This bitch really shot me.
What the fuck.
Pain flared through my arm, but that wasn't even the worst part. I couldn't believe she actually did it. After everything… after all the times I told her it wasn't that deep.
And now I'm bleeding out on the floor of my job.
I managed to grab my phone and call for an ambulance. My shirt was soaked in blood—I pressed down hard on the wound, trying to breathe through the pain.
"Somebody help!" I yelled over and over, my voice getting weaker.
Everything faded to black.
I woke up to the steady beeping of machines and muffled voices echoing in the room. My body felt heavy, like it wasn't mine. I blinked against the blur until the sound of my mama's voice cut through.
"The bullet grazed a large artery and damaged the nerve that controls his thumb, index, and middle finger," the doctor was saying. "We managed to repair most of the damage in surgery and removed what fragments we could."
I heard my mother let out a long, shaky breath. "So what does this mean?"
"He's stable. We'll monitor him for the week—morphine for pain, antibiotics for healing. After discharge, he'll need physical therapy to regain full function of those fingers."
"Thank you, Doctor."
I shifted slightly, wincing. My whole arm was wrapped and suspended in a cast. Felt like I was stuck in a prison of my own making.
Once the doctor left, my mom came back into the room and stood by the bed, arms crossed.
"What have you gotten yourself into, Keion?" she asked softly.
I didn't answer at first. I couldn't even look at her.
"I'm sorry, Mama." My voice came out low and tired.
She reached for my hand and squeezed it, her face lined with disappointment. "I told you to do right by people. I didn't raise you like this. That girl could've killed you. Why? What did you do?"
I swallowed hard.
"Dominique told me three days ago I had a six-month-old son. She posted a picture, tagged me in it… just blasted it out there." I paused. "Kenisha saw it. Flipped out. She's saying she's pregnant too—but I swear, Mama, I think she lyin'."
She looked me square in the eye. "I don't think she's lying, Keion. And deep down, neither do you."
I didn't respond. Because part of me knew she was right. I just didn't want to face it yet.
Just then, a knock came at the door—sharp, official. Two men stepped in.
"Mr. Goodnight?" one of them asked.
He was tall, light-skinned, with a serious face and a badge clipped to his belt. His partner was shorter, stockier, flipping through a notepad.
"I'm Detective Carter, this is Detective Chase. We just need to ask you a few questions about what happened earlier today."
My stomach dropped. The air in the room shifted.
Shit was about to get real.