
Jeremiah started walking up the driveway, looking in the car, and examining it. He walked up the steps, inserting his key since he lived with his father until graduation.
And when he opened the door, Jeremiah almost felt an immediate panic when he saw his foster father sitting down on the couch with his father.
“Daddy–” Jeremiah whispered while staring at the man.
Both Jeremy and the strange man looked over at Jeremiah.
Jeremiah only smiled wide, standing to his feet, “Son!” he jogged over to him, but his smile only dropped when he saw Jeremiah’s face, following his eyes, noticing that he was staring at the man sitting on his couch. “Jeremiah… what’s the matter?” he asked.
“His real father is home,” Jeremiah’s foster father stood up, catching him off guard.
“Huh?” Jeremy turned around.
He met the man on Facebook. The man contacted him saying that he was one of Jeremiah’s foster father’s. He had never seen him before.
Jeremy was aware that Jeremiah had a horrible experience with one man, but he wasn’t supposed to be released until 2021… so he assumed that this was a good home.
They would chat mostly about Jeremiah. The man would say how proud of him he was. He would share ‘memories’ of the time that Jeremiah lived there, and Jeremy was reeled in.
His guilt of not being there for Jeremiah when he was younger only made him buy into it more–along with the man going by a different name.
Jeremy offered for him to come over, so they could surprise Jeremiah…
Jeremiah was surprised, definitely, just not in the way Jeremy expected.
“I said, his real father is home,” he stepped closer to Jeremy.
“Fuck is you talkin’ about?” Jeremy started getting upset, confused by the sudden switch in behavior.
“Daddy, get him outta hur, please,” Jeremiah spoke, feeling his whole body shaking and his breathing picking up, but his breaths also got shorter.
Jeremy didn’t hesitate at his son’s words, “Well, sorry, but it seem like my son don’t wanna see you today,” he told the man, respectfully, putting his hand on his waist, feeling the pistol on the side of his hip.
“Well, Ian ask a nigga who didn’t raise him,” the man spat back.
“If youn get him outta hur, Imma kill es nigga, Daddy, n I put et shit on my life,” Jeremiah gritted his teeth, feeling overwhelmed, overstimulated.
He grabbed his head, feeling like his brain was racing. Only memories of when he was a child came flooding into his mind, causing his heart to physically hurt from the post-traumtic stress he was feeling.
Jeremiah didn’t know how to cope with things like this, and his mind really told him to kill that man.
That’s why one hand was balled up into a fist so tight, that his nails were starting to dig into his palm.
“Get the fuck out my house,” Jeremy shielded his son, moving him to the side.
The man, however, didn’t budge. “Jeremiah, look at me,” he spoke, and Jeremiah shook his head rapidly, feeling tears start to drop from his eyes.
“NO!” he yelled in an almost childlike voice.
“I SAID LOOK AT ME–” he yelled, but his speech was cut off when he stumbled back from being hit on the side of his face by Jeremy’s gun.
“Aye, nigga–I hope you know my son ain’t rey hafta do nothin’. He gotta life ta live. Me on the otha hand,” Jeremy chuckled. “I will fuckin’ kill you nigga, n tell the police I did it. Now get the FUCK out my HOUSE!” Jeremy yelled again in his face.
The man just stood up, “I’ll be back, Jeremiah,” he spoke to him with a gash on the side of his face, leaking blood.
Jeremy only pushed him towards the door. “Fuck outta hur, nigga!” he opened the door. The man just looked over to Jeremy.
“I’ll be back,” he smirked, and Jeremy put his gun to the man’s head.
“Me and my .9 will be waitin’ fa you,” Jeremy told him.
He left and then Jeremy quickly locked the doors, setting his gun down, and going over to Jeremiah who just grabbed his head as he kneeled on the floor, sobbing and repeating the same question over and over.
“Why is he hur? Why is he hur? Why is he hur?” Jeremiah spoke to himself, and Jeremy only put his hands on top of Jeremiah’s staying there with him until he calmed down, then he gently peeled Jeremiah’s hands off his head.
“I fuck up, Miah.” Those were his first words. “I thought that he was–”
“Iss notcho fault, daddy,” Jeremiah cut him off. He looked up at him. “Et nigga crazy. He musta contacted you on some flaw shit.”
Jeremy was confused. “What do you mean, Jeremiah?”
Jeremiah sighed, “He been tryna contact me fa a while now… since Christmas break,” he confessed.
“WHAT?!” Jeremy yelled, standing up, making Jeremiah’s heart start racing again as his eyes widened. “Sorry, Jeremiah, but why the hell you ain’t tell me?”
“Because Imma grown man!” Jeremiah spat back.
“You still my fuckin’ son! My son that needs a little extra guidance,” Jeremy said sternly.
Jeremiah stood up and scoffed, “What?” he asked offended. “Whatchu tryna say, daddy? You thank I’m stupid cuz I’m autistic? I can’t handle myself or sum?” he asked, pointing to his chest.
Jeremy sighed, “Jeremiah please—you on edge, butchu not rey put et shit that bitch nigga was doin’—you know es not what I thank!” he shot back.
“Yes, it is. It’s what everybody thank! Es why niggas can continue ta keep treatin’ me like shit because I can’t understand what’s happenin’ until I fuckin’ do!” Jeremiah yelled, feeling that way about many recent situations. “Then I’M THE FUCKIN’ BAD GUY WHEN I WANNA KILL NIGGAS!” he referred to his former foster father.
“Jeremiah, I get you’re upset, but I’m not the nigga you mad at,” Jeremy told him, feeling a bit defensive. He didn’t want to be at odds with his son, but Jeremiah was an adult—a six-foot-four athlete at that, and he couldn’t just restrain him like he could when he was a child.
“Yes, I am I’m mad atchu. You thank Imma dumb nigga who need guidance!” Jeremiah used air quotes. “Ion need no fuckin’ guidance! I been takin’ cur of me!” he patted his chest. “Before you…” he pointed to his father, making Jeremy furrow his brows. “Before any nigga.”
Jeremiah felt all over the place, and he was really getting out every emotion he had built up from lots of situations.
Jeremy just nodded, looking away. “Okay, Jeremiah—es how you feel, I can’t really say much of anything to it, so… Imma letchu be. T-Thank fa come seein’ me today,” he spoke somberly before walking away and going to his bedroom.
Still overwhelmed with his fists balled, Jeremiah raced up to his room in order to calm himself down.
Once Jeremiah was in his room, he got into his bed, put his headphones on, and played on his favorite playlist while he stared at the ceiling.
He focused on doing breathing exercises to calm his heart and slow his breathing.
After a while, he couldn’t help but fall asleep.
“Oh, Jeremiah,” Micah moaned out as I gently pleasured his hole with the tip of my dick.
He was bent over in front of me with his arms pinned to his back while I fuck him, hearing the sweetest moans fall from his pretty pink lips. “Baby,” he moaned, pushing his ass back a bit.
I only bite down on my lip, holding onto his wrist, pushing my dick in a bit deeper, hearing a dragged-out moan come from Micah. “Unh!”
“You so sexy,” I told him, grabbing both wrists with one hand, smacking his ass, examining the way the red lingerie just shone against his beige skin. “You feel good, my baby?”
“I do, daddy,” Micah moaned out, causing my dick to throb.
I love it when he calls me daddy. I love it when he submits to me.
Micah you really be having my mind gone.
“How much?” I asked, slapping his ass, making him moan, “N look at me, okay?” I asked, biting down on my lip, seeing as he turned his head, looking be in the eyes with his sexy ass greenish eyes in a pouty expression.
“It feel real good, daddy,” Micah moaned, keeping eye contact as I pushed deeper in his hole. “Jeremiah,” he moaned.
“Jeremiah,”
“Jeremiah!” Micah yelled, and suddenly I was standing in the middle of the street. It was raining, and I looked up, seeing Micah with his eyes pouring blood from his eyes. “I hatechu!” He pushed me back hard.
I looked around, confused. I looked back at Micah who was now in my face. “HIT ME THEN NIGGA—IF ES WHATCHU WANNA DO!” he yelled, and I shook my head.
“I don’t, but you forcin’ my hand, Micah—stop pushin’ me! Stop CONFUSIN’ ME!” I yelled back at home. “H-How you love me n—”
Jeremiah woke up, looking at the ceiling feeling a single tear fall from his eyes.
He sighed, deeply, sitting up in his bed, grabbing his head for a second.
His memory of what happened before he fell asleep returned to him, and he jumped up, without second thought headed to his father’s room.
Jeremiah clenched his fist and jaw, sighing big, feeling awful about earlier.
He was just so triggered and overwhelmed. Jeremiah felt like he has been a lot lately, and he misdirected his emotions at his father.
“Daddy…” he knocked on the door.
There was a moment of silence, “Youn gotta answer it—I fucked up, n I’m sorry,” he teared up. “You mean more ta me than anybody in the world. I love you so much, n you apart of the reason that I—” he paused, sniffling. “That I’m even still hur, breavin’—thur was times whur I wanted ta give up. I jus’—I’m use ta nigga makin’ me feel dumb, daddy, n I know I do need a luh more help, but I hate that I do. Ion like it,” Jeremiah shook his head.
The door opened, and Jeremy only pulled Jeremiah into a hug, and Jeremiah couldn’t hold his tears back, and he just started sobbing, releasing all the emotions he’s had for the past six months.
They ended up sitting on Jeremy’s bed as Jeremiah calmed down in Jeremy’s arms. He wiped his eyes, sniffling a bit, rising up from the bed. “Wait, Jeremiah. Sit down,” Jeremy told him.
Jeremiah looked back at his father, “Sit,” Jeremy told him again. He then put his arm around Jeremiah’s shoulders. “I need you ta not only listen, but understand what I’m rey tell you, so if youn understand me, ask further–you get me?” he asked, and Jeremiah nodded. “Okay, so, first thang I wanna say is… I accept your apology. You my son n some words ain’t rey make me turn my back on you.” He pointed to Jeremiah’s chest. “You undastand et?”
Jeremiah looked down at his finger and then back up into his father’s eyes. “Yes, sir,” he nodded.
“Coo–secondly, I apologize. I know Ian mean ta cause you ta have a slight episode, but my intentions n what happened is two different thangs. I’m sorry fa et, son,” Jeremy continued. “Next thing, you are not dumb.” Jeremy told him.
“You know how many non-autistic mufuckas innes world need way mo’ mufuckin’ help than you? Not even help per say, but… them niggas is downright dumbasses—most of the world, n hur you are a nigga wit a reason ta be dumb, n you ain’t,” Jeremy told him. “You rey graduate college wit flyin’ colors, not jus’ cuz you ‘a aflete. You a rappa, not one of ’em mumblin’ ass, no bars havin’ ass niggas, but a rappa. Man, Jeremiah, iss so much shit aboutchu that proves that you are not dumb,” he grabbed his son’s shoulder as he spoke.
“Three,” Jeremy continued. “Jus’ because I sed you need a luh help, et don’t mean I thank you stupid, Jeremiah like you said, iss no secret about yo condition. A dumb nigga is a nigga who got sum, n act like he don’t got it, n end up doin’ dumbass shit,” Jeremy nodded. “A smart nigga is a nigga who recognizes his flaws, disabilities, disorders, whateva, n not only do he work at it himself, but when he needs help, he relies on his community. Me, Lamar, Dreya, even Micah,” Jeremy told him, and Jeremiah only put his head down, hearing Micah’s name.
“Yeah…” Jeremiah sighed. He listened to everything his father was telling him. He knew he was right, and he knew that he would have to work on letting out his emotions in healthier ways.
On the other hand, his heart ached because he didn’t have Micah anymore.
Not anymore. He thought. “Eye contact, son,” he told Jeremiah, and he immediately popped his head up. “Last two thangs, “Rely on me. I’m yo daddy, n I love you ta death n beyond–you hur me?”
“I hur you, daddy,” Jeremiah nodded, chuckling a bit.
“Aight,” Jeremiah patted his shoulder again, grabbing his hand, and dapping him up, ending it with a snap. “Lastly, you tell me if you see et nigga again. Ian gon’ kill him, we not gon’ kill him. You undastand. N I’m speakin’ as yo daddy. We gon’ find a way to get him gon fa good that doesn’t involve us bein’ any mo’ time away from each otha, coo?”
Jeremiah nodded, “Yes,” he answered, hearing his alarm start to blare from his phone, in his pocket. “I gotta go ta practice, daddy,” he told Jeremy.
“Aight, go head–clur yo head onna court. Focus on whatchu love ta do fa the rest of the day. Do et fa me, okay?” Jeremy told him as he stood up, and the two started heading towards the front door.
“Yeah. I gotchu,” Jeremiah smiled at Jeremy as he stood in the doorway. He held out his arms, smiling even bigger than he was when his father gave him another bear hug, “Thank you. I love you,” he told him, pulling back.
“I love you too, son.” Jeremy then smiled as Jeremiah turned around and headed to the car.
He sighed, worried for his son, just a little. It was the parent in him, but he knew Jeremiah was smart enough and capable enough to soar through life with ease.
Jeremy thought he had a great kid. He knew he did, and he wouldn’t miss out on the big things coming to fruition for him.
•••
later on in the day
It was the middle of practice. “Kentwood, Parks, take a break n meet me in my office!” Coach yelled and blew his whistle.
Micah and Jeremiah both internally groaned, feeling deja vu from one of their first practices.
Jeremiah looked over at Micah who just dropped the ball in his hand with another teammate grabbing it.
Following behind him, Jeremiah only felt his heart become a bit heavy.
It wasn’t easy dealing with all these feelings.
Imagine realizing you’re in love with someone. A feeling that you’ve never experienced before, you have it reciprocated only for you to end up in a place where the person you love can’t even look at you from across the room.
“What we hur fa now, Coach?” Micah asked, sitting down in the chair, then Jeremiah.
Micah felt his heartbeat rising. He just didn’t know how to be around Jeremiah at this point anymore.
Not after their last interaction.
Coach Carter sighed, “Well, graduation is coming up soon, n I wanna discuss the future plans fa you two,” he looked between them both. “And… I’ve noticed in both of you, you lackin’ teamwork between each otha–I thought we had a damn conversation about this earlier in the yur,” he scowled at the both. “IT’S THE END OF THE GAHDAMN YUR!” he yelled, banging on the desk, causing the boys across from him to both jump.
Sighing and calming down, Coach crossed his hands on the desk, “Sloppy work the last two games, you been lettin’ it get real close as if you both are drafted yet.” He then looked at Jeremiah, “You think just because you won that versus that you’re legit?” he asked. “You’re NOT!” he slammed his hand down on the table again.
Jeremiah almost wanted to laugh. Every time Coach yelled, he made a funny face that only made Jeremiah put a bubble in his mouth and look away and cough before Coach make him do laps.
“No, SIR!” Jeremiah told him, and Micah looked away, wanting to laugh too.
“Any damn way, you two need ta get it together, n I thank a good way for that is you,” Coach Carter looked at Micah, making him furrow his brows. “Micah is gonna train you fa your versus with Michael Parks Jr in five weeks,” he said.
“WHAT?” Micah stood up in his chair, looking around, then dramatically pointing to his chest. “Me?”
Jeremiah just sighed, feeling his chest tighten. “I’a jus’ train wit Taylor–”
“NO!” Coach yelled, standing up too. “Micah will train you,” he looked into Micah’s face. “Sit down,” he told him in a calmer voice.
“Coach–” Micah softened his facial expression.
“Sit down, Micah,” Coach told him, then cleared his throat as he sat down and crossed his hands on the table. “As I was sayin’, Parks is gonna coach you,” he looked at Jeremiah. “One, that’s his brother, so besides his teammates, he has the most experience with Michael Jr as a player. I know because when MJ was here, his father used to make Micah sit in and even practice then, so I’m fully aware.” He then looked back at Micah who just stared with an annoyed face, “N let me tell you this from bein’ both of y’all coach, you better,” he told Micah. “But that’s only if you want it, n that’s another reason for this, not just for him,” he pointed at Jeremiah. “But because I wanna make sure I see my best players on my TV screen next year with million-dollar contracts,” he sighed, sitting back in his chair.
“If he beats Michael Jr, then you two rematch, n you gave a play like last time, Micah it won’t matter if you win, lose, or draw,” Coach said. “It would show you’re just as good as an NBA player, n not just his younger siblin’ who wanted ta follow in his footsteps like most people think. Like those dumbass recruiters think,” he continued.
Jeremiah only looked at the side of Micah’s face, thinking in his head how he agreed with everything Coach said, but with the space they were in, Jeremiah could reaffirm it aloud.
“So… you are gonna be trainin’ Jeremiah,” Coach concluded with a nod to his head.
Micah quickly looked over at Jeremiah who turned his head at an even faster speed, but Micah still noticed.
He just looked at him, knowing that it wasn’t a good idea.
Knowing how deep their connection was, and how every time, he fucked it up.
But maybe he owed Jeremiah this.
For all the pain he caused him, he would make up for it, by helping him beat his own brother and guarantee a draft pick.
“Okay,” Micah looked back at Coach, nodding in agreement. “Make a schedule fa us, Coach, n I’m thur,” he told him, standing up. “Can I go back ta practice now?” he asked.
Coach nodded, “N there is a guest today. You both might have interacted with him at the gala, so… be on your best. You both are dismissed.”
The two left his office.
Micah only felt worse when he saw that it was the same recruiter that told him that him getting drafted was contingent upon winning the one V one against Jeremiah.
He sat on the bench, observing the current three verses three that were going on.
Jeremiah and Micah both sat on the bleachers with the other players, taking another short break before they got back to practicing.
Micah kept his distance from Arnold, but Arnold had already stood up, especially when he saw Jeremiah walk out of the office.
He took a seat right next to him on the bleachers with Micah next to him, sitting a few feet away. “Jeremiah Kentwood,” he smiled. “Or what do the youngins call you?” he asked. “Woody Kent?”
Jeremiah gave him a bit of an awkward smile, for he was in a position where someone could potentially have his career in the palm of his hands so that obviously made Jeremiah nervous. “Arnold,” he held his hand out for him to shake. “You come ta the one V one?” he asked.
“No. I was busy, so sad, but I watched the recap, and I was pleased,” Arnold smiled. “I feel like you were going easy on him, but the play from you was immaculate,” he complimented him.
“Well, thank you,” Jeremiah smiled.
“You have any ideas of teams you want to play for yet?” he asked, and Jeremiah shook his head.
“I’m jus’ grateful that I’m even bein’ considered,” Jeremiah told him honestly.
Arnold smiled even bigger, “Oh, boy are you being considered,” he chuckled, making Jeremiah give him an awkward laugh back, for that’s what he thought he needed to do.
“Wow,” he nodded.
“Just keep an eye out, Kentwood. I see big things in your future,” Arnold told him finally before he stood up and headed over to Micah next.
Micah’s knees only bounced up and down, feeling the negative energy coming near him. “Micah Parks,” Arnold gave him a tight-lipped smile as he sat down.
“Wassup,” Micah glanced over at him, then focused back on the practice game that was taking place as he nervously bounced his knee up and down with his head resting on his water bottle.
“So—” Arnold started.
“Jus’ give me the bad news,” Micah looked over at him. “Tell me it ain’t happenin’ fa me, n that I needa look towards sum else although this is what I been workin’ towards my whole life—my choice or not,” Micah spoke, finally looking at Arnold.
Arnold sighed, “I’m sorry, Micah. I told you what was riding on that game. You failed. You almost had it, but… I feel like he was holding back in the first place,” he added. “I wish you well with all your future endeavors and tell your father I said hello when you see him alright?” he told Micah, patting his back, then standing up to go speak to another player on the team.
Micah knew that was his fate, and yet his heart only beat fast and his breathing picked up. He balled his fist and squeezed his eyes, so his tears wouldn’t fall.
He felt like his cup was nearing empty. He was being drained.
Micah felt his phone vibrate. He looked down, seeing a text from his fiance.
Kelia ❤️❤️❤️
> finally at the dorms for a couple days
> come see me and bring me some chicken
please baby. ily
ofc ma im coming over <
seeing u would make me feel a lil better 2 <
> whatever you need me to do to make
you feel even better Ill do ❤️😘
Micah only smiled and hearted her message.
Lately, the only thing that kept him focused on thd future, and made him hesitate to give up completely was his child.
The closer they got here, the more Micah tried to wrap his head around being a father.
Not being considered for draft picking was a failure, a lost means of taking care of his family.
He would try to wrap his mind around something else, although he’d only been conditioned for this. Only this. It’s what he was told to do.
All the positive reinforcement that Coach gave him was at the back of his brain.
Micah facepalmed himself with both hands and sighed.
For my baby. He reminded himself, then stood to his feet, giving the best fake game face he could muster.
•••
After practice, Micah headed out with minimal conversation with the rest of his team.
He used the excuse of his fiance, which only was partially true, the rest being that it was too painful to fake happiness with people who knew you, and he didn’t feel like being questioned.
“Baby,” Micah knocked on Kelia’s door.
Soon afterward, the door swung open, revealing his soon-to-be wife in some pajama shorts and a matching shirt that was becoming too small because of her growing belly.
Micah only smiled when he saw her, bending down to his knees, gently holding and kissing her stomach. He then stood up, leaning down to kiss Kelia. “Hey,” he gave her a soft smile after their kiss.
“Hey, baby,” Kelia smiled back. “What are you in a mood for?” she asked, guiding him to her room. She sat him down in her chair, getting and sitting on her knees in between his legs.
Micah bit down on his lip, “Shit that youn needa be worried about—don’t be hurtin’ my baby,” he spoke teasingly, seeing Kelia smile as she started to tug as his waistband to pull down his shorts and joggers.
Micah was pleasantly surprised, “Oh, es whatchu meant by makin’ me feel betta?”
“Mhmm,” Kelia hummed, reaching into his boxers, pulling his dick out just enough that she could wrap her lips around him.
Micah breathed, for the two haven’t been sexual much since she’s been pregnant. It wasn’t a problem for Micah, he was just surprised, but he was enjoying himself.
He closed his eyes, gently placing his hands on her head, his mouth dropping open as soft pants started to escape from the feeling of Kelia slowly taking him in and out of her mouth. “Jus’ like et, baby,” he breathed, biting down on his lip.
“Baby,” Micah moaned, feeling her take all of him. He opened his eyes, looking down at her circling and bobbing her head while her hand jacked the rest of him off. “Shit, gurl,” he panted, tossing his head back again, closing his eyes.
His mind started slipping as his orgasm neared, very quickly since he hadn’t been touched.
As he stared at the blackness of his closed eyelids, Micah started seeing something, remembering something.
“Fuck,” Micah breathed, feeling his stomach tighten, seeing Jeremiah below him with his lips wrapped around his dick. “J-Mmm,” his eyes shot open, seeing that Kelia didn’t react to his almost slip-up.
“Baby?” Kelia looked up at him, feeling Micah get soft in her mouth.
Micah just started breathing quickly, fast, and hard.
“Micah,” she grabbed his face. “What’s wrong? Please tell me,” she told him, trying to make him look her in the eyes, but he just couldn’t.
“Nun,” he stood up and then headed to her bathroom. He grabbed the sick, feeling his stomach turn. His anxiety was so intense lately that it was making him physically ill at times.
He walked over to the toilet, feeling saliva start pooling in his mouth. Micah grabbed the seat, already feeling disgusted, for he was a bit of a germaphobe.
Micah soon felt that feeling and he started throwing up—nothing which made it worse because then it was the burning, foul-tasting stomach acid.
Micah hadn’t been eating much.
Kelia walked to the door, attempting to open it, but Micah had locked it behind himself. She put her ear to the door, hearing him vomit, but her heart also raced for another reason.
“Micah,” she spoke just loud enough for him to hear. Micah lifted his head, grabbing some tissue to wipe his mouth.
“You got some mouf wash, Lia?” he asked, breathing heavily.
“Yeah, under the sink,” she told him. “Can I come in?”
Micah bent down, looking under the sink, grabbing the mouthwash.
As he was about to answer, his eyes glanced over to the right, eyeing the small trashcan beside the toilet, eyeing a box that read: Paternity Test.
His eyes went wide, and this time, he felt like his heart almost stopped as he stared at it, his eyes going over it again and again. “Kelia,” he spoke, grabbing the box.
“Y-yeah?” she asked, nervously, knowing what was about to happen. He never called her by her whole name.
Micah scoffed, standing to his feet, yanking the door open, “What the fuck is es? N I betta hur a good mufuckin’ answa as ta why a fuckin’ paternity test is in yo fuckin’ trash can,” he shook angrily as he looked down on her.
“Micah,” she felt her eyes start to water, seeing how mad he was. “You scaring me,” she closed her eyes.
“I asked you a FUCKIN’ QUESTION, KELIA!” Micah yelled.
Kelia jumped as she started crying, “Micah,” she repeated.
“FUCKIN” ANSWER ME!” he got closer to her. “WHO ES FA?”
“It’s… it’s mine,” Kelia cried.
Micah sighed, “So you been cheatin’ on me?” You tryna play get back, Lia? So much youn know I’m the fuckin’ daddy?”
“Y-You are, I know it,” Kelia tried and get closer to him.
“Don’t fuckin’ touch me, girl–” Micah scoffed, throwing the box across her room. “Who you fuckin’?” he asked. “Tell me, who you thank the fuckin’ daddy?” Micah spat.
Kelia only put her hand over her mouth as she sobbed. “ION GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THEM TEARS KELIA!” Micah yelled, feeling his eyes start to water. “WHO YOU FUCKIN’?” he yelled in her face, making her genuinely scared.
She had never seen Micah that mad. Kelia feared that he might even hit her.
“MJ, MJ,” she blurted in fear.
Micah then leaned back, giving her an unamused smirk. “Who?” he asked again. “Say et fa me one more time.”
“MJ,” Kelia sobbed even harder. “I’m sorry, Micah. I’m so sorry,” she cried.
Micah only balled his fist up, turning around and leaving the dorm before he actually do something he regretted. Something he never even thought of doing until this point. His brain was so frazzled, and he was so angry.
“Micah!” Kelia yelled after him.
Micah only ignored her. “Micah, please,” she tried to go after him. “Please talk ta me,” Kelia pleaded, but Micah just kept going, even ignoring her roommate and yanking the door open, letting it slam shut.
“Kelia…” her roommates came up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder as Micah stormed through the halls.
He was fuming, feeling his phone ring. He ignored it, but it rang again as he walked to his car.
Micah ignored it again, but that clearly didn’t work. “WHAT!” he yelled as he answered the phone.
“Micah, what’s your problem?” Meilie asked upon being screamed at. “I’ve only been worried aboutchu.”
“Don’t, Mei–worry about yourself okay,” Micah spoke more softly. “I’m sorry for yellin’ atchu,” he sniffled, hanging up the phone.
Meilie was on the other side, worried as hell. She just grabbed her keys.
Micah started up his car, heading to his house. He figured he would just lay in the bed and cry as he usually did.
He began driving in silence, damn near speeding home. He just wanted to be alone.
Micah walked into his house, sighing when he heard faint voices upstairs, but he just quietly went to his room. They wouldn’t notice that he was home anyway.
Once he was inside his room, he quickly and silently closed and locked the door.
Micah honestly hoped they wouldn’t realize he was home.
He pulled out a bottle of tequila he bought the other night, beginning to sip on it, not even caring about the foul taste he’d usually react to.
“The one thang,” he held up one finger as he sat on the edge of his bed. “The one thing a nigga was lookin’ forwards to. The one thang that was truly mine,” He said low to himself.
Micah’s phone continued to ring. He saw that it was Meilie.
She usually wouldn’t blow up his phone that frequently, but she knew Micah was past just depression.
“ANSWER YO FUCKIN” PHONE, MICAH!” she frustratedly screamed into her phone as her call went to voicemail.
Meilie was scared, triggered. She truly had grown to love Micah as a friend, and she couldn’t bear it if she just sat in class…
“I swur ta god, I’ll kill his bitch ass parents myself,” Meilie wiped her eyes.
Micah now lay in the bed, looking up at the ceiling staring at the ceiling, wondering what exactly was his purpose.
He didn’t have any…
Once Meilie was on the road, she looked through her and Micah’s messages quickly at a red light to find his address.
She banged on her wheel, “HURRY THE FUCK UP!” Meilie yelled, propping her phone up, so she could see the GPS directions.
Meilie tried her best not to drive frantically, so she could make it to his house.
At another red light, she put on some K-pop from her favorite group Dreamcatcher. They always seemed to calm her mood, and she knew she needed to be whole for him right now.
About halfway through the drive, she got a call. She almost wrecked, seeing it was Micah. “Hello? Micah? Answer the FaceTime real quick–”
“Meilie, I love you fareal,” Micah told her. “And I’m sorry fa not bein’ the best fren ta you. I wish I could explain, but it’s too much…”
“Micah… stop,” Meilie felt tears threaten to leave her eyes. “Stop talkin’ like et.”
She just heard Micah sigh over the phone, “I’m sorry, you right. Bye, Mei. I love you,” he finished then hung up the phone.
“Wait, Micah!” she yelled out. She attempted to call him back, but it went straight to voicemail. “FUCK!” she yelled.
Meilie made a forty-minute drive turn into twenty-five.
She quickly pulled into the driveway.
She got out of her car, forgetting to even turn it off, running up the stairs and banging on the door. “HELLO! HELLOOOOO!” she yelled out.
Meilie pulled out her phone, calling and FaceTiming Micah repeatedly.
She couldn’t help but cry and jump up and down to keep her heart from racing, and her anxiety from increasing.
Meilie took a few deep breaths, and she started to go around the house, looking at the giant place, looking through every window even if it was a slight opening.
When approaching the backyard, she noticed that the back sliding door was slightly cracked.
She ran up to it, pulling the door open. Meilie started turning on lights, running around the mansion. “Stupid, dumb, big ass house!” she stomped and then started heading up the stairs.
Meilie started going through the rooms, looking for Micah’s.
After about five minutes of searching, she finally approached a door. She tried to turn i, but it was locked. She sighed, running downstairs and ransacking the kitchen for a butterknife, then running back up.
She put it between the lock, aggressively turning the knob until the door flew open.
Meilie ran inside, looking around the room not seeing him, so she ran to his bathroom.
She opened the door, yelling out his name. “MICAH!” she looked behind the shower curtain, then down into the tub.
She didn’t see him. She took a deep breath, flopping down on his bed. Meilie facepalmed herself, then she looked up, wiping her eyes, when out of her peripheral she saw the closet door cracked…
to be continued…
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Thoughts on the chapter? Predictions?
Favorite part? lemme not even ask this lmaoooooo
soooo… who gets the title ref? lololol
•••
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