The truck is a total loss. The steering wheel, the seats, everything melted. Rampage took off soon after we got here. He gave me a rough kiss before taking off with the guys. I feel terrible. This shit is my fault.
****
Laying alone in bed, I can't help but to blame myself. All of this shit wouldn't have happened if I wouldn't have come here. I brought all of this unnecessary drama here for Rampage and his family.
The silence of the house is drowned out by the loud rumble of bikes. I listen as the front door opens and heavy boots move around. Rampage's house is small and quaint, only a living room, kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Listening closely, I can hear each foot step and murmured voice.
"You think that's it then?" I hear Tags ask. Sitting up in bed, I scoot toward the end, closer to the door.
"He better hope it is," Rampage grunts.
"You dropped fifty large on that," Tank says. Fifty thousand dollars? My head starts to swim.
"That money don't mean shit. That little fucker is gone. Out of her life and that shit is worth every fucking penny."
///
"You think he's gone for good then, brother?" Stitch asks. I listen intently. Sitting at the edge of the bed, wrapped up in a blanket that smells like Rampage, I listen and try to put it all together. Rampage paid fifty thousand dollars to get Ryan to leave us alone?
"If he knows what's good for him, he'll leave her the fuck alone. They don't take care of him, I will. He fuckin' knows I don't play when it comes to Lala."
Sitting against the headboard, I let a few tears fall. My heart aches. I feel terrible that Rampage paid that much money to get rid of Ryan for me. It's insane. He put himself and his family in danger to help me, and I have nothing to offer in return. I have nothing, but a thank you.
Footsteps grow closer to the bedroom door. There is a hesitation before Rampage creeps quietly inside, letting the door close softly behind him. I watch his face when he sees me sitting up in bed.
"The fuck you doin' up?" He seems angry.
"I heard you." I tell him. Shrugging his cut off, he steps closer to me and looks at me closely. "Why the fuck you cryin'?"
I feel like an asshole for crying over something so fucking stupid, but Rampage has been so good to me. He's always taking care of me, cleaning up my messes, and looking out for me. I'm not even worth the hassle.
"I'm sorry." I tell him.
Sitting on the edge of the bed next to me, he grumbles, "Stop fuckin' cryin'. I hate that shit." He cringes when he looks over his shoulder at me.
"I'm sorry," I mumble around a mess of tears and snot.
"Say you're sorry again, and imma be pissed, Lala. What the fuck you got to be sorry for?" For everything. For coming here and making a mess of everything. For taking and never giving.
"I heard what you said. You paid fifty thousand dollars to someone to take care of Ryan. Why Rampage?"
Standing up, he runs a hand over the back of his neck and his brows draw together in an angry line.
"Why the fuck wouldn't I?" He counters, pissed off.
"I can't repay you, and I'm definitely not worth fifty thousand dollars," And that's the truth. I'm not.
"The fuck you aren't."
"Rampage," I start to argue. Holding a hand up he stomps over to me.
"Shut the fuck up. Don't want to hear your shit ‘bout you not bein' worth it ‘n shit. My money, ‘n I'll do whatever the fuck I want with it."
He's lost his goddamn mind. I watch his back and as he digs through a drawer. Turning around, he leans his back against the dresser. Sticking a blunt between his lips, he lights it up and inhales on a satisfied groan.
"Be serious, Rampage." I try for reasonable.
"Lala. When the fuck am I not serious?"
"Rampage!"
"Fuckin' Christ, Lala. Drop it. I paid the goddamn money. Whether you fuckin' think so or not, you're worth it to me, okay?" I swallow past the growing lump of emotion in my throat.
"Why?" I know I'm picking. I should just stop before I really upset him, but I can't seem to fathom how I'm worth that much money and effort. I don't have terrible self-esteem and I don't think I'm worthless, but I don't see that kind of value in me. I don't see the point?
"I fuckin' like havin' you here. I don't want anything to fuckin' happen to you, ‘n if I gotta pay fifty million dollars to do that shit, then I will, ‘n you'll fuckin' let me, so stop askin' me why. I'll do what I gotta do to take care of you. You trust me?" Nodding my head, I suck back the tears. I do trust him. "Good. Don't ask me shit about what I do to keep that motherfucker away from you, you hear me?"
"Yes, but Rampage?"
"Jesus Christ, Lala. What part of what I said don't you get?" I like havin' you in my life. I don't want to see shit happen to you. You bein' here gives me reason and purpose, somethin' I ain't ever had. I like takin' care of your ass. I like wakin' up to your face, ‘n I like goin' to sleep with you next to me, so that means I gotta do what I gotta do to keep that shit exactly the way I like it. I do it all for you, ‘n I'll do it ‘til the day I die."
The tears well up and I can't hold them back.
"Don't. I want your life easy, baby. Don't worry, and don't fuckin' stress, alright? That shit goes for me too. No stressin' ‘bout Ryan. He won't be back. You're safe. Don't stress ‘bout me, either. I got you, ‘n as long as I got that shit, I'll be good. I'll always be good. You're safe ‘n happy, ‘n Lala?"
///
"What?" I feel a tear slide down my cheek to my chest when I stare at him. So big, so mean, so scary, and I couldn't love him more. I couldn't imagine ever not loving him. For the rest of my life, I'll love him. "That's all the repayment I need, baby."
Six months later … .
One year later. …
16
Shams
Rampage
Walking up to my place, I dodge the newly potted flowers on each step. Jesus fucking Christ! A few weeks ago, after the goddamn rain let up, this shit start happening. She's gone crazy and turned the house into a fucking flower garden.
Once I kick the screen door open, I hear music, along with the smell of cupcakes and paint. The cupcakes are a usual thing around this joint these days, but not the paint. What the fuck is she getting into now?
"Lala?" I holler through the house, getting no response. I walk through the hall, following the music to the master bedroom. Lala's back is to me, facing the wall with her hips swaying side to side. She's got a loose fitting tank top on and some ripped up jean shorts. All of our shit is covered in plastic, including the floor.
"Baby?" Looking over her shoulder at me, she smiles that big ass smile of hers that I know is just for me. She keeps on shaking that ass and singing along to the music, "Just got rich, took a broke … " she mouths and smiles.
"You got rich, huh?"
Shrugging, she bites her lip and says, "Yep. Love this song." Don't understand bitches and their music, but I enjoy the fuck outta watching her shake that sexy as fuck body to it.
"C'mere, Lala."
"Aye aye, Captain.
*****
How the fuck did I get here?
It started gradually. After we sorted out her living situation, we got her out of her lease and into my house, a house I used to loathe. The plan was for her to live here, and I would spend as much time as I could with her, but what I said and what I did are two different things. It's become a place I spend damn near most of my time in. She's here, so I'm here. There is no other place I want to be than wherever she is. She's made this place a fucking home, a comfortable home at that, for the both of us.
The place she was living in was furnished when she moved in, so there was little of hers to get, just clothes and personal shit. There were a few boxes and that was it. One day I come home to a couch in my empty living room. Yeah, I can do a couch. I need a place to sit my fucking ass down anyway, and since Lala and me were spending most of our time here, I guess a couch was a necessity. It was even a black suede couch. I can deal with that kind of couch.
Come home a few days later and we got us a kitchen table. Guess we could use one of those, too. Her reasoning was that something nice needed to fill that space, and it did match the couch, so I said okay. I prefer to sit my ass on that couch and eat in front of the TV, but my baby wanted a table so she got one. Tables I can handle.