Page 152 of 4 Corinthians

“I don’t know,” I told her.

“He ran?” she reared back, face full of surprise.

“I told him to leave.”

“You put that man out of his own house?” she asked, and I nodded. “Only you would do some shit like that, and Four’s ass actually stayed gone.”

“He was the one who called Madea,” I said.

“Nigga got a death wish,” she said, shaking her head. She ran her hands through her braids, then sighed. “I would’ve called the cousins before calling Mary DeCorte.”

“Same,” I agreed. “But he called the one person I needed the most,” I smirked. “He knew you wouldn’t have listened if he called you.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she agreed. “I would’ve killed him without a second thought.”

“Which is why he called Madea.”

Psalms put her hand out for me to take. I held her hand, and she rested it on her lap. “You love him,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “You’ve always loved him. I didn’t understand it, the connection y’all shared.”

“Me either.”

“Call him, tell him to come home, and he will. Talk, tell him you forgive him and figure out how to move past it.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy; in fact, I’m saying the complete opposite, but y’all are worth it. The love y’all share is worth it.” She turned and looked at me, her eyes sad but understanding.

***

I sat on the couch; the TV was the only light in the room. I picked up my phone, stared at the screen, then let out a deep breath and dialed Uri’s number.

“Hello?” His deep voice instantly swept over me, calming my nerves.

“Come home, Uri.”

Four

Isat on the floor, watching Cori sleep, breathing even, eyes fluttering every so often, but she never woke up. When she called me to come home, I hopped the fence separating our houses. I couldn’t stay far away from her, so staying at her house was the only option. I sat in her living room, watching her through my security cameras. Her safety was all that mattered, and that meant protecting her from me if I had to.

My alarm went off on my phone, and I quickly swiped the screen.

“How long have you been awake?” she whispered. I lifted my head to see her pretty eyes locked on me. She rolled to her side, pulled the blanket under her chin, and adjusted the pillow under her head.

“I-I-I-I-I-I haven’t be-be-be-be-been asleep,” I told her.

“Why?” Her brow lifted.

“Cori, I-I-I-I-I-I h-h-h-h-hurt yo-u-u-u-u-you,” I reminded her. “I choked you.”

“You were having a nightmare,” she said, and I shook my head. “Uri, why do you blame yourself for everything that happens to me?”

“Be-be-be-be-be-because I’m supposed t-t-t-t-t-to pro-t-t-t-protect you,” I answered. “That’s m-m-m-m-my job, to love, ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-honor, and pro-o-o-o-protect you. I can't be th-h-h-h-h-h-e one hurting you.”

“It was an accident,” she said, and I shrugged. “You didn’t mean to.”

“That’s not t-t-t-t-t-the point.”

“No, that is exactly the point. You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“It’s still a-a-a-a-abuse.”

Cori sat up, pushed the covers off her and approached me. When she was close enough, she put her hand out for me to take. I looked at it, then up at her and lifted my brow. “Come on,” she said, wiggling her fingers at me. Reluctantly, I took her hand, and she walked me to the workout room I had in the back of the house. She picked up two pairs of boxing gloves, tossed one to me, and started putting the other pair on.