The Coldest Winter Ever by Sister Souljah Page B

were stiff and rough like cardboard. Brushing my hair into a French bun, I heard Midnight talking. I pushed open the door connecting to the living room. He abruptly ended a conversation he had been having on his cell phone.
    “What’s up?” I asked.
    “Your mother is out of surgery. She’s still in intensive care but she’s gonna be alright. Montenegro and Farrara are at the hospital now looking after her.”
    “Yeah right!” I mumbled. “The first people I’m sure she’ll want to see when she opens her eyes has to be the bodyguards.” I rolled my eyes. “C’mon, drive me over to the hospital. I want to see my mother.”
    “Nah!” Midnight responded coolly. “Your father said you should relax. We’ll get the kids ready and all go shopping. They should like that. They can run around a little.”
    “Santiaga called? You knew I wanted to talk to him. Why didn’t you call me to the phone?” I screamed.
    “Take it easy, Winter.”
    I don’t know how it happened, but just then I lost control. “Is it that you don’t hear me or am I speaking French, motherfucker? I want to see my mother. I want to talk to my father.”
    I turned quick and grabbed the hotel phone so I could beep Santiaga. Midnight grabbed my wrist, causing me to drop the phone. I spun around wildly, asking, “What the fuck is up with you?” He didn’t answer. I pushed him. As I swung on him he used his strong body to restrain me. Stuck in his grip, I cursed him. “Get the car ready, nigga! I’m going to the hospital.” Instead of slapping the shit out of me, he hugged me even tighter. Feeling his warm body close against mine, my resistance stopped and I found myself crying into his shoulder. Over his shoulder, I saw two of my little sisters staring at us. “What’s up with you two?” the eight-year-old asked.
    Midnight turned my body and face away from the girls and whispered in my ear. “It’s alright Shorty, I knew you would break down sooner or later. But, you gotta hold it together or your sisters’ gonna start bugging, too.”
    When I saw my own tears fall onto my hands I got mad at myself for crying. It was not like me. But I liked the feeling of being up tight on Midnight. I liked the way he was holding me. I even liked the way he was treating me right at this moment. So I pushed it. I took a genuinesituation and was about to make it work for me, cry some more, get even closer for a little longer. But then three of my sisters tried to muscle their way into my act. One by one they started crying, too. Midnight released my body, looked around the room at the four weeping willows and got a look on his face that indicated he couldn’t stand the pressure. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a stack of cash. “Alright, whoever showers and gets dressed first gets fifty dollars.” Their tears turned to excitement as they shot into the bathroom to box each other out for the dough. The money was like smelling salts; it revived everyone.
    Midnight turned toward me, “Yo Shorty-tough, two more days, that’s it. Then you’ll be back home. Try to stay cool, you know?” I couldn’t answer. I was straight in love with this nigga. I was replaying my new nickname, “Shorty-tough.”
    Trying to break the spell, Midnight waved a stack of cash back and forth in front of my eyes. “Yo, you must be an impostor. Where’s Winter? Nobody has to ask her twice to go shopping,” he said, flashing a rare smile.
    I laughed, grabbed my jacket and said in a sexy way, “I’m ready.”
    At the mall the war of wills kicked in. I had one side of the hanger with the miniskirt I wanted to purchase while Midnight’s tight grip held the other side. My sisters ran in and out of the aisles under the clothes racks, while me and Midnight argued. With one hand on my hip, I clenched my teeth and spit, “I’ve worn skirts like this before. It’s my choice. Don’t act like you never seen me rock a mini before.” How and why did Midnight think