The Art Of Hood Love: Shabu by Antoinette Sherell

Author:Antoinette Sherell [Sherell, Antoinette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-11T21:00:00+00:00

“Wake your bitch ass up!” A voice barracked.

Shabu groaned as chuckles floated around the room. He peeled his lids apart, blinking through the blinding white light while fighting the heavy grogginess that muddled his mind. The constant beeps sounding from the right of him made his head loll toward it. His obscured vision cleared, and he tried to lift his body before grunting as he rested a hand on his injured shoulder.

“You got your first war wound, nigga. How does it feel?” Los ambled into his line of sight and grinned.

Shabu parted his chapped lips after a painful swallow, but a case of cottonmouth prevented him from answering. Los frowned as he stepped closer with a waning smile. Judith rushed to her son’s aid, picking up the tan pitcher and a styrofoam cup filled with ice from the bedside table. She poured water to the brim before dropping a straw inside to shove toward his mouth. Shabu turned away and surveyed the faces in the room.

He clenched his teeth to quell the pain that struck his chest when he realized Savvy was absent. Shabu had drifted in and out of consciousness once shot, but her private words to Michi rooted in his memory throughout the entire ordeal. She’d thrown in the towel and left him out to dry.

“You need to drink, Shabu,” his mother urged, flinging her sister locs over her shoulder.

“Stop stressing him out, Judith. He’ll drink when he’s ready,” Relic butted in. He took reluctant steps toward the bed with folded arms. His blood boiled the longer he examined the condition of his brother. “What the fuck happened?”

“I already told you,” Pierre answered.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” Relic’s voice reverberated around the drab room as he glared at Pierre, who sat on the windowsill hunched over with slumped shoulders.

Dried blood stained his skin, and his usual jokester demeanor was nonexistent. Shabu almost losing his life hit him as hard as seeing his own brother in worse conditions years prior.

“Watch your muthafuckin’ tone with my brother,” Los defended. The malice lacing his tone didn’t go unnoticed. “I get you’re pissed about Shabu but take that shit down a notch. Pierre is the reason that nigga is still breathing.”

“According to P, his girl is the reason he’s breathing.”

“Who’d she call, though? My brother, because yours doesn’t even trust you enough to have his bitch around you, let alone calling you when some shit pops off.”

“Shut the fuck up, both of you!”

Shabu’s Uncle Akon stalked over, jostling between his son and nephew with a vicious glower that shut their bitching down. His head rolled to ease the tension in his neck before he focused on Shabu sprawled out in a hospital bed. He’d hoped to experience none of the boys in that state again.

“Ma,” Shabu croaked, and Judith returned to his side. She assisted him with drinking the cup of water before punching a finger on the button that raised his bed.

“Is that better?”

He nodded before asking, “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours.

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