Between the Lines

ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ
ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴏʀᴋ, ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴏʀᴋ
ᴏᴍɴɪꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴏᴠ

Darius drove his Black Bentley through the streets of the city, the smooth hum of the engine beneath him as he looked ahead. The wealth he'd accumulated over the years meant little to him, at least not as much as people thought. On the outside, it looked like he had everything. But none of it made him feel the way he used to, the way he imagined he'd feel, before his world had been hijacked by a life he never chose.

He'd always loved basketball, and still did. It was the one thing he was good at, the one thing that made him feel alive. But that was before his father got locked up and forced him into the world of crime, into a world of shadows and power he had never asked for. The streets didn't care if you had potential, they only cared about survival. So, Darius adapted, took over his father's position, and found himself more entrenched in the drug game than he ever wanted to be.

Today, the weight of it all felt heavier than usual.

He reached Rikers Island just as the sun began to set. The car coasted into the parking lot, and he killed the engine. There was nothing glamorous about coming here, even with the car, even with the money. It was a constant reminder of what his life could have been if it weren't for his father's choices. The life he didn't want, the life he was stuck in.

Inside, the prison felt even colder. The sterile walls and buzzing fluorescent lights couldn't shake the oppressive atmosphere. He followed the guard down the narrow hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing, until they arrived at the visitation room. His father sat on the other side of the glass, his gaze unwavering as Darius sat down.

Marcus, his father, looked almost exactly the same as he had years ago: strong, unyielding, a man who commanded respect. But behind the toughness in his eyes, Darius could see the wear of time and the toll this place had taken on him. He didn't look defeated, but he sure as hell didn't look happy.

Darius picked up the phone, pressing it to his ear. "What's up, pops?"

Marcus leaned in, his voice sharp but laced with a hint of something softer beneath it. "You're late."

Darius didn't respond at first, running a hand through his hair. He didn't need to say anything. His father knew everything. The streets, the deals, the fights, the rumors. Hell, Marcus probably knew about that stupid altercation down at the basketball court.

"You already know about the fight," Darius said quietly, not needing to confirm it. "It wasn't nothing. Just some dumb shit."

"You know I don't want you caught up in that bullshit, Darius," Marcus said, his voice calm but heavy with warning. "I know you got your pride, but you ain't got to prove nothing to nobody. Not like that."

"I didn't start it," Darius said, his voice almost defensive.

"That's not the point," Marcus snapped, his eyes hardening. "You out here acting like you don't have a future. You ain't got time for fights. You ain't got time for bullshit. You're supposed to be better than that, son."

Darius clenched his jaw, staring down at the table for a moment. He didn't want to have this conversation. Not now. Not here. "I'm trying, pops. I'm doing what I gotta do."

Marcus leaned back, his eyes softening just a little. "I know you think you are. But it's not about doing what you gotta do, it's about doing what's right. You didn't have to take my place, Darius. You could've kept playing ball, you could've gone to college, done something with your life. But now, you're stuck in a position I put you in. And I'm sorry for that."