I followed her for various reasons. I wanted to see if she would really go home. I wanted to see if she still had a home; perhaps, she had been evicted again. I wanted to make sure that she got home. I wanted to take her home. I wanted, I needed to avoid further complications.
I followed the path that she always took to her apartment. Turned right onto Academy Boulevard. Stoplight. Stoplight. Lights. Stop. Stop. Lights.
I look to my right, and I see a figure under what looks like a spotlight, but is only a streetlamp. Seventy feet separate the figure from the black Chevy Berretta. The driver's door is ajar. Ding. Ding. Ding. Why has she crawled so far from the car? Tiffany, Tiffy, Tiffy. Tiff. Slurred speech barely escapes her lips. She's face down in a pool of blood on all four. Conscious. Gurgling. Crying. I'm numb. I'm calm. I'm pissed. How am I going to explain this to my mother? "Don't move," I command. "I'll go for help." She pleads. With me? Just let me die. Don't leave me. It hurts too bad. They should have just let me die before. If she dies, mom dies. If mom dies, Deveon dies. Maybe even I did, in one way or another. I go for help.