out of the shower, we got dressed and lay together on the bed. I was worn the fuck out, and he looked like he’d been around the block a couple of times himself.
“Aye, babes, you know we goin’ have to chill with all this,” he said as he looked over at me with a serious expression on his face. I sat up and shot him a half-dirty look.
“What you mean?”
“Come on, shorty, you know I’m digging you and e’erything. But you know my nigga out, and the last thing we need is for him to find out we been fucking behind his back.”
“Oh, really? Now you give a fuck about him? I thought we’ve been talking about leaving and starting a life together. Now the nigga home, you on some different shit?”
“Shorty, you know the nigga was like a brother to me. I mean, it sounded good when we were talking about it, but that shit ain’t possible. This nigga still love you, and plus, I got a situation with my baby mother. I can’t just up and leave my daughter like that. I’m sorry, bae.”
“Sorry, nigga. You really talked a good game. Three years you been fucking me. Three fucking years, and now, ’cause you scared of this pussy nigga, it’s fuck me.”
I jumped off the bed and was ready to bust this nigga in his head with the lamp. I grabbed the lamp, but the nigga grabbed my hand.
“Shorty, chill the fuck out. I fucks with you hard. I have feelings for you. I just don’t think now is a good time to keep on fucking around.”
“Boy, fuck you! You talk that good game, how you would treat me better than how he treats me. Hmm, now, look at you—just a piece of shit like him. Get the fuck on, man,” I collapsed on the bed and started to cry. I thought that he would comfort me like he had on the many nights when I’d cried over Jakeel.
Instead of feeling his hand on my back, trying to soothe me, I heard his footsteps leave the room. Next, I heard the door shut, and just like that, he was gone. I felt the ultimate betrayal . . . He was Jakeel’s right hand, and after Keel got locked up, at first, he would call and check up on me. Then he would drop off money for his boy.
One Saturday evening, he stopped by the shop, and we started talking. He came clean to me about a lot of the shit Keel was doing to me. Said that he couldn’t lie for his nigga but didn’t want me to leave Keel hangin’, doin’ that time by himself. The nigga said that he loved his nigga, but he was feeling bad because niggas out here in these streets wished that they had a down-ass bitch on their team like me. Flattery got his ass everywhere, and he started taking me to dinner and shit so that I wouldn’t be sitting in the house bored out of my damn mind because I really didn’t have a life outside of Jakeel at the time. So, automatically, I thought this nigga was for me.
That’s how all this shit had started in the first place. He took me to see Keel, and when we got back into the car, I broke down. I didn’t know how I was gonna make it without Jakeel. He had been my everything. That was right after all the bitches came out of the woodwork, claiming to have fucked my nigga. I made Mel take me there so that I could confront him about some bitch named Lauren, who was claiming to be pregnant with his child. That had been the last straw for me. If that nigga ain’t come clean about all the shit that he’d done, I was gon’ leave his ass up in there to fuckin’ rot.
Of course, Keel lied, and like the good homie Mel was, he vouched for the nigga. Said that she had been fuckin’ with some cop, and that’s who he thought the baby’s real daddy was. It didn’t make that shit hurt any less. Maybe that kid wasn’t his, but the other bitches had screenshots and all other kinda proof of the shit that he was doing behind my fuckin’ back. I wept in Mel’s arms when we got back to his crib . . . and one thing led to another.
We started fucking around, and it went on. We talked about moving away and starting a life. Now, all of a sudden, this nigga talking about his bitch and daughter. Boy, fuck you, that bitch, and that monkey. I swear I hated fucking niggas. How was I so stupid to let this nigga play me like that? I was so sure he was different . . . I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing; my heart was hurting so badly. This was the ultimate betrayal. Four years later, this nigga was leaving me hanging because his nigga was out, and he was scared of Keel’s ass. That was the real reason, ’cause I knew he ain’t give a damn about that bitch or that bastard that he ain’t even really know was his for real. I guess the saying, “bros before hoes,” was true.
Chapter Six
Mika
After that big fight between Rasheem and me the other day, I thought that was the end of us. But he came back home that night with flowers. He got on his knees and cried and pleaded. How could I not forgive him when I took the vows for better or for worse? That was two weeks ago, and he had now returned to his bad behavior. This shit was getting old. He started not coming home every night, and when he did, it was three or four in the morning.
I hadn’t seen him in two days. He didn’t call. Instead, I received a text telling me he was doing some undercover work. OK, even though I was suspicious, I didn’t have any proof. Earlier in the day, he called, and we talked. I still didn’t believe him, but I kept my feelings to myself.
He promised he would be home as soon as he finished his paperwork. So, me being the supporting wife, I decided to throw a roast in the oven. I took a shower and waited. . . .
That was five hours ago, and I was still sitting here waiting. I was so fucking pissed off that I was shaking uncontrollably. I took a sip of the cranberry vodka that I was nursing as I paced back and forth in the living room. I called his phone, and it kept going to voicemail.
About six hours later, I heard the garage door going up. It was either his ass or our daughter. Ky was here, so I knew it wasn’t her. I emptied the glass of liquor, preparing myself to confront this nigga. I’d been letting too much shit slide over the years, but not coming home was the ultimate disrespect—especially when I knew his ass wasn’t at work.
He stepped into the house and hung up his key. I walked toward him with my arms folded.
“So, this is what we’re doing now?” I asked in a fierce tone.
“Mika, what are you talking about?” he asked like he didn’t have any idea what I could be so upset about. He proceeded to walk off, but I ran up behind him and grabbed his shirt.
“Don’t you fucking walk off while I’m talking to you!”
“I’m just getting home, tired from working all goddamn day, and instead of greeting me like a good wife’s supposed to do, here you go coming at me crazy. All you live for is drama. I’m getting sick of this shit.”
“You’re getting sick of this shit? No, I should be the one saying that. You’re a married man, and your wife has not seen you in two days. And before you open your mouth to lie that you’ve been ‘working,’ I checked that shit already,” I lied.
“So, now you a detective, checking up on me and shit. I’m not one of your little convicts that you need to check up on. I’m a grown-ass man, and I’m free to do what the fuck I want to do.”
Slap! Slap! I couldn’t take him talking crazy in my face anymore. I slapped his face twice.
“Don’t you talk to me like I’m one of these filthy pussy bitches out here that you’re screwing. I’m your fucking wife, and I deserve to be treated as such. I will not tolerate this shit.”
He grabbed my hands and shoved me away, causing me to stumble backward. I regained my footing and leered at him while I debated whether I wanted to smack his ass upside the head again or not. He was really pushing it, and even though I knew I was wrong for putting my hands on him, I was over him and his bullshit. Honestly, I felt like he’d lost his damned mind, and I was trying to knock him back to his sense . . . back to the man that I’d fallen in love with.
“Don’t put your fucking hands on me. I ain’t no Ike, but don’t think I won’t beat your ass. You should know I ain’t one of these weak-ass niggas out here. Now,