Girl from the Gutter

[Somersault]

The rage was bubbling up. It was a volcano, about to erupt, spewing a gigantic mass of molten lava and destruction, and this time she was gonna let it go. This time, she was bout to let him have it.

"BARRY," a middle finger was pointed swiftly up at the air, eyes locking eyes with the camera. "IF MY ASS DIES HERE, YOU BETTER MOTOR OVER TO MY PLACE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE."

She was asking this, yeah, but she was gonna have to make it out. Barry would be a fucking awful dad, even moreso than how he be right now, which was fucking absent.

"YOU WILL TAKE CARE OF PATRICE, 'CAUSE IF YOU DON'T, MY SPIRIT WILL HAUNT YOU FOR THE REST OF YOUR FUCKING LIFE."

[G062 - Tonya Collins START]

Tonya took a deep breath after her short outburst, to center herself, calm herself, remind herself that if she just stood out here, continuing to make noises like a frickin' banshee, she'd get shot real quickly. No questions asked. Already saw what happened to Ms. Garcia, right? Dead, there, not moving anymore, just dead. Maybe she was with Jesus now, maybe she was with the fucking devil, for all she cared. She was gone now, needed to be forgotten, because dwelling on shit like thatin the past wasn't gonn ahelp her out of this crappy, crappy present.

Maybe she hadn't been the best mom, she'd admit that. Wasn't about to go give herself any awards or something, but she'd tried, hadn't she? She'd been there when she could, force fed her those crushed vegetables, read to her, sang to her all she could, and all she'd remember was Mama getting murdered, gut like a fucking fish?

DC was fun, was surprisingly good, no matter how many judgemental hoes went on, but she'd give it all back to be at home, be with her baby-

But she wasn't at home. She was here, which meant that she'd have to get out. By hook or by crook, through the power of God or the devil incarnate, she was making it. No ifs, no buts, no more questions. This was Final Jeopardy, and she was gonna double her winnings.

Tonya Collins was bout to fucking win this crazy-ass thing, because she had to. None of these other bishes fucking gave birth, none of these bishes understood what it was like to give life, to make it, and then be ridiculed for doing a stupid teenage thing, and trying to do right by that mistake. Fine, maybe Patrice was an accident, but she was an accident who was gonna have more of a life than all of these bishes, herself included.

Tonya was going to make damn sure of that.

After she finished coming down from the high that came after screaming at Tyrone, 'cause that honestly never got old, she finally bent down to check the hell was inside the big duffel with G062 stitched on in big letters. Now, that was an awfully high number to be giving her, but whatever, fine, just meant that they were gonna be underestimating her.

With a tug of the zipper, the bag came undone, and the gleaming metal was the only thing to catch Tonya's ege. A sharp, sharp knife, silver glinting off the sun like a spotlight. It'd do.

It'd do for killing people, she supposed, but she couldn't think about it like that. It was just living, a life for a life, but really, two lives, 'cause she had to take care of something they didn't. That meant that she had more to live for, which meant that she deserved this, right? Meant that she should be the one walking away able to get all this, able to make it back there, and do more. So much more.

She closed the bag, only taking out the knife-thing, before hoisting the bag onto her shoulder with a small grunt, the material of the bag contacting with denim. She was just about to leave, leave this shady-ass neighborhood behind, with all of it's broken houses, torn boards, broken down shit, when she noticed a different duffel bag. She knelt down again, to open it, and there they were. Clothes, scrunchies, yeah, but most importantly a photo of a fat, bouncing baby girl. Her baby girl. She'd have to bring it, of course, there was all the need to, mmhmm, mmhmm, gonna go, gonna ignore all the chipped paint and shit, gonna go do something about this and live.

Wasn't bringing the bag along 'cause she knew what was at the bottom of it. Totally wasn't bringing it because the photos of her with people she actually liked were probably crushed beneath all of her clothes. Idiots, but they were her idiots, and she'd miss them.

Besides, she didn't have to be the one to kill them, right? Someone else could, she'd just be the last one on top of all the bodies. She could do it, right? Yes, yeah, hopefully.

Tonya continued walking off, back straight and resolute. All bridges'd be crossed. Just only when she got there, that was all.

((Tonya Collins, continued in What a Wicked Way to Treat the Girl That Loves You))