“Ugh…” I stated trying to get up.
“You are still bruised up a little bit, you should lay back down.”
I looked around. Who the fuck was talking? His voice was heavy. I turned to the light and the sound of his voice. Was it a halo around his head? No, no, it was just the flickering light in the background.
“Are you an angel?”
Stupid question. The pain shot through my spine. I was so disoriented. The boy in front of me…well…he was beautiful. Yeah, see I always have been attracted to other boys. I’d never said anything. Mother would kill me.
“No, but I can try to be.”
“Am I alive?”
“Yeah son, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, shorty…” he stated.
He looked sad all of a sudden. Where the fuck were we? It didn’t look like a room. It was something else, but my mind was so disoriented that I couldn’t form what was going on. Where were we? I began to panic. Why was I in such pain?
Why was I having such a hard time remembering anything?
“Where am I?”
“Get some rest.”
I had really thought he was an angel. I tried to struggle. My mind was pacing so fast trying to put all these visions into my head, but my body felt so weak. It was almost paralyzed. Where the fuck was I?
Where? I couldn’t even answer it. My body failed completely. I could feel a sleep coming over me and I could just see my angel there, standing over me, watching me as though so interested in me. He was watching me as though trying to figure me out.
The sleep came over me like a huge wind, knocking me unconscious.
I woke up to loud sounds outside. I looked outside of the window. There were these men gathered around a garbage can that was lit on fire. There were ambulances. Little dirty looking kids running the street. I had heard about places like this. I was in…I was in the GHETTO! I woke up with a headache. It felt like I was sleeping forever. There was a fireplace. I had to be in some sort of building or something. It looked abandoned. I was in the most rundown looking area that I had ever been in.
I saw that around my leg, I had something wrapped around my foot. It was wrapped like a bandage. It was a shirt. Maybe it was the shirt that I had on. I couldn’t remember. Hell, I couldn’t remember a lot of things.
Everything was dark where in this building; save a flickering light above my head.
I got up at that moment. I walked down the hall. This place was all torn up and run down. The paint was all chipping off. It didn’t look healthy at all. I covered my mouth. There was a raw smell all around me. This shit was ridiculous. I was definitely out of place here and I wasn’t used to it.
Was the angel real? I remembered someone here.
I found my way to the end of the hall where I saw running water. We had to be in some sort of rundown building or something.
I opened the door.
He was standing there. His ass was facing me. I had to admit it was an amazing body. He had strong legs. He had been taking a shower. I looked at the thing he was taking a shower in. I guess you could call that some sort of tub or something. It looked like it had been there since the Great Depression. I believed that’s what American’s called it.
My throat was dry like the time I had that weird champagne with Donatella Versace. She was kind of classless to be honest.
He turned to me. Donatella would have approved. He was well endowed. His dick hung between his legs. It was like another leg. I was shocked honestly. The thing just swayed back and forth.
His body was everything. Every muscle seemed to scream, “Fuck me now.” He was built perfectly. His face was beautiful. It wasn’t beat up, even though he did have a couple scars on his body but I’d never seen someone so sexy. On Saturdays my cleaning lady Tata used to turn on Days of Our Lives and there was this guy on there. This kidnapper looked like him. I believe his name was Nathan Owens. Except maybe I would have invited Nathan Owens to the palace for brunch. This guy looked a lot tougher. They had similar face His body was cut. His dick hung several inches below whatever I’d seen in person before. He was wiping the water off his body with his hands. He splashed off droplets of water from his round ass cheek. I’d never seen an ass so perfectly round and so big and muscular and toned.
And he had dimples. In his ass cheeks and in his face! Jesus Christ. I wanted to get dimples but the surgeon said I had to stop smoking before he’d put me under and I was DEFINITELY not doing that.
“Fuck, yo, get the fuck out! ” he stated jumping back all of a sudden and literally pushing me out of the room.
He pushed me. What the fuck. Did he know who I was?
I looked around. My eyes burned too. I was fucking starving. I needed Food. Where the fuck was Marcus when you needed him? He always mad the most delicious meals for Mother and I when we were on the yacht in Geneva. It was my favorite past time when we visited Switzerland.
Where the hell was Marcus?
Where the hell was Mother?
Then something came across to me. My mother was the Queen of Swaziland. Duh. It was different from Switzerland but everyone got it confused. She had money…she had fame and her beautiful son was taking her place. We were one of the richest families in Africa.
I had been kidnapped.
It was only a matter of time.
It all made fucking sense. Someone had fucking kidnapped me.
The man was clearly getting dressed in the bathroom. I looked to the right. There was a lead pipe. I picked it up.
Plan number 1: hit man with the pipe.
Plan number 2: get my I-phone, call Marcus to come pick me up.
Plan number 3: I still had to get to the American malls. I really was digging the graffiti Louis Vuitton sneakers. They were from someone Spruce. Some American guy. I don’t really do the Americans but since I was here I might as well take advantage and go shopping. I didn’t do American fashion. I much rather have went to Europe. My mother hated her trips to America, she only came to see me.
You see I was actually raised in America. DC. I never really experienced the city. Don’t get me wrong. I was tutored in America privately because there were some amazing teachers in the country. I dibble and dabbled in the city life but I was guarded. VERY GUARDED.
They didn’t call my mother the uppity queen for nothing.
Oh, we weren’t uppity…they were just a little “down”-ity.
The door opened finally. He was standing there.
“Ayo…what the hell you planning on doing with that nigga?”
There he was…the angel. The way he talked to me was odd. It scared the fuck out of me. I found myself dropping the pipe at that moment. It clanged on the floor.
I had to admit that he was handsome. He was a handsome kidnapper. He was lightskin and had to have been biracial. Or at least he really looked like he was mixed with something. He had a low cut. His pants were sagging underneath his ass. He didn’t have on a shirt. His nipples were small and perky. They were perfect.
I pleaded, “Don’t kill me…”
The angel seemed confused.
Why the hell was I calling my kidnapper an angel? He pulled a cap back that said New York on it. My mother used to always bring me to New York on her trips to meet with the United Nations. Could that be where we were? Like who goes there? That was so 2005…it’s so 2015 now. If I wanted to see animals, I’d take my camera back to the safari. I was so glad she didn’t come back with a little refugee baby though. I’d met Angelina Jolie’s little kids when Mother was dressing her for the Oscars. We got special invitations as usual. I just didn’t get the whole kid accessory thing. Why not get the red bottom Louboutin?
He took a step closer to me and I started to turn around and run.
I fell. I fell hard on the staircase hitting my head. He leaned over me. He was so sexy.
He came over to me immediately. Fuck…my dick. It was hard as hell. I saw his face as we made eye connections and he came out from behind the bush like the Dark Knight or something. Damn the closer he got, the more sexy he looked. I had to stop.
Dead Puppies…dead puppies…nuns…old, fat ugly nuns…
His eyes looked at mine then his eyes looked down at my dick. I got red, blushing crazy. Luckily for me he didn’t seem to notice too much and his eyes just turned to my leg and then back to my eyes. Great, I could not have my kidnapper thinking I was gay. The last thing I wanted to be seen as soft.
“Shit you ok, yo?”
Yo? Oh dear…he was a gangbanger or something.
“Look. I don’t have money on me. You know it’s 2015.”
“It’s 2015. Duh? No one carries money, honey. But I do have credit. I have um every designer you could imagine in my closet as well. I’ll give you everything. Just please don’t kill me…”
He took a step closer, “Yo man…”
I tried to kick away. I was crying now. He was going to fucking whoop my ass and there was nothing I could do about it. Where the hell was Marcus! Jesus Christ. Mother had told me I should start carrying around mace but I never listened to her.
“OH MY GOD, please! Please! I was SO not going to hit you with that pipe! I know the twins who make Dsquared. I can get you a custom suit.”
He reached for my throat, ready to rip my face off. He’d probably sew it on his clothing. I heard that’s what they did in the ‘hood’ now for respect. Oh god! Oh god! I shut my eyes ready to die.
Except that didn’t happen. I opened my eyes to see that this shirtless beautiful “Thug” was at my ankle…massaging it.
“Son, you tripping. Real talk. What the hell are you talking about son? I’m just trying to see your leg.”
I didn’t say anything.
I just watched as he massaged my leg. Should I say thank you? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to be rude, but then, one couldn’t be nice to their kidnapper. Or could they? Maybe he’d let me go without Mother giving out too much ransom. Not that the money would be an issue. Mother would pay just about anything to get me back.
“Listen…I’ll still get Dsquared to make you that suit,” I stated to him. That was worth ten thank yous where I was from.
“Who is that?”
“You don’t know who Dsquared is?” I asked.
So he was a tacky kidnapper. Interesting. I guess guys who were that handsome didn’t need to be up on all the best fashion.
“I’ll get you a brand named suit.”
“I don’t think I’m really worried about a suit right about now, son,” he laughed, “I don’t even rock suits anyway. Not my thang.”
Oh god. His accent was such a strong New York accent. I would notice it anywhere. I had been kidnapped by L.L Cool J!
I looked at my ankle. It was still swollen but I felt so much better. He’d really helped. I had to admit. I was impressed. What kind of kidnapper just kept turning his back on his victim though. He was an idiot. If his muscles weren’t so big, I would really beat his ass, except, he was…well…sexy as hell. Who really wanted to beat up sexy people?
“You have any thing to wear. It’s freezing in here.”
“Sorry man. The heater’s broke.”
He went back into the bathroom. When he came back out he handed me a shirt. I looked at it.
“Who designed this?”
“Are you joking?”
I looked at the shirt again examining it. It looked…clean…enough. He must have been used to the cold because he didn’t wear a shirt.
“Why don’t you just…fix the heat…”
“Because I don’t have fix the heat kind of money…”
What the hell two budget kidnapper. I bet if Prince William or Prince Harry got kidnapped someone would at least put in the effort to hire a better kidnapper. This had to be racist. I was being discriminated against because my monarchy was African. We were still worth 250 million dollars. I’d say that was more than Harry. I was so disappointed. He wasn’t even holding a gun at me.
It just shows Mother she isn’t as big as she thought she was.
“So um…how does this work, Tyrone?” I asked.
“Tyrone?” he stated looking at me, “You trying crack on me or something yo.”
“I’m sorry, please don’t ‘bust a cap’ in my ass,” I stated putting my hands in the air. I had watched the Wire enough times to know that meant surrender to these thugs.
“Why the hell are your hands up?”
“Look listen, my mom’s probably really upset right now and I should probably be getting home and honestly I didn’t want to have to tell you this but mother is having an affair with a married prime minister. I’m not going to tell you what country—–eh, eh erm, France, eh erm—-but you threaten the right way and that’ll definitely double the ransom.”
All of a sudden he started laughing . He was laughing hysterically. I couldn’t happen to notice how white and straight his teeth were. What kind of thug had perfect teeth? They looked too perfect, like veneers or something. Who knew the prison from that show Oz had a dental plan?
He looked at me still smiling and shaking his head, “You…you’re serious aren’t you?”
“Oh you don’t think she does? Listen, I don’t want to make it sound like I’m the son of a hoe but mom gets around…”
“No not that. You’re serious about me kidnapping you.”
He was smiling.
“You didn’t kidnap me?”
“Kid…I don’t even know who the hell you are. I fucking FOUND you. That’s what I get for helping people.”
He flashed his perfect smile again. Ok, now he was just showing off. Or maybe he did really find me hilarious or something. He ran his hands through his hair, taking off his hat.
“Found you. You were in back alley. It looked like you must have gotten into a car accident or something. You were just really beat up. You were crawling in the alley and I brought you here. You spent the night. You don’t remember.”
A car accident.
I shook my head. I didn’t remember a car accident at all. I remembered that I was out with Marcus. We had come to America for to meet with diplomats about funding a new school. For some reason my mother thought it was a good idea for me to go with her. We rode in separate cars. That was her idea too. We were much too grand to ride in the same car. She was trying so hard to get me to give a fuck about ruling. I really just cared about trying to hit up Barneys. Marcus was my bodyguard or assistant or nanny, hell I didn’t know what Marcus’s title is. He rode in the same car with me. All I knew was that when I needed Marcus he was supposed to be there. Every single time. There was a police escort like there usually was when we were in a foreign country.
I had fallen asleep in the car. That’s how much I cared about foreign diplomacy. Then I woke up in the ghetto.
“No…I don’t remember that.”
“You must have hit your head…”
“Give me your cellphone.”
“I don’t have a cellphone.”
I turned around at that point, “I need to find a phone.”
“Look relax you are beat up. Let’s get you something to eat and shit and then you can be on your way.”
He started down the stairs. He still didn’t put a shirt on but I wasn’t complaining. A part of me wondered if I should tell him who I was but I wondered if he really wasn’t a kidnapper. Was he telling the truth? Maybe it would have been some sort of trick or something. When we got down a flight of stairs I noticed that the place was more run down than I thought it was.
Someone was hoarding all these things. I watched as a crazed looking white lady ran across the room. Her hair was all wild and dishelved.
“Jalen…Jalen, they are coming. The aliens are here.”
“What the fuck is wrong with her?” I asked.
The lady came closer and I realized she had foiled paper in her hair. This bitch had missed the stop at normal behavior a few stops ago.
“Jalen, Jalen, it’s Mica…”
“Mica is dead mom,” my kidnapper stated, “You remember. He died 5 years ago. This isn’t Micah. Let’s get you upstairs.”
That was his mother. I guess his name was clearly Jalen. I was even more shocked then ever now. I watched as he walked upstairs and took his mom upstairs with him.
This was my chance to get away.
I walked to the door quickly and as I opened it I realized someone come through the door. He was light skin as well. He looked about my age as well. He looked a lot like the guy upstairs. He looked even more tough though if it was possible. He had a whole scar on his right cheek and his hair was long and curly but tied back. He was dressed in all red. I looked at his waist. A gun. Fuck.
“It’s the bloods!”
I couldn’t help myself.
“Yo who the fuck is you!” he said, “Fuck you doing in my house!”
He pointed the gun at me. I could have pissed on myself. I had never had a gun pointed at me in my life. I heard footsteps running from upstairs. I hadn’t been so excited to see someone in my life. It was Jalen. He had come back downstairs.
“Brolic what the fuck is wrong with you?”
What kind of name was that?
The guy Brolic put away his gun at this moment, “This your people, Jalen? He made me nervous. You know we don’t bring people over. What the fuck is he doing here?”
“I found him.”
“So you just bring out trash out of the streets?”
“Trash…do you know who I am?”
I could almost laugh when he said that I was trash. I looked around the apartment. This was trash. The place was tore down and looked like crap. That was trash. What the fuck did he mean by trash? I was shocked at that moment.
“Do I give a fuck who you are motherfucker?” he asked, “Was I talking to you…”
I had to admit this Brolic guy was handsome. He looked like Jalen but while Jalen was more muscular he was a little slimmer and seemed maybe younger? I wasn’t sure. Brolic had a younger face and it was slightly rounder. However he had facial hair where Jalen didn’t have any. He had a little goatee. I had to admit they were both extremely attractive biracial boys.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Beg my—what? Jalen where’d you find this fag?”
“Fag? I am Prince Djimon Mwsati of the Nubian Menice Lineage. Son of the ruler of all Swaziland.”
Laughter. He was laughing.
“Where you be finding these crazy motherfuckers…? This who you hang with now?” Brolic stated laughing even harder at me.
Jalen seemed to ignore me all together, “You really brought a gun into this house. You still out with them dudes. Brolic. What did I tell you?”
“Relax big bro…we needed the money. Who else is working? You? Oh—I didn’t think so.”
So Jalen was older. I looked over at him. I guess we had something in common. I had a little sister as well. She was a little bit of a bitch but that was another story.
“You think money will be worth you locked up? Or better yet in jail?”
I didn’t know what was worse. I didn’t know if it was worse to be talked to rudely like Brolic was talking or to be talked to “I demand a phone.”
“Demand? Yo…we didn’t have enough crazy people in this house?”
“You calling Mom crazy? Brolic, yo I will fuck you up.”
“I NEED A PHONE!”
It was clear these two were ready to go at each other’s throats all night if I let them. I honestly didn’t have the time to let them either. I had to get my shit together and that included calling Marcus and letting him know that I was ok.
“Stop bitching,” Brolic stated and handed me a phone.
“Where did you get that phone?” Jalen quickly asked him.
“Yo don’t worry about it.”
I could care less what these thugs were arguing about. The sooner I got out of this week’s episode of Gangwars, the better. The shit was cute to watch on TV from afar but I didn’t want to live this shit. Jalen kind of looked like one of those nice thugs like the thugs with a heart or something but would still shank you if you stole his prison meals. Brolic seemed like he was one of those young, not-give-a-fuck, fuck your girl and wave gang signs while doing it kind of guy.
Brolic looked like he was playing no games. He looked like he was the real deal and I wasn’t planning on sticking around to find out just how real his deal got.
I called Marcus.
“Prince Djimon? You’re alive…”
“Oh thank god. Marcus. You have to come get me. Marcus. I’m in the hood. Ok. There is a crazy lady here and the house looks like something on Hoarders. Marcus…do you remember Hoarders? That American show?”
“Marcus there are real live gangsters. Oh my god. I’m serious. Gangsters. I’m talking the Commission. Ok. I think they might sell drugs in this house. I don’t know. Marcus, I swear if I see a prostitute run through here I’ll just die…”
“Are you safe?”
I looked around. Jalen and Brolic were still arguing. I mean they were brothers but who knew with these hood guys. Brolic could pull out that gun and go ‘ham’ on Jalen any minute now. He could prove how ‘gangster’ he was. I would have to make an appearance on the First 48. I didn’t want to be on the First 48.
Or did I? Prince Harry would think that was so cool…
No. That was dumb. This place was much too dirty.
“I’m barely holding on. I think they are going to start busting caps any minute now. Is that what you call it Marcus? I said it earlier but the guy acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about…”
“Prince Djimon. You have to stay there for now. Stay on the phone with me. I’ll come see you.”
“You’ll come take me home?”
“Prince, please. Stop for a minute. I can’t take you home. Something has…happened…”
“What is so important that you are cutting me off while I’m complaining. Marcus, I told you about cutting me off when I’m complaining—”
He was serious. Marcus had never raised his voice at me before. In all the years that he worked for me, he had never raised his voice. My heart was beating fast. Something definitely was wrong.
“Prince. There was a rebellion against your mother. Her advisers attempted to kill us on the way to New York. I thought I was the only one who survived the car explosion.”
“Tell my mother…”
“Tell her! Warn her.”
“It’s too late. Prince. Do you have access to a television that has a news channel?”
“All of them.”
My heart was beating as I walked back over to Jalen. He was still arguing with his little brother. I handed Brolic the phone at that moment.
“Tell my friend where I am?”
“Yo, who you bossing around?” Brolic asked.
Jalen just looked at him and gave him a hard look, “Just tell him Brolic.”
I walked over. My hands were shaking.
“Do you have tv?” I asked Jalen.
“Yeah…um…no cable though. Just the local channels. We can’t afford—”
“—That will do,” I cut him off, “I just need the news.”
“Who the fuck watches the news. Fag—” Brolic was saying.
Jalen pushed him so hard that Brolic stumbled away. He walked up to me and asked, “You ok man? I forget what you said your name was again…”
I turned on the television at that point.
Breaking news. The Queen of the African monarchy of Swaziland and her son were killed in a car explosion on US soil today in what seemed to be a planned assassination…
Pictures flashed on the television of my mother and I. Everyone believed I was dead.
“Holy shit….” Jalen stated, “You are…you were…um…telling the truth…”
I wasn’t looking at him.
All I kept seeing was my mother’s picture on the screen. My mother was dead…