_{ORIGINALGRILLA.}

_{‘     damn !    uh - uh,   not with  that  attitude.     ’}

_{❛     yeah,  that’s what i thought !    hit me up when you find the balls t’ spit some  real game,  playa.     ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     what,   you afraid you might  learn  somethin’ from my infinite wisdom ?     ’}

_{❛     more like infinite dumbassery.    let’s hear it,  punk.     ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     whatever,   THUG LIFE,   i got  mad  game.    pull out’cha notebook,   ‘cause class is in  session  ‘n you boutta get  schooled.     ’}

_{❛     you sound like an  idiot.     ❜     she’s listening.}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     thought that shit was  badass.    yo,   look,   i’m just sayin’,   if you need tips    —    which you  do    —    offer still stands.    i got you covered.     ’}

_{❛     yeah,  ‘n all  i’m sayin’  is,  the only time i ever seen you  holla at the shorties  was when you got ‘em  locked  in an interrogation room.    keep poppin’ them  viagra  pills ‘n stay  outta  my business ‘fore you get'cha feelings hurt.     ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     uppin’ your  street cred  to  holla at the shorties    —    you need all the help you can  get,   li’l man.     ’}

_{❛     p’ft.    whatever,  yo.    chicks dig scars.    don’t need t’ show off no  bruises     –––––     that shit’s  weak.      ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     oh,   snap    —    bullet’s got  jokes.   how’s the wrist ?     ’}

_{❛     ain’t that bad.    looks kinda cool.    check it.     ❜     she pushes up the sleeve and holds out her arm,  showing off the bruising that circles around her wrist,  the  tender  skin across her knuckles.     ❛     pretty  badass,  huh ?     ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     still yours,   bullet.    they ain’t puttin’  ME  in foster care.     ’}

_{❛    makes  two of us.     ❜     she’d be on the run before you could bat an eye in the direction of her last squat.}

_{❛     …   they probably should,  though.    you’re pretty much jus’ a baby with a cigarette hangin’ outta its mouth,  so.     ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     you tryna be funny ?    i called,   like,   five times.    you’re lucky there ain’t a  bolo  out on your ass.     ’}

_{❛     ‘cause that’d go over well with  CPS.    then whose ass would be on the line ?     ❜}

_{❛    y’ could’a jus’ called.     ❜     @originalgrilla}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{some nobody,   nothin’ pimp.    call it instinct,   call it whatever you want,   but the way she bristles    —    like she’s trying not to  FLINCH    —    every time goldie’s name crops up speaks for itself.    she doesn’t have to say anything.    he knows something ugly went down,   feels it in the leaden pit that settles in his gut.   shoulders hitch,   free hand slipping into his coat pocket.}

_{‘     –––––––    don’t think about goldie no more,   alright ?    scumbag’s doin’ 15 to 30 for those tapes.    he ain’t stickin’ it to anybody ever again,   y’ hear ?     ’}

_{they don’t like  kid - fuckers  in prison.    if there’s even a modicum of justice left in the world,   someone’ll do to  goldie  what he did to all those little girls.}

_{bullet’s stronger than that.    she won’t break so easily.}

_{‘     c’mon,   li'l b.     ’       the refusal is more or less what he’d expected,   but it’s getting late.    she’s already punching walls and he knows  exactly  where that road leads.       ‘     gotta at  least  let me get'cho skinny ass somethin’ to eat.     ’}

_{she remembers what he said.    you’re just a little bitch that needs to be  broke  like the rest.    how every syllable scraped out and cut her open,  like the serrated edge of a blade splitting her throat.    his hands and where he put them,  the  bruises and contusions  he left behind after the fact     (     after he forced himself onto her,  pinned her and beat her down until she could hardly draw a breath without straining herself.     )}

_{the blood didn’t  stain.    not too bad.    easy enough to wipe off with  wet paper towels  and rinse out of clothing beneath warm running water from an old faucet tap.    she still hasn’t told a soul about that night.    not lyric,  not twitch,  and not the therapist she was assigned to meet with after discharge.}

_{she can talk about the pied piper,  even if she doesn’t like to.    about whether she’s experiencing thoughts of suicide or feeling depressed,  even if she’s only telling them what they want to hear instead of the whole truth.}

_{but not about that.    so,  how is she supposed to explain to holder that  not thinking about goldie  is next to impossible when she’s staring down a broken reflection ?     if fifteen to thirty was meant to be  comforting,  it missed the mark.}

_{❛     whatever.    …  yo,  think you could get lyric ‘n them a burger or somethin’ ?    i’ll take it to ‘em.     ❜}