The most unprotected person in America is the black woman.

I didn't realize the truth and depth of Malcom X's statement till I was almost raped in an alleyway on my home. What's even more disturbing is that this is a black on black crime, not black on white. As black people, both male and female, we are meant to be united in love, respect and dignity, not turn against each other- at least, that's what Grandma Maggie says.

She also says that not all skinfolks is kinfolks and I got a harsh dose of that reality. Despite my protestations, Jason and I went to the nearest police station to report the incident. It surprised me that I wasn't visible shaking as I was recounting the events to the stout police officer. Maybe it was because Jason was there or I suddenly mustered enough courage, I don't know. Bottom line, I told my side of the story.

They interviewed Jason too. He told them everything that happened, including the fact that he shot Khalil on the foot. His eyes held no remorse, hell if he had the opportunity, he'd probably do it again. For some reason, that made my heart swell and put my sixth sense on high alert. Don't get me wrong, I'm going to be forever in his debt for what he did for me, but my eyebrows are raised a little.

What was he doing in our area...again? If he was able to shoot Khalil, has he killed someone before? He runs a fucking gang, and even though I don't know the details of how a gang works, I'm pretty sure they are not involved in activities that are model citizen worthy.

I haven't gotten around to telling anyone anything yet, not Bob, not my mum, not Paris. I don't know if I'm ashamed to say it or recounting it makes me feel absolutely disgusted with myself for allowing it to happen. I should have fought harder. Maybe things would not have escalated the way it did if I had put my martial arts skills to use. I took classes for three years yet I froze at the sight of danger. My sensei would be so disappointed in me if he ever found out that I didn't even knee Khalil in the balls or gouge his bloody sockets out.

''What are you thinking about?'' I turn to look at an inquisitive Jason. With a long sigh, my head hangs low and I knot my fingers. ''It's been a long day.''

We are parked at the local Starbucks a few blocks from my home. Thank God for their twenty-four hour service because I really need the caffeine to ease my mind. After taking our statements, the officers said they'd be in touch and bade us farewell. Taking a few sips of my coffee, my mind wanders again. After the Khalil incident, I don't even want to go home. How can I? How do I even explain myself? ''Hey mum, I took the route you told me not to and ended up being almost raped by a psychopathic cokehead?''

''You're doing it again.''

''Doing what?'' His chiselled jawline and aqua blues meet my eyes and he curves his lips. ''That thing you do when you're in your head. You do it a lot, especially when you're mad at me and you're thinking about what insult to hurl next.''

I laugh, like really laugh for the first time today. ''You noticed that?''

''I notice a lot of things, Princess. Believe it or not, I'm a very perceptive person. For example, I can tell when someone is beating their self up over a situation that is not their fault.'' I know that dig is directed at me but I choose to disregard it. I'm not necessarily beating myself up, I'm just analysing the many ways the situation could've been avoided.

''Khalil wasn't always bad you know,'' I start. He raises a thick brow. ''You know the scumbag?'' he asks, his tone laced with astonishment.

''You may find that hard to believe, but yes, I know him. Back then, he was just Khalil, not Khalil the psycho.'' I don't even know why I'm telling him this, considering we are not even close, but I really need to vent to someone. He was there for most of the ordeal so he's the best candidate.

''We grew up together in this neighbourhood. See that sidewalk.'' I point to the gravel in between lowered grass. ''We used to play tag on there along with the other neighbourhood kids. Our mums would yell at us because we were little terrors and would cause chaos. There was a time I was it and I was hunting everyone down then I fell and scraped my ankle,'' I laugh at the memory but Jason's face is impassive. ''I cried so loud, people where wondering if aliens had invaded the planet. Khalil came out of his hiding spot and carried me all the way home to my mum who was about to give me an earful about running around, but then he took the blame and said it was his fault. He lied to my mum and said he pushed me so that I won't be scolded. Those were the good old days.''

Sarcastically, he responds. ''He was a charmer when he was young, big whoop.''

He was a charmer alright, the perfect gentleman or should I say gentleboy, considering his age. Khali's mum and my mum were close, so naturally Khalil and I were raised almost like siblings. We lived two apartments away from each other and went to same nursery school and elementary school. He was always like a big brother to me. My earliest memories are of him helping me when I got injured, buying me ice cream from Mr Charlie's ice cream truck and defending me from bullies.

One time, this kid named Stefan pushed me off the swing at the park. I was three at the time so my initial reaction was to cry not punch him in the face. Khalil saw me crying and asked who did it. I pointed to Stefan and Khalil walked over to him and pushed him off the swing he pushed me out of. It was sweet revenge and I laughed at Stefan. In my defense, he was a big bully who thought that he could oppress people just because he was bigger than the average three year old.

''Things started changing when we got to high school. Most kids that live here attend Linkdale High because of the proximity. We were still close when we were in high school, even though he was a grade higher than I was, but I started to notice a few changes.''

''Like?''

My voice turns sullen and a hooded expression clouds my face. He notices this and does something I didn't expect. He squeezes my right hand as a sign of encouragement. I look down as his hands intertwine with mine and I feel the same emotions I felt back when we were alone at the hotel. What is happening to me?

He softly detaches his hands from mine after a beat and I continue. ''He started hanging out with this guy named Bunkie. Bunkie was known around the area as an unrepentant felon and a drug addict. At first, I didn't think too much of it because I had my own shit to deal with. Looking back, I wish I actually gave a fuck. Maybe if I had helped him back then he would have turned out a better person.''

''Hey, it's not your fault,'' he reminds me. I place my head on the car window and brush my hair with my hands. ''I know, but maybe if I had done something, or said something.''

The air in the car is thick now, and it's not from the heater. Jason has his hands on the steering wheel, his knuckles white and holding tight. He closes his eyes for a second, and then opens it. ''Melody, humans are responsible for their own actions. If a person decides to be a fuck up, that's on him. Not on you, not on God, not on the sky, but on him. If you had said something back then, how are you sure it would have made a difference? I'm no genie and you sure aren't a fortune teller so who knows what could have been?'' Stop blaming yourself because you did nothing wrong.''

''I know. You're right.''

He smirks. ''When have I ever been wrong?''

I could think of a million scenarios where he had been wrong but I just let him have his moment. He's right. I'm not responsible for anyone's actions and I shouldn't beat myself just because someone decided to steer his life left.

Where was I?

''Oh yea, so he started hanging out with Bunkie and things started going downhill. He started skipping classes just to smoke weed with Bunkie and the rest of his crew underneath the bleachers and became a nuisance. He eventually got suspended because the Principal found a cocaine stash in his coat. He claimed they weren't for him but that turned out to be a lie because he was actually selling it to other students in order to fund his drug habit.''

Khalil never went back to high school after that. Instead, he decided to be under the tutelage of Bunkie, becoming a known cokehead and dealer in the wonderful small town of Bridgewood.

The switch up from grace to grass is real.

''A drug dealer and a drug user. How convenient,'' he snorts. I narrow my eyes and fold my arms on my chest. ''Wouldn't you know? Don't you engage in cocaine pushing?''

He didn't look the least bit offended at my blunt, but condescending tone. Instead, he gives me his signature smirk.

''There's a very big difference between Khalil and I. For one thing, I don't do drugs. Never have and probably never will. That shit fucks you up mentally, as you already know.'' I give a curt nod. ''I also deliver drugs, not because I want to but because I have to. It's a strategy.''

''You're not making any sense. You're not poor and you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. No offense.''

''None taken.''

''Why do you have to do drugs?'' I question, my confusion levels only rising. Honestly, everytime I talk to him, it's like I can only get half-truths from his mouth. He doesn't owe me any explanation, but since we're having a heart to heart here, might as well spill the beans.

''Because in order to beat the system, you have to be the system.'' A few drops of rain pelts the windows and the sun has began to rise. ''Rebellion starts with the minute things.''