“That’s crazy,” I muttered.
“What is?”
“The way you talk,” I said, “like you run shit.” I shook my head. “You are really something else, Gio.”
“And you love every bit of me,” he said smoothly.
“That is not the point; the point is that I’m done. You did that shit for three years, you will do it again.”
He was quiet for a second.
“I can promise you, Islah, that shit will never happen again.”
I took a second to think. His tone had changed, softer. But I needed to stand on business.
“Gio, I loved you with everything in me. I have been a mix of emotions. I never thought you would be the one to hurt me.”
“Let me fix it then,” he shot back.
“Nigga, no gifts is going to fix this. Can’t you see that you really hurt me? You’re just thinking about yourself; we are done, Gio.”
“No, the fuck we are not, Islah!” he said, raising his voice.
I could hear the hurt in his voice that he was trying to hide.
“Gio, I can show you better than I can tell you.”
I heard him say something, then the line went silent, and I heard him chuckle.
“You trying to test my gangsta, Islah?” he asked.
I didn’t respond.
“Test my gangsta if you want, Islah. You gonna see part of me that you never thought would be directed to you. Leave me if you want, leave me while I’m in this cage if you want, but don’t be mad when you get a nigga killed for thinking shit was sweet with you.”
I sucked my teeth.
“Gio—”
“Nah, baby,” he said, cutting in. “You don’t need to say shit else. I got you, and I will be seeing you soon. I love you, Islah.”
The line went dead. I stared at the phone for a second. Gio never hung up first.
I tossed the phone on the bed and laid back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling fan. My chest felt tight, like all the air in the room had been sucked out.
I tried to convince myself that I was still ten toes down behind my plan and that the conversation with Gio didn’t mean anything—that I was done.
But when my phone lit up about ten seconds later, it made my heart drop straight to my stomach.
Not a call, but a text from Gio.
I stared at the number for a minute before opening it, then I did.
Gio:Our story is not done. You can be mad at me all you want, but you will be my wife.
I stared at the message, my chest tightening again. The bad thing about Gio wasn’t how toxic the nigga could be; it was because our bond was so tight that he knew it would be a fight for me to leave.
But I was, and for me to prove to him that I was serious, I needed to have my shit together before he got out, whenever the hell that would be.