CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lights out…da party’s ova…nuthin’ to be confused ’bout…no use in sheddin’ tears…bankrupt ho had ’er run…wasted ’er years…lettin’ niggas steal ’er worth…drain ’er senses…empty out ’er heart…now she’s laid up on ’er deathbed…poor thing…bitch died a long time ago…walked among the livin’ dead…no use hangin’ on…I already know why da caged bird sings…
“Pull da plug,” I tell the doctor. It’s nine o’clock in the mornin’, and I made it my business to get back to the hospital to let ’em know what it is. I can tell I’ve shocked ’im. But I don’t give a f*ck. I want Juanita’s ass put to rest so I can get on wit’ my life. He stares at me; pushes his rimmed glasses up over the bridge of his stumpy nose.
“Excuse me?” he asks, blinkin’ his wide brown eyes.
“You heard me. It’s time to put that bit…my mother, outta her misery.”
“It’s not that simple; she’s with child,” he tells me like I don’t already know this shit. He tries to convince me to reconsider; to think on it a few more days. He tells me she’s carryin’ a healthy baby that can be safely delivered in another five to six weeks.
“I know all that,” I tell ’im. “Still doesn’t change my mind.”
“Miss Rivera, if you’d just hold off for a few more weeks. Then the fetus will be viable outside of the womb.”
After seein’ her last night, then talkin’ to that nigga DeAndre afterward, I’m well aware of my options as her daughter, and next of kin. I let ’im know this. If I wait too long, like ’er hittin’ her third trimester, then it’s a wrap. A judge can step in ’n block shit. “I’m not interested,” I say, gettin’ up. “I want the plug pulled today.”
He calls for a social worker who tries to talk me out of it, then in comes the on duty charge nurse and the hospital administrator. All three, white bitches wit’ a buncha pressed powder on they faces. They are all lookin’ at me like I’m f*cked up for wantin’ to shut shit down.
“And what about the unborn fetus?” the skinny social worker bitch asks.
“What about it? It has no rights.”
“But it’a life,” the nurse states.
“Wit’ no rights,” I repeat. “And no damn say.”
The administrator threatens to get a court order to protect its rights. I laugh in the bitch’s face. Little do they know I sat up and kicked it wit’ that nigga DeAndre for almost two hours last night and got put onto what’s what.
“Bitch, I don’t give’a f*ck ’bout no court order. Like I said, it has no rights. As long as Jua…my mother is not in her third trimester; no judge can tell me what da f*ck to do. There is no livin’ will. And there is no other parent to step up to speak on its behalf. And if there was, his ass would be en route to prison for doin’ what he did. So da only one in this matter who has rights would be Juanita Rivera, but since she’s incapable of makin’ any decisions that leaves me. I’m her daughter. And that makes me her next of kin and guardian, no?”
“Yes. But, Miss Rivera, please. Take some time to think about what you are asking us to do. All we ask is that you reconsider and think this through.”
“I’ve thought it through, and I’ve made my decision. So, this discussion is ova. Pull the goddamn plug.” I get up to walk out, then turn to face them. “If you won’t, I will. So go get the priest, pastor or whoever so we can get this done. I’ll be—”
I’m interrupted by a buncha commotion comin’ from outside the door. The door swings open. “Where da f*ck is that, bitch, hunh?! Where is she?!” It’s Rosa, wide-eyed and wild. My aunt Elise is right behind ’er. Obviously one’a these cream-puff bitches in the room called ’em. “Bitch, who da f*ck is you wantin’ to pull the plug on my sista, hunh? How dare you wanna kill her and her baby. You crazy-ass bitch!”
I laugh. “Which one’a you called this clown-ass ho, like that’s gonna stop shit?”
“I can’t believe you are tryna kill ya own goddamn blood. Ya mother, Kat. Who da f*ck are you to do some shit like that wit’out talkin’ to da rest of her family?”
“You stupid bitch,” I snap, “The nigga her dumb ass was wit’ killed ’er. I’m just shuttin’ shit down. And for da record, ho, I’m ’er daughter. That’s who da f*ck I am, trick-ass bitch. And I have more say than you.”
She looks over at Elise. “Oh, now this ho-ass bitch wants ta play daughter ’n shit. Well, where da f*ck was you when we were callin’ ya ass. You ain’t been tryna be no goddam daughter—”
“Ladies, please,” the administrator says, cuttin’ in. She looks frightened outta her lil’ Cracker Jack mind. “I’m sure we can talk this through rationally.”
“Bitch,” we both snap, eyein’ the shit outta ’er, “shut da f*ck up!” Her face turns beet red.
“Had you not called this crazy bitch,” I say, pointin’ at Cracker Jack, “shit wouldn’t be—” The next thing I know, Rosa bum rushes me, and she and I are tossin’ up the office, swingin’ each other into tables and walls ’n shit. She’s hookin’ off on me, and I’m hookin’ off on ’er.
“I told ya ass I was gonna bring it to ya fresh-ass for talkin’ all greasy ’n shit.” She slaps and punches me. “Welcome home, bitch!”
I’m not gonna front, this ho caught me off guard. But, I’m rockin’ wit’ the bitch. I don’t wanna slice ’er wit’ my blade, and I know she don’t wanna slice me wit’ hers. So we straight duke it out. Somehow we end up fallin’ and we are on the floor rollin’ ’round like two crazy bitches. I dig my nails in ’er face. Punch the bitch in the mouth.
“Bitch, I’ma f*ck you up!” she screams.
“Then let’s go, ho!” I scream back, punchin’ her upside the head. I have my knee in ’er throat. Now I’m tryna crush the bitch’s windpipe. “I will f*ckin’ shut ya lights out, bitch, puttin’ ya muthaf*ckin’ hands on me.” She claws and wildly swings her arms to get me offa ’er. I punch ’er in ’er socket, shut one’a ’er lights out.
Elise jumps on me from behind, wrappin’ her hands in my hair and yankin’ me off’a Rosa. “Oh, so you wanna fight ya aunt like she’s a bitch on da street, hunh? Oh, no bitch it ain’t goin’ down like that.” I start kickin’ and stompin’ on Rosa. Then dig my nails into Elise’s hands, tryna get Elise off’a me. But the bitch has my hair tightly wrapped ’round her hands and she’s pullin’ the shit outta it.
“Bitch, let go of my goddamn hair and fight me like a real bitch!” I snap, rammin’ ’er back into a wall. I ram ’er again. Rosa comes chargin’ me and I lift my legs up and kick ’er backward. By the time security comes through the door, we’ve tore the office up and all of the buttons on my thousand dollar shirt are ripped open. My sleeve is torn. And the heel of my left shoe is broken off. I’m too goddamn through!
ALL THREE OF US HAVE BEEN ARRESTED, AND TAKEN DOWN TO the seventy-third precinct. The stupid rookie pig has all three of us sittin’ in the same area, handcuffed. What a dumb f*ck! I glance down at my shirt, then feet. I’m ’xtra pissed that this crack-ho bitch tore my f*ckin’ blouse and I’m even more heated ’bout my muthaf*ckin’ heel bein’ broke off. On top’a that, I have a bangin’-ass headache from Elise tryna rip my scalp off.
Although Elise jumped in the shit, I don’t really have beef wit’ ’er. Yeah, the bitch was outta pocket, but she was only doin’ what they do—fight together, so it is what it is. She gotta few shots off. But, a bitch like me is still standin’. I lean forward on the bench, look over at Rosa. “Bitch, be clear,” I say, lowerin’ my voice to almost a whisper, glarin’ at ’er. She’s sittin’ here wit’ a busted lip ’n swollen left eye. “This shit ain’t ova, trust. You swung off on da wrong ho.”
This stupid bitch ain’t swift enough to keep it cute, instead she starts spazzin’ the f*ck out, loud talkin’ ’n poppin’ mad shit ’bout how she’s gonna slice my face ’n shit. “Bitch, you right. This shit ain’t ova. I’ma f*ck you up. I’m ya muthaf*ckin’ aunt, and you disrespected me. Oh, hell no, ho. From now on you like any bitch out on da streets and that’s how I’ma handle you.”
This is where a bitch goes into ’er Academy Award-winnin’ performance. I wait ’til the officer comes to take me to the back, then bust out in tears; sobbin’ ’n slobberin’ ’bout the bitch threatenin’ me; ’bout flyin’ in from California, ’bout bein’ distraught ova findin’ out ’bout Juanita’s situation. ’Bout bein’ attacked at the hospital by Rosa and how a bitch’s fearful for ’er safety.
“All I’m tryna do is deal wit’ my mother bein’ brain dead and plan for her funeral, and them nuts attack me ’cause we got beef.”
“And those two ladies are your aunts?” the detective asks, raisin’ his brow and givin’ me a what-kinda-crazy-ass-shit-is-this look.
I nod, allowin’ tears to streak my face. “Unfortunately,” I say, sobbin’ harder. “It’s a hot damn mess. I don’t need this shit right now, you know?”
He hands me a box of tissue and tries to console me by sayin’ a buncha shit I ain’t really hearin’. I blow my nose and continue sobbin’. By the time I finish draggin’ them hoes, I’m bein’ released; charges are bein’ pressed against both of them bitches for puttin’ they muthaf*ckin’ hands on me. And I’m granted a temporary restrainin’ order. I pop my hips outta there, smirkin’. F*ck wit’ me if you want, biiiiotches!
“BITCH, YOU DID WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?” CHANEL SCREAMS IN MY ear. I’m on the phone wit’ ’er dishin’ the juice ’bout how Rosa and Elise tried to bring it to me. And this bitch ain’t listenin’ to shit I’m sayin’. “Ohmiiiigaaaawd, Kat, I can’t believe you wanna pull da plug on ya moms like that. And the baby…omiiiif*ckin’ gaaaawd. Kat, you’ve gone too f*ckin’ far now.”
“Bitch,” I snap. “I ain’t call you for no muthaf*ckin’ sermon. I’m tellin’ you ’bout them two nut-ass bitches tryna bring da noise and you talkin’ ’bout some other shit. What da f*ck, ho?! Them bitches jumped me.”
“Well, what da f*ck you ’xpect? You tryna pull plugs ’n shit on their sista. And…the baby! That’s ya lil’ brotha or sista inside of ’er, Kat. Why da f*ck would you wanna do some cruel shit like that? Is the baby deformed or sumthin’?”
“Bitch, how da f*ck I know what it is. All I know is, Juanita’s dead ass shouldn’t be layin’ up there wastin’ hospital space. The bitch is dead and there ain’t no sense in draggin’ da shit out. And, as far as that lil’ thing inside of ’er, I’m doin’ it for its own good. Why da f*ck would I wanna see that thing come into this world all f*cked up?”
“Ohhhh, puhleeeeeze. Give. Me. A. F*ckin’. Break. You ain’t doin’ shit for nobody but ya’self. And it’s not a thing or a it, Kat. You talk like it’s an object. It’s a baby. Wit’ hands and feet and a mouth and nose. And you wanna take its life.”
I sigh. “Oh, well. There’s ’nough motherless and fatherless babies in this world. No sense in lettin’ it suffer, too.”
“Bitch, it’s murder!”
“How da f*ck is it murder? Do ya homework, Sweetie. As long as that plug gets pulled while that thing is under twenty-four weeks, it’s all good.”
“Bitch, on some real shit, you’ve done and said some f*cked-up shit before, but this right here goes waaaaay beyond f*cked up. It’s some vicious, nasty, psycho bullshit.”
“Ho, please. Spare me. Since when da f*ck you find a set’a morals?”
“Ohhhh no, trick, don’t try ’n flip this shit on me. You’re a real f*cked-up, selfish bitch for this shit. And if you ask me, you ain’t no different from ya moms.”
“Excuuuuuuuuuuuse you?! What da f*ck you say?”
“You heard me, ho. For years you been callin’ ya moms all kinda heartless, selfish-ass neglectful bitches. And here you soundin’ just like ’er.”
“Bitch, fuuuuuuck you,” I say, gettin’ up off’a my bed. “I ain’t nuthin’ like that woman.”
“No, fuuuuck you. And yes, you are. You just too damn blind to see it.”
“Uhhhhhh, nooooooooooo, sweetness. You got it f*cked up.”
“Yeah, okay. Denial looks real f*cked-up on you, boo.”
“Whateva,” I say, pacin’ the floor.
“Annnnnyway, if I was Rosa ’n ’em, I woulda jumped on ya ass, too. Keep shit real, boo. Is this about you or ya f*ckin’ hate for ya moms? And da only bitch you need to be real wit’ ’bout it is you.”
The bitch bangs on me, but I’m not fazed ’cause my mind is made up. And there ain’t shit she or anyone else is gonna say to me to change it.
I take off my bra ’n panties, then head to the bathroom to fill the tub. A bitch need’s a real Calgon moment. I pour in bath crystals, let the water fill to the rim, then step into the steamy water. Chanel’s voice rings in my head. Bitch, on some real shit, you’ve done and said some f*cked up shit before, but this right here goes waaaaay beyond f*cked up. It’s some vicious, nasty, psycho bullshit.
“Ho, that bitch read ya ass for filth,” I say, layin’ my head back. I close my eyes, inhalin’. Am I bein’ selfish? Is this really ’bout me, or my hate for Juanita? Why da f*ck should I let ’er baby live? Who’s gonna care for the thing? Rosa…Elise…ho-ass Patrice?
Before I start slippin’ down memory lane gettin’ all depressed ’n shit ’bout shit a bitch can’t change, I open my eyes, decide there’s nuthin’ to think ’bout. It is what it is. Right now, I need sumthin’ to relax me; to take my mind off’a all this craziness. I play wit’ my nipples, slide my right hand down into the water, and massage the front of my p-ssy. I need to be f*cked nice ’n deep, I think, reachin’ for my cell. I scroll through the call log, then press TALK. As soon as it rings, I hang up, punkin’ out.
What da f*ck is you doin’, ho?
Tryna get this p-ssy rocked?
Then why da f*ck ya silly-ass hang up?
’Cause I don’t need da drama.”
Yeah, but ya dumb-ass needs sum dick.
My ringin’ cell disrupts the mini conversation in my head. I glance at the screen. F*ck! “Hello.”
“Yo, you call me?”
“Yeah, but it was a mistake. I dialed da wrong number.”
He laughs. “Yeah right. Stop frontin’. You know you was thinkin’ ’bout me. It’s cool, ma. You can say it.”
I suck my teeth. “Nigga, get real.”
Bitch, f*ck all this back ’n forth shit. Tell da nigga ta cum rock ya box. “Whatchu doin’?”
“Chillin’. Why, wasssup? You tryna get into sumthin’?”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, come f*ck me.”
I hear the nigga chokin’ on the other end of the phone. “Hol’ up…what you just say?”
“Muhf*cka, don’t play stupid, you heard me. Come. F*ck. Me.”
“Oh, shiiiit…now?”
“Yeah, now, nigga,” I huff, steppin’ outta the tub, then dryin’ myself off. “And you need’a hurry up ’fore I change my mind.”
“Nah, f*ck that,” he says, soundin’ real amped. “Change ya mind hell. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Oh, and be clear. The offer expires if you’re not here in ’xactly twenty minutes.” I disconnect the call, swingin’ my naked hips into the bedroom to slip on sumthin’ sexy in case the nigga shows up before his time’s up. I go into my walk-in closet and open up my cedar chest filled wit’ toys. If he doesn’t, then I’ma have’ta take matters into my own hands, I think, pullin’ out my my vibratin’ Long Dong and Zing vibratin’ butt plug. Let the nigga not get here, I’ma slip this plug in my ass, then slide down on the dildo and put ’em both on high speed, then make this nut pop. Fightin’ them roaches today really got a bitch horny!
FOUR HOURS LATER, I WAKE UP WIT’ MY PANTIES DOWN ’ROUND my ankles and the scent of my sweet p-ssy dried up on my fingas. I get up, grabbin’ my toys and head to the bathroom to wash my hands and my lil’ f*ck buddies, then strut back into the bedroom, dryin’ ’em off before puttin’ ’em back in my chest. I glance at the clock. It’s already eleven o’clock, and noooooo…Nut didn’t come through…okay, scratch that. The nigga didn’t get in. He pulled up late, so I let the nigga keep ringin’ the bell ’n blowin’ up my cell ’til he got the hint. You ain’t gettin’ no p-ssy; you ain’t gettin’ no brain. So take ya late ass on.
I scoop my cell up off’a da dresser, checkin’ my missed calls ’n text messages. There’s two missed calls and’a text from Alex; one missed call from Chanel; and three calls from a three-four seven area code. Right off the bat, I already know it’s from one’a my nutty-ass aunts. I text Alex back; tell the nigga next time to get his ass here on time, then retrieve my voice messages. There’s three.
“Bitch, I’ma f*ck you up! You hear me, trick?! Don’t let me catch ya ass anywhere in Brooklyn, ho. Capiche? Don’t! I’ma bring it to ya muthaf*ckin’ face for puttin’ out a restrainin’ order on me and have me banned from da goddamn hospital…” Save.
I laugh. This bitch is outta muthaf*ckin’ control, but I promise you this. Let da bitch try ’n serve me again, and they gonna be dumpin’ ’er ass in a box next to ’er sista. And I mean that shit. I listen to the next message.
“Puta, que me de mi hermana. Tienes un asno ferina con su nombre para ello, está bien?” OhhhhhmiGaaawd, now this crazy bitch is poppin’ shit in Spanish talkin’ ’bout how she gotta ass whippin’ wit’ my name on it for keepin’ her from ’er sista. Bitch, puuuhleeeze! Save. The third message I don’t even listen to. I delete the shit.
Alex texts back. It’s all good. p-ssy ain’t ever gonna be sumthin’ I can’t get.
I text back. Good for u, muhf*cka!