Luxe (8 page)

“Who are
you
?” Bleu shot back to the girl before her. She was pretty, exotic, with slanted eyes that gave away some Asian in her heritage but brown skin that exposed her true flavor. She was petite, with style for days. Her jet-black hair fell in layers down her back. The group of girls were dressed impeccably. Shoes with red bottoms adorned their feet while Chanel and Louis V handbags dangled from their arms. Bleu walked completely into the room, dropping her suitcase at the end of the bed that was unmade.

“Umm, what are you doing?” the girl asked.

“I'm your roommate and I'm making myself comfortable,” Bleu replied. She waved her hand at the two girls who were seated on her bed. “Excuse me,” she said as she tried to maneuver around the girls.

One of the girls sucked her teeth and didn't budge as she turned her attention back to Bleu's roommate. Bleu sighed. She had tried the decent approach. She was exhausted and her tolerance for bullshit was at an all-time low. She didn't have time for a battle of wills with these spoiled little rich girls.

“Excuse me,” Bleu said.

It was as if she were speaking to herself. They dismissed her without even looking at her, making her temperature rise. “Move your ass off my bed,” Bleu said, losing patience for this high-fashion mob of mean girls.

The girl moved as Bleu's roommate snickered as she leaned over her vanity to apply her lipstick. Her makeup was done to precision, and when she was satisfied with her look, she popped her lips and blew herself a kiss. “What are you? Some kind of gangster? Where are you from, Detroit or something?” the girl asked, causing the others to cackle condescendingly.

“Where are
you
from?” Bleu shot back.

“Beverly Hills,” she said curtly with a smirk. “Don't touch my shit, okay?”

A knock at the door interrupted the war of words as the door opened. A light-skinned dude with a curly Mohawk and a skater boy swag stepped inside. He was attractive but a little too clean-cut for Bleu's tastes.

“Hey, baby, we're almost ready,” the girl said.

“Come on. You're going to make me late. You know that's bad business,” the guy complained. He looked at Bleu and nodded his head. “Who is this?”

“This is nobody,” the girl responded.

Bleu ignored the snarky remark as she popped open her suitcase. She hadn't anticipated not getting along with her roommate, but this siddity broad in front of her was making it clear that she was the head bitch in charge. Clearly they weren't going to be friends.

“Chill out, China,” the guy said.

“I don't have to chill,” she replied.

“I'm Bree,” the guy said as he turned to Bleu.

He extended his hand. She reluctantly shook it as she replied, “I'm Bleu.”

China sighed loudly as she rudely added, “And I'm bored.” She headed for the door. “When you're done with this little conversation, I'll be in the car.” She headed out as Bleu frowned.

“Yeah, this isn't going to work,” Bleu scoffed as she turned to finish unpacking her things.

“Give her some time. She's queen bee around here. She's not used to the competition of another pretty face. She'll warm up to you. She's like that with everybody,” Bree said. Bleu didn't respond as she continued to remove clothes from her suitcase.

“You're not from around here, right?” Bree asked as he looked her up and down. Suddenly she was uncomfortable in her skin. Back home she was the pretty girl on the block, the one all the boys wanted but had been unable to attain, but here she just seemed out of place. If all the girls were like China and her friends, Bleu would stick out like a sore thumb, and not in a good way.

“Is it that obvious?” she said with a smile. She turned and flopped down on her bed.

“Don't worry about it. It's a good thing,” Bree replied as he backpedaled out of the room.

Bleu leaned back onto the bare bed. She had nothing, no sheets, no comforter … all she had was one suitcase full of clothes, and even those threads would only last her about two weeks. She had to come up with a plan to get money if she was going to survive, and fast. She was so overwhelmed. There was so much changing in her world, and the one person she had to talk to had made it clear that he didn't want her. Suddenly she stood and rushed over to China's desk. Bleu didn't care if Noah didn't want to hear from her; she was going to contact him anyway. She located a notebook and snatched a piece of paper from inside. She nabbed a pen and then retreated to her bed to pen her letter. She didn't even know where to send it, but an Internet search would help her locate him. He was her person … her best friend. He was all she had in the world. She was going to write to him until he responded, and even if he didn't, writing her emotions on paper would help her make sense of her new surroundings. Despite the fact that she had only been there for a few hours, she could already tell that she was out of place. Noah was the only thing familiar in her world, and even if he never responded her letters to him would get her through.

 

8

Left. Right. Right cross. Uppercut.

Noah said the combination in his head repetitively as his fists assaulted the heavy bag. Each time his fists hit, he grunted as he worked himself to exhaustion. Five years. He had caught a raw deal and the aggression that he had pent up would eat him alive if he didn't hit something. It hadn't even been a week and already being locked up was driving him insane. Sweat dripped down his muscular frame as his hands moved with the swiftness of Ali. It wasn't until Noah heard the loud buzzer sound off, letting him know that rec time was over, that he stopped. He hated everything about prison life. The way they were watched every minute of every day, the way their cells were tossed upside down without warning for inspection, the way they had to report for count numerous times a day. They were herded like sheep … better yet, like slaves. These five years would take a toll on him. He knew that he would not emerge the same. He would mature faster than any nigga on the outside because inside the wall it was survival of the fittest. There was politics to it all. He had already been approached by the Ocks, but he wasn't interested. He didn't want to affiliate himself with the Muslim religion just to establish protection. He respected what they stood for, but Islam wasn't his belief, so he declined, leaving him naked and labeling him a marked man. The prison was divided. Everyone had a group. The skinheads, the Hispanics, the white-collar cats, the Muslims, not to mention the COs. They each had their own circle with different rules. Rules inside of rules. Noah had to worry about it all and he had to constantly watch his back because he belonged to no one. He was a loner and he was just looking to do his bid without friction. There were niggas who came in and out of jail as if it were a revolving door. Five years was considered an easy stretch for some, but for Noah it felt like his entire life had ended before it truly had begun. If he had put in his time in the streets, sampled a taste of the good life, enjoyed the fruits of his hustle, he would have been able to take his time with ease. He would rather live enormous for a short time than struggle forever, but he had gotten pinched before any of his spoils came in. That was the part he couldn't wrap his mind around.

The medium-security prison gave the inmates just enough rope to hang themselves, but Noah wanted no problems. If all went as planned, he could be out with good behavior in thirty-six months. He was just trying to keep his head down and fly under the radar, but in a jungle where the men around him were facing life sentences, jealousy led to beefs unknown.

As he waited in line with a tray in his hand he frowned at the slop that was being placed on his plate. “Aye, my man, I don't eat meat,” he said as he placed the tray on top of the counter and slid it back to the dude behind the serving line.

He chuckled, responded, “Good luck with that, G,” and slid the tray back to Noah, who reluctantly took it. There would be no special requests made where he was. He was facing hard time. If he wanted to eat, he would eat what was served. Disgusted, Noah took his tray and scanned the room. He sat at the end of a table, avoiding interacting with anyone else, but his presence alone was enough to get him into trouble.

“Yo, did I tell you you could sit there?”

Noah looked down at the other end of the table where a group of men were congregating. Noah didn't respond as he looked down at his plate.

“This nigga don't hear me?” One of the men stood and Noah immediately assessed the situation. The dude was taller, appeared a few years older, but he had a bit of weight on him, which would slow him down. Noah gripped the sides of his tray as the loudmouth inmate approached. “You deaf, nigga?”

Noah stood without warning and slammed the tray into the side of the other inmate's head. Stunned, the man had no time to react before Noah's fist went to work and the commotion of the fight riled up the other prisoners. Noah was skilled with his hands and he knew when to take a win. He hit the dude with an uppercut that put him on his back before the guards subdued Noah, carrying him away from the fight before it got out of hand.

It wasn't until he was on his way out that loudmouth stood to his feet.

“You don't know who you fucking with, pussy! Just signed your death certificate!” he yelled angrily as he spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

Noah nodded his head and mean-mugged the dude until he could no longer see him. He wasn't one to talk big; he'd rather show and prove. As the guards dragged him away he didn't put up a fight, because he knew that he would see the dude again. Now was just the prelude to the show. Noah had swung first; there would be another bout to follow. Niggas in jail had reputations to uphold and something to prove. The hierarchy was based on your manhood and respect. Noah had just tested both of those and he knew there would be repercussions. It didn't matter to him. However and whenever the nigga wanted to do it, Noah would be ready.

“You haven't even been here a week, Langston, and already you're at it,” the CO huffed as he tossed Noah back into his cell. He didn't respond. He hadn't been there long, but one thing he had learned was that nobody spoke to the guards. He could have easily shifted the blame, since he hadn't actually started the confrontation, but he said nothing. He simply mugged the guard as he watched the door shut. The click of the locks made his stomach turn. It was a cruel reminder that he couldn't just walk out of there anytime he wanted. He was a slave to this modern-day plantation and he hated it. He turned to find an envelope sitting on his bed. It was opened—normal procedure, as the guards had to inspect every single package that came for inmates. He snatched it off of the concrete slab and read the front. Seeing Bleu's name on the front, he opened it hurriedly, eager to hear from her. He had told her to stay away for her own good. It was just like her to be hardheaded, but today he was grateful to hear from her. He missed her like shit. After seeing her every day for years, her sudden absence felt foreign. Maybe that's why he had so much pent-up anger. His happiness had been forced out of his life. Now they were walking down two drastically different paths, his much more difficult.

He took a deep breath and took a seat as he flipped open her letter.

Noah,

I know you told me you didn't want to hear from me, but you had to know that I would reach out to you. You're my best friend and I miss you. I know I got weird with the “I love you” stuff. I don't know where that even came from. I've been through a lot. I don't know, just forget that part. I need you, Noah. You're my friend. The only person I have, and I just want to know that you're okay. As bad as your situation is, I feel like a brat for even thinking of being ungrateful about mine. I did it. I made it to Cali. I haven't even been here a full day yet and I already want to come home. Everything is so … well … it's different here. The chicks are different. They talk different and walk different. My roommate, I went through her closet and I swear her clothes cost more than my tuition. I'm out here with jeans and tank tops while the glamorous people are turning up their noses around me. I don't know. I just thought it would be different. I pictured a campus full of hungry students grinding toward the same goals, but these kids are definitely not starving. They drive BMWs and they don't eat at the cafeteria. They are spoiled. Like some for real 90210 shit. I guess I'm just out of my element, but then again, to you I probably sound crazy. You're stuck in there and I'm out here. The fact that I can't see you or touch you or hear your voice makes me sick. I don't know why you pushed me away, but I'm not going anywhere. Even if you never write me one letter, I'm going to send them to you regardless. I know you're scared. You'll never admit it, but I know you. You're as hard as they come, but who wouldn't be terrified of being sent away? You don't have to be hard with me. I just want you to be okay. I'm so sorry, Noah. I really am. You don't deserve this. I hate even thinking about you inside a steel box. Stay strong, and if you ever need me I'm here. I don't have any money, but when I do finally come up I'll bless your books. I promise.

Love always,
B

The letter tugged at Noah. He could practically hear her soft voice in his ear as he read it again to himself. He had no paper, no pencil. Even the smallest things in prison were a luxury. His mother was the only person he would expect to fill his commissary, but he would never fix his mouth to ask her. She had worked hard day in and out to take care of him and his younger siblings. He wouldn't take a dollar from her, not to finance a jail stint. He would never burden her in that way.

He folded the letter in his hands and tucked it beneath the tattered mattress. It had fueled him to hear from Bleu, but he knew that even if he had an envelope or a pen to reply, he wouldn't. His silence would be her only reply. For her own good, it was best if she stayed away … far away.