TENDER

Arlo sat outside on the porch with a pencil in one hand, eyes focused as he shaded in the details of his latest drawing in his sketchbook.

The atmosphere around him was loud.

There were children screaming and laughing as they ran around the hood freely without a caring parent in sight.

Across the street, there was an old school Chevy bumping trap music so loud that Arlo could feel the vibration jumping hard from the Kicker speakers in the back of the trunk.

Surrounding it was a group of niggas wearing flashy jewelry, talking loud as they passed around multiple blunts in rotation. Thier pockets were on full as they randomly scoped the scene, ready to buss a play to thier next victim.

It's just how shit was living in the hood.

"I'm headed to work."

Arlo's head lifted at the sound of his mother, Renée raspy voice.

She was dressed in her usual work scrubs and scarf tied around her head, rubbing the white residue from under her nose.

"Boy, did you hear me?" Renée asked, frowning when she didn't receive an answer.

Instead, Arlo just stared at her with a unreadable expression stretched across his face.

Then finally replied, "Yes ma'am."

The delayed response made Renée's glossy dejected eyes focus on him for a second too long before she trekked it down the stairs, heading for the beat up Honda Civic parked in their driveway.

"Make sure you get yo sister something to eat before you leave for work. I'm working a double and won't be coming home tonight." She tossed over her shoulder not giving him time to respond before sliding into the car.

After some time of struggling to get the car to start, the engine finally roared to life then Renée peeled off.

"Is she gone yet?"

Arlo's sixteen-year-old sister, Moniece asked, peeking her head around the front door like she was up to no good.

"Yea, man." Arlo nodded, taking his focus back to his sketchbook.

"Bout time she left." Moniece opened the door wider, stepping on the porch in a dress so short, it barely covered her ass.

Looking up, Arlo frowned. "Why the fuck you got that lil ass shit on?"

"It's not even that short." She denied, rolling her eyes as she tugged at the bottom of the dress only for it to rise back up.

"Bruh." Arlo dragged a hand down his face stressfully while mentally preparing himself for the argument he knew was about to come. "Yes that shit is, Mo. Go change."

Moniece quickly shook her head. "No. Last I checked daddy left us the moment the nigga had the chance. So, I don't have to listen to you." She rolled her neck, placing a hand on her hips.

Arlo knew no matter what he said, she wouldn't listen so he wasn't going to waste his breath.

"Fuck it, if you wanna be fast then that's on you."

"Whatever. I don't know why you think you can boss me around when you're only two years older than me, nigga."

"It don't matter. When mama not here you're my responsibility."

"Please." Moniece raised her hand to wave him off. "Renée don't care about nothing but getting high. Ninety-five percent of the time we're not even her responsibility."

Arlo knew she was speaking the truth, but he still didn't have it in him to disrespect the woman who raised him. Although she did do a piss poor job.

"Aight Mo. I'm not finna argue with you bout the shit. You wanna walk around this bitch dressed like a hoe, then do it. But what you not gon' do is keep being disrespectful."

That hushed Moniece up quick.

It wasn't often Arlo got onto her ass about her mouth because he was always so chill for the most part. But when he did open his mouth and voice his opinion, it always made her feel bad for taking things to far.

"You, right. I had no right saying that about mama. It's just sometimes I wished she care about us a little more." Her head dropped to the ground as her voice cracked.

Arlo understood her pain. However, he was long past letting Renée's lack of parenting skills affect him.

He was eighteen-years-old, in a few more weeks would be nineteen, so he simply didn't care anymore.

"Where you finna go anyway? You need to be back before six cause that's what time I have to be at work." Arlo said, changing the subject while tapping the eraser head of the pencil against his sketchbook.

"I'm not going nowhere. Deniece pose to be here in a few and we just gon' post outside here on the porch." Moniece replied, eyes glued to the Chevy across the street.

Particularly on the person sitting in the driver's seat with the door wide open and one leg planted firmly on the ground.

Cartier.

Was that nigga.

His name alone held weight in the streets.

While his presence was felt well before he opened his mouth to speak.

The niggas envy him and the females wanted thier chance to be with him.

Moniece had been doing everything in her power to get him to notice her, yet nothing seemed to work. She figured it could have been the five year age difference, however she didn't let that stop her from shooting her shot. Even if he turned her down every time.

Arlo noticed Moniece staring hard across the street. Then it all made sense.

Wearing the little dress.

Her sudden interest in wanting to post up on their porch with her loudmouth best friend, Deniece.

It was all for a guy that was too old for her and wouldn't think twice looking in her direction.

It was the truth, yet Arlo decided no to say anything. She'd have to learn the hard way.

With a shake of his head, Arlo dropped his head, eyes returning to his sketchbook to finish working on his drawing as time passed by.

***

"Did you restock the candy aisle?"

Arlo's head shot in the direction of where his manager Eric stood, and frowned.

"Nah. You told me to mop the floor and watch the counter for customers, I didn't think I would have to restock too."

"Well, it's what you're getting paid to do, so that's what I expect you to do."

"Aight. Can you watch front counter for me?"

"Of course not. I have my own work to do in the back before we close. You'll just have to manage." Eric replied, staring at Arlo offended for asking such a thing.

Arlo knew Eric was lying, but knew he'd be out a job if he decided to fly off the handle with the man responsible for signing his checks.

He hated the days he was forced to close with Eric.

The guy was fat and lazy and always spent his entire shift held up in his office doing work as he liked to refer to it as when really he was eating up the merchandise while watching the customers on the cameras as if it was his favorite tv show.

Arlo scrunched his face up, gripping on tightly to the mop handle as he watched Eric grab a bag of Doritos off the shelf and retreat toward the back.

No doubt he was likely the reason the candy aisle needed to be restock.

"Fat ass." Arlo mumbled, picking up the mop, squeezed the mop solution from it then dragged it across the floor.

Suddenly the bell chimed, making Arlo expell a heavy sigh before putting the mop back into the bucket, rolled it out the way and headed toward the front.

"Aye , go ask that nigga, Toolie what he wanted again."

"Aight."

The bell chimed again just as Arlo made it to the front.

"Can I help you?" He lifted the counter up and stepped back behind it, walking toward the cash register.

For a moment, his eyes locked with the dark brown irises belonging to Cartier.

The stare down was intense until Cartier finally looked away, reaching into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money.

"Let me get forty on pump five."

Arlo mashed the appropriate keys before looking up again. "That's it?"

Cartier ran his tongue across his bottom lip, as the light hit it, showing the shiny gold grillz resting in his mouth.

"Nah, let me get some of these too since y'all outta the original." Cartier grabbed two purple bag of skittles, sitting them in front of him.

Eric big ass probably in the back now bussing them bitches down.

Arlo snorted at the image of his manager sitting at his desk popping skittles in his mouth while watching him from the cameras.

"Fuck you do all that shit fo?" Cartier frowned, ready to trip out.

His mouth had no filter, so he expressed himself freely.

"No reason." Arlo replied, not the least bit fazed by Cartier's change in demeanor.

He bled just like him, therefore there wasn't a reason for Arlo to be scared of him.

Other niggas definitely were but not him.

After telling Cartier his total, he snatched his skittles off the counter and walked out.

"Rude ass nigga." Arlo muttered, looking out the glass window at Cartier sauntering toward the tricked out Chevy.

Next, everything happened so fast.

Cartier was at the pump, one hand pumping the gas while the other held a bag of the skittles he'd just bought, tossing them back in his mouth.

He laughed at something one of his niggas said before a car zoomed in the parking lot. Quick on his feet, Cartier saw it, dropped the skittles and reached for his gun.

Immediately shots rung out while Arlo ducked to the floor, heart beating wildly in his chest.

Once it was over, slowly he got up, peeping out the window.

"Fuck." He cursed, hopping over the counter and rushing out the door when he saw Cartier laid in a pool of his own blood, struggling to breathe.

As for his niggas, they were nowhere in sight.

"Yo! Stay with me." Arlo said, hands shaky viciously as he dropped to his knees, pressing down on Cartier's wound.

Sadly, it didn't help because Arlo noticed he'd been shot four times.

There was so much blood.

Cartier just stared at him, slowly heaving, getting light head by the second.

When Arlo made movement to get up, he gripped his arm with all the strength in him.

His eyes pleaded with Arlo not to leave.

"I'm not leaving you here to die. I'm going to get help." Arlo stated lightly grabbing Cartier's hand that had a death grip on his arm. "I swear, I'm not gon' let you die."

Arlo expressed, meaning every word. Cartier could feel the truthfulness in his tune, so he let him go. Although he knew this was likely the end for him.

"Eric!" Arlo shouted, running back toward the building but was in for a rude awakening noticing the door was now lock.

As for Eric, he was shaking in his boots watching everything on camera from the safety of his office.

He'd already called the police.

The only time he left out was to lock the front doors when he saw Arlo runing outside toward the danger rather than away.

And since he felt his life meant more than Arlo's he chose to make the decision of locking the doors. That way no one could get in and cause more harm than they did the poor guy bleeding outside to death.

"Fat muthafucka!" Arlo banged his hand on the door before running back to Cartier. He sighed in relief seeing he was stilling breathing.

Barely but still.

He quickly opened Cartier's back door, rushed over to him, bent down and gripped both of his hands underneath his armpits as he struggled putting him inside the back seat of the car.

Blood soaked Arlo hands, but he didn't stop until Cartier was fully inside.

Slamming the door closed, he reached down for Cartier's gun, tucked it at his waist then rounded the car to the driver's side and hopped inside.

He was happy as fuck the keys were still resting in the ignition.

The car came to life as he cranked it, shift gears, speeding out the parking lot.

Horns blared as he recklessly swerved into on coming traffic, heading in the direction of the hospital which happened to be two minutes away.

Arlo got them there a minute in a half, slammed the car in park and rushed inside.

"Aye, I need some help. He's been shot and bleeding to death!" He frantically shouted, watching a group of nurse spring into action, one grabbing a garney as they rushed outside.

They quickly pulled Cartier out, rushing him back inside.

As they rushed by, Cartier's frail hand grazed Arlo, eyes still pleading with him.

And Arlo, gave him a quick nod in response which said it all.

He wasn't leaving.

{Be Sure To Vote & Comment.💖}