| General Fiction posted April 8, 2021 | Chapters: |
2 3 -4- 5... 
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Q wakes Zee with the bad new.
A chapter in the book Bye Bye Biggie
Trevor and the unbearable.
by zeezeewriter
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
| Background Zee does a favor for an old friend and takes his Junkie son under her wing. No good deed goes unpunished and Biggie, her unofficially adopted daughter, falls in love with him. |
At approximately 4 AM, Q entered my bedroom with a grim look on his face.
"Wake up. We got a situation."
He tossed my robe onto the bed and abruptly left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Whatever happened must be bad. Q's demeanor spoke volumes. I took my time dressing, stalling the inevitable.
He came back into the room. "We need you now," he said.
I slipped on my comfortable shoes. Somehow I thought they might come in handy. I prepared myself for the situation. Whatever it was.
I followed Q into the kitchen. Stella sat at the counter drinking a long-neck beer and smoking a cigarette. The ashtray overflowed with butts. Empty beer bottles lay precariously on top of the garbage can, disabling the lid from closing.
Nothing truly odd about this picture except, she held Trevor on her lap in his Thursday outfit. A ripple of goosebumps ran across my sternum and down my arms. Why was Stella holding Biggies stuffed bear? Where was Biggie?
I turned to leave. Q spoke. "I made a cup of coffee for you."
"I'll be right back," I said and took two steps forward.
"She's not there. She's missing."
"Okay, fine," Stella said, throwing Trevor onto the counter. He skidded, tumbled, and landed on Biggie's keyboard. "I lost her."
She staggered into the kitchen, opened the door to the refrigerator, and stared inside.
"How do you lose a person?" I asked. not really wanting to hear the answer.
"It's not my damn fault. She's 19 go'n on 12. Let's face it. She's a fucking retard."
Q slapped her hard. She ricocheted into the fridge and grabbed hold of a shelf to steady herself. Beer bottles and leftovers tumbled, rolled, and crashed at her feet.
Stella, not one to cry, not one to take a punch without retaliation, crumbled to the floor as if every bone in her body gave way to grief. And she sobbed and rolled around in the broken glass and fried rice and sweet and sour chicken.
Q picked her up and held her tight as she thrashed about. She looked small against his massive frame. Tiny cuts from the broken beer bottles popped up on her arms and face, dots of blood mingling with rice and pea pods.
Q carried her to her bedroom. I waited. Waiting was all there was to do. That, and stare at tiny pink hearts dancing to and fro across the Biggie's computer screen.
Oh, yes, and one other thing. I held Trevor on my lap as Stella had a few moments ago.
To be continued....
"Wake up. We got a situation."
He tossed my robe onto the bed and abruptly left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Whatever happened must be bad. Q's demeanor spoke volumes. I took my time dressing, stalling the inevitable.
He came back into the room. "We need you now," he said.
I slipped on my comfortable shoes. Somehow I thought they might come in handy. I prepared myself for the situation. Whatever it was.
I followed Q into the kitchen. Stella sat at the counter drinking a long-neck beer and smoking a cigarette. The ashtray overflowed with butts. Empty beer bottles lay precariously on top of the garbage can, disabling the lid from closing.
Nothing truly odd about this picture except, she held Trevor on her lap in his Thursday outfit. A ripple of goosebumps ran across my sternum and down my arms. Why was Stella holding Biggies stuffed bear? Where was Biggie?
I turned to leave. Q spoke. "I made a cup of coffee for you."
"I'll be right back," I said and took two steps forward.
"She's not there. She's missing."
"Okay, fine," Stella said, throwing Trevor onto the counter. He skidded, tumbled, and landed on Biggie's keyboard. "I lost her."
She staggered into the kitchen, opened the door to the refrigerator, and stared inside.
"How do you lose a person?" I asked. not really wanting to hear the answer.
"It's not my damn fault. She's 19 go'n on 12. Let's face it. She's a fucking retard."
Q slapped her hard. She ricocheted into the fridge and grabbed hold of a shelf to steady herself. Beer bottles and leftovers tumbled, rolled, and crashed at her feet.
Stella, not one to cry, not one to take a punch without retaliation, crumbled to the floor as if every bone in her body gave way to grief. And she sobbed and rolled around in the broken glass and fried rice and sweet and sour chicken.
Q picked her up and held her tight as she thrashed about. She looked small against his massive frame. Tiny cuts from the broken beer bottles popped up on her arms and face, dots of blood mingling with rice and pea pods.
Q carried her to her bedroom. I waited. Waiting was all there was to do. That, and stare at tiny pink hearts dancing to and fro across the Biggie's computer screen.
Oh, yes, and one other thing. I held Trevor on my lap as Stella had a few moments ago.
To be continued....
Zee: Author of cheap paperback novels. Rich, eccentric old cougar living in a condo in downtown Chicago.
Biggie: Filipino. Zees unofficially adopted daughter. Computer guru. Diagnosed with arrested emotional development and speech dysphasia after suffering a brutal beating as a child.
Stella: Thirty-something housekeeper. She lives with Zee. She Drives a motorcycle. She moved from her grandparent's farm in Oklahoma to Chicago in search of her birth mother.
Q: Big, mean, and beautiful. He lives in a condo next to Zee. Occupation, bodyguard, chauffeur, cook, and anything else zee needs. Upper crust educated. African American.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Biggie: Filipino. Zees unofficially adopted daughter. Computer guru. Diagnosed with arrested emotional development and speech dysphasia after suffering a brutal beating as a child.
Stella: Thirty-something housekeeper. She lives with Zee. She Drives a motorcycle. She moved from her grandparent's farm in Oklahoma to Chicago in search of her birth mother.
Q: Big, mean, and beautiful. He lives in a condo next to Zee. Occupation, bodyguard, chauffeur, cook, and anything else zee needs. Upper crust educated. African American.
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