"we fell in love the way you fall in leaves."
Juwan "Rocky" Rockwell has had a pretty hard life. Between trying to find a way to fend for himself and dealing with the normal hardships of teenage angst, he had nowhere to turn as an adolescent and no...
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"good enough"
Quinn had been on my mind heavy. Ever since I met her moms, I've just been thinking. . . about a lot. Seein' her with Romeo had me thinking. . . about a lot more. I've been up for the last couple of nights trying to shake my thoughts of her, turning to my sketch book in order to do so. Scribbling poetry about my chocolate goddess that I wasn't too sure I'd ever want to share with anyone and sketching every part of her, wishing that I knew what her heart looked like or at least what it felt like. A man could only imagine, especially since she's always distancing herself from me. She's so close yet so far away, slipping from my grip every time I would catch her. I was frustrated at the thought, recalling when I was doing the same thing to her only a few months ago. She was thinking about me the way that I'm thinking about her now, and she was ready and willing.
A nigga was scared though. . . and unwilling to take the risk of being with her when Keisha and Sweets and everybody and their damn dog was all up in her ear about me. However, I was starting to regret not taking the risk. It's not like we'd never work through the bullshit. Besides, I'd do a much better job than these chumps she's been entertaining. Granted, I won't know what the hell I'm doing, but how hard could it be?
All I have to do is buy flowers and open doors and listen to her and spend time with her. I do that shit already, and I think I'm pretty damn good at it. Every time we're together, it just feels like. . . we're in our own world. If we're in my car listening to music and talking and just lookin' at each other, it feels like— like "yeah, this is where I'm supposed to be."
I haven't felt that way since we last saw each other, and I haven't felt so out of place in years. I didn't realize how. . . boring shit was without her. Hearing nothing from her had my mind racing like thoroughbreds. What she was doing, if she was just as bored as I was, if she was thinkin' about me, what she was watchin' on TV, how her day was, what she wore today, if she needed a fresh bouquet of flowers. . . fuck, man.
Why was I playin' myself like this? All I gotta' do is pick up the phone and call shorty. The thought instantly made me anxious, and I couldn't pinpoint why. It was Quinn— lil' Miss Southern Belle. It wasn't like I'd never talked to her before. I wasn't even this nervous the first five times I approached her.
Maybe I was starting to realize that she wasn't just Quinn. Hell, I knew that when I actually went to go get those flowers for our first date. . . but she was truly something.
Tonight, I was actually planning on getting some sleep. I got in bed early, hoping that my sleep deprivation would soon be resolved and so would my lack of courage. I finally dozed off, having a dream that I was smoking weed with my friends and talking about astral planes. Marcus was trying to debate about something that he was obviously wrong about, and we continued to go back and forth. Even in my dreams, that nigga got on my nerves.
However, I didn't have to deal with that for long. I heard someone requesting to be buzzed in, the buzzer ringing throughout my loft. My eyes popped open before confusion instantly flooded my being. Who the fuck could that be? I checked my alarm clock, witnessing that it was about 11:00. Nobody popped up on me this late but Ava, and I prayed to God that it wasn't her.
