Gianna's Grit | ✓

VI: Cleanup, Standup

GIANNA

Georgia woke me up at sunrise to employ my help once again, this time around the house. I washed and dried dishes before cleaning the living room. She was obviously off-put by my sudden willingness to clean after having an extensive history of throwing fits on cleaning day. Georgia didn't say anything before setting to work though, so neither did I. There was nothing else to be said.

I honestly needed the cleaning time to think. Most of my brainpower was used to think about my argument with King or Zion, and I came to one conclusion every time I dissected our late night conversation.

King is an asshole.

He honestly tried to blame me for Georgia's actions, as if a twelve-year-old had any voice against the woman. He knew better than that—at least I thought he did.

"Hurry up and get away from those windows!" Georgia called from the kitchen.

I didn't even have to ask this time, if King's "little brothers" do rounds at night, then what's keeping them from doing the same in the morning?

I finished cleaning the front window before I saw someone smoking on the porch, their back to me.

I rushed back to my room, grabbing a random pair of socks as well as my gun, before rounding the man. He was one of the guys from yesterday, but he didn't seem to care about me being armed.

"I warned all of you yesterday; go the fuck away," I scowled down at the man.

The caramel-toned man smiled as he continued to smoke whatever was rolled between his fingers.

I snatched it away and threw it into the grass, "What are you even doing here?"

He shrugged, "I've got my orders."

I raised an eyebrow, "Oh yeah? Orders from who?"

He crossed his arms carelessly, "You know who."

I scoffed and clicked my tongue, "King."

He nodded.

"Well, what are they?" I pressed. "What orders did King Jackass give you?"

The nameless man smirked, "Nice nickname. I bet he'll love it when I tell him you said that."

I aimed the gun right at his forehead, making him raise his hands, "What. Are. Your. Orders."

He frowned, "I'm just a Tag, girl, damn."

"A Tag?" I lowered the gun slowly, "Did he send a fucking tagalong to babysit me?"

The man nodded, "I can't leave, and neither can you."

"King can't tell me shit," I huffed.

"Say whatever you want, but you can't leave," he lowered his hands.

"Watch me," I ground out.

I spent an hour getting ready, before stomping past the Tag and giving him a scowl as I went down the staircase.

"You don't wanna do that," he called as I unlocked my car.

"Oh no, I really do," I have him a sickly sweet smile before flicking him off as I drove away.

I wearily met the eyes of a few little brothers as I left the neighborhood. None of them stopped me, but I noticed most getting one the phone in my rear view mirror.

They're telling King, I concluded before pressing on the gas, I have to get out of here before he shows.

I sped home, changed into a new outfit, and rushed right back out to the office. I gave quick greetings to passing colleagues before finding my office. I dove into my work, most of which I was behind on.

I'm usually ahead of the game, I looked over the mountain of work, I need to work harder to get the promotion. I am NOT letting Paul get it.

I worked until my stack was gone, and finalized every spreadsheet and presentation down to each syllable. I read everything over for the fifteenth tine before I took an elevator down to the parking garage. I half expected King to be standing near my car waiting for me, and sighed in relief when he was nowhere to be found.

I sat in my vehicle, doors locked and ignition on just in case, and made a quick call to my boss's unoccupied office for him to hear later. I informed him of Saul's passing and requested the rest of the week off for funeral purposes.

I quickly ended the call and made my way home, taking my time. I greeted a few of the other residents before opening my flat. I locked the door behind me, kicked off my heels, and set my purse down. I sat at the island, surveying my surroundings.

If anyone was to ask me what I hated the most about living in my flat, I would immediately single out the decor. Everything was modern and cold.

Of course, I only spent enough time in the space to eat, sleep, and do any left over work, but it eventually weighed on me if I spent too much time even just looking over the space.

It was the exact opposite of my childhood home. Aunt Philly was a borderline hoarder, so our home never seemed empty at all. Warm colors and homemade blankets always made the house into an inviting space. My flat came fully furnished with furniture from Switzerland and state of the art stainless steel utilities to boot.

I'm not complaining, no, but it was definitely a change. It was, however, great to see aunt Georgia's jaw drop when I first showed the trio my living space via video chat. The satisfaction only lasted so long after saying goodbye though, and then I was back to feeling lonely again.

Now, I busied myself by flipping through my digital calendar, making calls to my clients for the week. I almost robotically informed each of them of the recent passing in my family before apologizing, asking for a rain check, and wishing them a good week. By the time I'd completed everything, it was almost midnight.

I hadn't eaten since breakfast, but that was the least of my worries. I wasn't in the mood to eat anyway.

I decided to pack, not playing any music so that I would be left with the thoughts I still needed to sort out before I could even think of sleeping.