To the streets, he was Reckless.
Short-tempered, hot-headed Reckless.
Yes, to the streets, he was Reckless.
But to her, he was Nehemiah.
And all they needed was each other.
𝕸𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖆
𝙎𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙇𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙣 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙙.
Previously titled All...
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"Where you going?"
I turn in my spot, confused at the sudden distance between Syco and I, as I move towards a self-service machine and he moves towards the downstairs seating area of Mcdonald's. He stands at the cliff's edge of the first step, one hand latched around the banister, the other holding his phone against his ear. He nods his head towards the foot of the staircase, and I kiss my teeth. It's half past seven on a Monday morning and I've been up since the crack of dawn, moving non-stop just to ensure I get to everywhere I need to be on time. My head's overheating, my stomach is in knots, and my brain is minutes away from shutting down—I'm almost a hundred percent sure that I'll pass out if I don't eat something soon.
"Sy, I am starving," I grumble, almost gritting my teeth to keep from snapping at him. "Let me order something at least."
"We got an hour to get to school and we ain't even linked those youngers yet. Grab something later," Sy shrugs, and then he pulls his phone from his ear to glare at the screen, before tucking it away into his pocket.
"Loose and 'nem are still by Queen Elizabeth's, we have time," I argue. I look away from him and towards the five people loitering in the Collection area. A wrinkled woman with an ugly briefcase hanging from her hooked fingers, tapping her foot against the floor as she waits. A younger guy head to toe in faded, paint splattered clothes, topped with a scarred construction hat and footed with these hunky, steel toe boots. Three uniform clad girls, huddled tightly together and looking between Sy and I like they know us.
