The Worst Thots Ever by Jessica Wren

Author:Jessica Wren [Wren, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, United States, African American, Urban, Women's Fiction, Genre Fiction
Amazon: B00WLNXRYK
Publisher: Cole Hart Presents
Published: 2015-04-23T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Avantae

I followed my Uncle Samuel into my old bedroom. It’s the first room on the left, closer to the shared bathroom by the stairs. Without permission, he takes a seat on my old queen size bed, while sighing and shaking his head. I’m so angry I pace the cream-colored carpet, back and forth. I notice everything in my room is how I left it.

My comforter is cream, red and dark brown. Three pillows are lined up neatly by the dark bed frame. My curtains are dark brown. A 32-inch flat screen is sitting on top of a brown TV stand. Below are DVD and CDs. On the wall above my bed, rests a board of all my fallen soldiers, newspaper articles and an address list of all my niggas in the pen. Posters of the screwed up clique and big-boned women cover nearly all the whites of the walls.

Uncle Samuel watches my every move. This bitch made, old-school nigga wanted to talk but he know I don't fuck with him like that. My soul tells me he's an undercover snake and lately shit hasn't been adding up. I don't trust this nigga or Jaceyon, and I feel deep down inside one of them had something to do with my pops getting killed.

As I am pacing I stare at a picture on my TV stand. It is of me and my father, Avantae Sr. I smile. My father and I were very close. I was every bit of my father through and through; from the looks, to the swag and hustle in my blood.

Even though my father ran the streets, he always made me his priority. ‘Son you never know when you’re going to take your last breath,’ he would say. Since the age of eight it was just me and my pops. I was an only child. My mother, Bobby Jean was too busy getting high off my pop’s supply. It took over her really fast, and the once God-fearing lady turned tricks now just to get a hit.

A tear slipped my eye when I thought of my mother. She was everything to a little nigga. My T-lady had the smoothest dark skin, with long, bone straight hair. She resembled the model Naomi Campbell. She was very tall and thin, but absolutely gorgeous. I remember her singing to me every night before bed, and telling my stories of the bible.

For a while we had a poor life and a nigga would get teased for the clothes and shoes I wore. My pops did all he could to provide. Living in Third Ward Houston, Texas wasn’t actually as bad when that’s all you know; shit, it was home. What mattered to us was that we had each other and although things were very rough, we made it through. At least that is how my mother looked at it. My father on the other hand felt he was failing us as a man and provider. His little check at the cleaners was not actually a come up, and we were always in the hole financially.

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