GTA 5: TRAPBOY

Chapter 7: Funeral, Family Matters, Crack



The church was filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by the muffled sobs of those who knew and loved Tommy's mother. The air was heavy with grief and the faint scent of flowers, the kind that always seemed to mask the pain of loss but never quite succeeded. Tommy stood at the front, his heart aching as he stared at the casket draped in a cascade of white roses. He could still remember her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. But now, all that was left were memories and the bitter sting of tragedy that had ripped their lives apart.

To his left stood his two best friends, Franklin and Lamar, their expressions somber and supportive. They had been with him through thick and thin, and today was no different. On his right, his girlfriend Tonya clutched his hand tightly, her own face a mask of sadness. They had all gathered to honor a woman who had been taken too soon.

Behind Tommy stood his twenty-year-old sister, Susan, her boyfriend Travis lingering protectively by her side. Susan's eyes were red from crying, and she occasionally wiped away tears with the back of her hand. Beside her was little Zoe, only eight years old, who seemed to grasp the weight of the situation in a way that no child should have to. She clutched a small stuffed bear, her innocent face bewildered by the sorrow around her.

Tommy could see his mother's friends scattered throughout the pews, their faces etched with grief as they whispered among themselves, sharing stories of happier times.

As the service proceeded, Tommy felt a mix of emotions—rage, sadness, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed his mother, that somehow, he should have been able to protect her from the horrors that had befallen her. The preacher spoke softly, offering words of comfort that felt hollow. Tommy's mind wandered as he stared at the casket, wishing he could turn back time, wishing he could have been there to save her.

———

A Month After the Funeral

Tommy and Zoe had been successfully adopted by Susan. They had moved into her apartment with Travis, leaving behind the house filled with memories of their mother—a house that had become a painful reminder of their loss. The process of selling it had been bittersweet, a necessary step forward.

On a warm afternoon, Tommy found himself on the balcony, rolling up a blunt. The sun beat down on his skin, and he was half-naked, revealing a tattoo on his stomach that marked him as a member of the Families gang. Just as he lit it, his older sister stepped onto the balcony, dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, her arms crossed over her chest in frustration.

He looked up at her, momentarily caught off guard. "What?"

In one swift motion, she kicked the weed out of his hand, the contents scattering across the balcony and drifting down into the street below. Tommy sighed, feeling the familiar frustration bubbling up inside him.

"What was that for?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I told you not to smoke here!" she shouted, her voice carrying the weight of her grief. People on the street glanced up, momentarily distracted, before returning to their business. "I let you live here when I didn't have to! This is what I get? Enough is enough, you know?!"

Tommy's gaze dropped to the floor, his heart heavy.

"I don't care if I've said it before. I'll say it again—you shouldn't have been born!" she shouted, the pain in her voice evident. Tommy let her words wash over him, knowing she was hurting just as much as he and Zoe were. "If you hadn't been born, she'd still be alive! It's all your fault that Momma's dead!"

"Are you done?" he asked, his voice calm despite the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

She scowled at him before turning back inside, leaving him in silence. Travis, who had been half-dressed as well, stepped into the living room and witnessed the tail end of the argument. "She ain't ever gonna let you live that down, lil' bro," he said, arms crossed and a hint of sympathy in his tone.

"Shut up," Tommy snapped, shooting him a dirty look.

"Or what?" Travis smirked, unbothered.

"Or I'll fuckin' kill you, just like your purple homies." Tommy stood up, closing the distance between them.

"I ain't a gangbanger no more," Travis replied, his expression turning serious. "I left that shit behind."

Tommy scoffed, dismissing the conversation.

"And you should too. If you don't, you're gonna end up like your boy Quincy," Travis warned, shaking his head.

Tommy rolled his eyes, putting on a black T-shirt and grabbing his backpack. "Whatever," he muttered, storming out of the apartment.

Travis watched him leave, shaking his head in frustration. "Idiot," he said under his breath, his attention momentarily diverted as he caught sight of Susan taking off her tank top. He smirked, stroking his beard. "Just what I need before my night shift."

Tommy sat in his car, the engine idling at a red light. His thoughts were consumed with his mother and the desire for revenge. He pulled out his phone and dialed Big Mike's number, listening to the ringing until he heard Mike's deep voice.

"What you want?" Mike asked, brusque yet familiar.

Tommy took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I need a favor, man."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "A'ight. What is it?"

"I need to know who killed my mother and my friend. I want to know everything—family, friends, anyone important to him." Tommy's voice was steady but filled with urgency. "I'll do anything you want from me. But I need this, man..."

As the light turned green, he pressed down on the gas, his resolve strengthening.

"Gimme a week. I'll have all the information. Until then, keep selling my shit," Big Mike replied before hanging up.

Tommy put the phone away, continued on his way to Tonya.

———

Tommy pulled into the driveway of Tonya's house, the familiar sight a bittersweet comfort amidst the turmoil in his heart. As he stepped out of the car, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement. Without a second thought, he walked up to the front door and pushed it open, fully aware that this place had become his second home.

As he entered, the air hit him—the odor of brunt plastic that wrapped around him. The unmistakable scent of crack smoke lingered in the air. Instinctively, he headed toward the living room, scanning the space for her mother, who often occupied the couch in a haze of smoke. But today, the couch was empty, and the room felt eerily still.

Frowning, Tommy made his way down the narrow hallway toward Tonya's room. He pushed the door open without knocking, the hinges creaking in protest. What he found made his heart drop. Tonya sat on her bed, a glass pipe clutched in her hand, the smoke curling around her like a wraith. The moment she saw him, her eyes widened in shock, and she froze, the pipe hanging limply from her fingers.

With a surge of anger and desperation, he rushed toward her, snatching the pipe from her grasp before she could react. In one fluid motion, he smashed it against the wall, the glass shattering into sharp shards that scattered across the floor.

"Hey!" she protested, standing up, but her indignation was short-lived. He didn't hesitate; his hand connected with her face in a sharp slap, sending her reeling back onto the bed, completely petrified. This was different—he had never struck her like this before. The intimate spank during their moments of passion felt worlds apart from this raw, unfiltered rage.

"Wha—" she stammered, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Are you fuckin' insane?!" he screamed, his voice echoing off the walls, filled with a mix of fear and fury.

"What?! It's not a big deal!" Tonya shot back defiantly, but he could see the way she shrank back under the weight of his anger.

"We don't fuckin' smoke crack! We sell that shit!" Tommy shouted, his voice rising with each word. "You wanna become a fuckin' fiend too?! Like your mom?! You wanna become a whore, fuckin' strangers just to get your next hit?!"

Her defiance shattered, Tonya hung her head, tears pooling in her eyes. "Fuck you!" she spat, but the fire in her voice was gone.

"Shut up! If I find out that you're smokin' that shit again, we're done!" he roared, his frustration boiling over. He sank down onto her chair, burying his face in his hands. "I have enough problems already, and now this…"

After a moment, he felt her move toward him. Tonya swallowed hard, then wrapped her arms around him in a tentative embrace. "I'm sorry..." she whispered, her voice small and trembling.

"Why did you smoke that shit in the first place?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of concern amid the anger.

"I... I don't know," she admitted, her voice cracking. "It was just there. I guess Momma forgot a few grams, and I was... curious." She sighed.

"Don't do that shit again. If you're gonna smoke, smoke cigarettes or weed. Not that shit," he replied, the frustration in his voice softening slightly as he looked into her eyes.

"Okay," she nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

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