CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Family is overrated…hoes been hatin’…dislikin’ da facts a bitch been statin’…bringin’ it raw…gotta bitch wantin’ ta throw up da hands…f*ck bein’ related…step outta pocket…a bitch knockin’ sockets…breakin’ jaws…ain’t shit to understand…
“Ohmiiiiiiif*ckin’gaawd, Kat, you are really outta f*ckin’ control cursin’ ya grandmoms out like that. That shit is straight disrespectful ’n nasty.”
Me and Chanel are chillin’ at my spot, doin’ what we do best. Blazin’ ’n poppin’ mad shit ’n cursin’ each otha out. I finally decided to fill ’er in on the rest of the hospital drama wit’ my nutty-ass family. As you already know, Chanel’s my only true friend. And I got mad love for the ho ’cause, on e’ery thing, she ain’t gonna tell me what the f*ck she thinks I wanna hear; she’s gonna serve it to me just how I dish it to ’er—raw. Still, a bitch ain’t always tryna hear the shit. And today happens to be one’a those days.
I roll my eyes, flickin’ my hand. “Oh, well. Life’s a bitch, boo. She had no business comin’ at me da way she did.”
“It doesn’t make a difference how she came at you, bitch. That’s still ya grandmother.”
“Bitch, be clear. I’ma grown-ass woman; I don’t give a f*ck who it is. You bring it to me wrong, you gonna get handled. You act like I come at these hoes tryna bring da noise. No, sweetie. A bitch stays mindin’ ’er own business. But these bitches stay tryna serve me. Sorry, boo-boo, I ain’t da f*ckin’ one.” I take another puff of the blunt, then pass it back to ’er.
“Kat, c’mon, ya grandmoms? It’s one thing you dissin’ ya moms and ya aunts, but ya grandmoms. That’s some foul shit. No matter what, she’s da one person you ’posed to always respect.”
“Says who?” I get up from table to check on the lasagna I have in the oven. Yeah, believe it or not, a bitch cooked. I remove the foil so it can brown on top, then start choppin’ up da lettuce, then slicin’ cucumbers for our salad. “Tell me what handbook that shit’s written in so I can smack da shit outta da bitch who wrote it.”
She huffs. “Bitch, there ain’t no damn handbook. You ’posed to respect ya elders; period, point-blank.”
I tilt my head. “Again, says who?” When she can’t give me an answer that makes sense to me, I add, “News flash, Sugah: It’s kinda hard ta respect a bitch who ain’t neva did shit for you. When a bitch ran away from home ’cause I couldn’t take all da bullshit Juanita was into anymore, that old-ass ho told me I couldn’t stay wit’ ’er. Da bitch told me she didn’t have any room for me. But she had room for all’a Elise’s kids when ’er ass was in prison. I came to that bitch cryin’ ’n she flat out told me ta take my ass back home. Didn’t say I could stay for da night, then go home; nuthin’. She straight out told me I couldn’t stay there; that a bitch wasn’t welcomed there. And you expect me to respect ’er. F*ck outta here. Grandmother or not, she can lick da inside’a my a*shole. And I’ll leave it filled wit’ a buncha shit for ’er.”
Chanel coughs, chokin’ on weed smoke. “Ugh, that’s some nasty shit right there.”
“Oh well.”
“Bitch, I still think ya ass is crazy as f*ck. I’m glad ya ass at least came to ya senses where da baby’s concerned.”
“Mmmph. That lil’ muhf*cka is lucky. ’Cause trust, had I not walked in on them bitches doin’ that sonogram, it woulda been scraped out ’n tossed in da toilet.” Chanel stares at me, then blinks ’er eyes. I shrug. “Whaaat? I’m keepin’ shit real.”
“Whateva. All that matters is that you didn’t. We gotta lotta shit to get done before da baby comes home. I’m kinda excited ’bout bein’ an auntie.”
I stop choppin’, snappin’ my head in ’er direction. “Whoa, whoa…pump ya brakes, boo. What da f*ck is you talkin’ ’bout?”
“I’m talkin’ ’bout da baby. After it’s born, aren’t you takin’ it?”
I buck my eyes, shakin’ my head. “Bitch, I said I changed my mind ’bout pullin’ da damn plug. I ain’t say nuthin’ ’bout bringin’ no baby up in here. Where da f*ck you get me takin’ a baby outta that?”
She tilts ’er head, frownin’. “Ummm, it’s ya lil’ brotha or sista, so why da f*ck wouldn’t you?”
I look at ’er ass like she’s one’a the dizziest hoes alive. “Ho, I gotta life, that’s why.”
“So you mean to tell me you’re gonna abandon ya own blood; is that what da f*ck you tellin’ me?”
“Abandon? Ho, I ain’ abandonin’ shit. It doesn’t know me. And I don’t know it. So how is that me abandonin’ it?”
“It’s ya blood. It’s a baby you know exists, and instead of step-pin’ up to da plate you turnin’ ya back on that innocent baby.”
“Sweetie, that baby can go into foster care. I’m sure some family will adopt it, and hopefully do right by it. But, this bitch ain’t da one.”
“Let’s see. Abandonment, neglect, self-centeredness…hmmmm, once again, here you go soundin’ more ’n more like ya moms.”
Hearin’ this shit for the second time from ’er makes my skin crawl. And she shuts me the hell up wit’ that. The only comeback I can think to say is, “Like I said, I gotta life.”
She laughs. “A life doin’ what?”
“Doin’ me.”
She shakes her head, tightly rollin’ another blunt. She seals it. “Oh, puhleeze.” She sparks up, then takes it to the dome.
I stop slicin’ tomatoes. “And what is that ’posed to mean?”
She gets up and walks ova to me wit’ the blunt danglin’ from ’er dick suckas. She takes another pull, then hands it to me. “Bitch, it means, yeah you gotta life, but ya ass ain’t really livin’ it. You f*ckin’ existin’, that’s it.”
I stare at ’er. Raise a brow. “Oh, so I guess you’re livin’ life, but a bitch like me is only existin’, right? Bitch, puhleeze.”
“I neva said I was livin’ shit. I know I could do betta, but I’m good. The difference between me and you is I’m not goin’ through life pissed off at da world.”
I take two pulls from the blunt, then pass it back to ’er. I go back to finishin’ up the salad. “Sweetie, I ain’t pissed at da world. I’m pissed at bitches who keep tryin’ it on my time; simple as that.”
“Yeah, okay, boo. If you say so.”
“Think what you like, but I ain’t takin’ on another bitch’s problem. As far as I’m concerned my good deed is lettin’ da lil’ thing live, not raisin’ it.”
“Ohmiiiif*ckin’gawd, I done heard it all. See, that’s ya f*ckin’ problem. You so busy lovin’ ya’self that you don’t know how to love anyone else.”
“Bitch, get real. I love ya ho-ass.”
“I know you love me. And I love you, too. But I ain’t talkin’ ’bout me. I’m talkin’ ’bout you bein’ so damn closed to lettin’ anyone else in ya space. Bitch, I love you like a sista, but I swear ya ass is too damn selfish.”
Is this slut serious? “Ho, since when you become da expert on love? Love don’t come easy, and it ain’t guaranteed. So, a bitch like me ain’t givin’ any out unless it’s earned and deserved.”
She goes back to ’er seat. “Kat, it ain’t always ’bout you. That baby needs you. And if you ask me, I think you need it, too.”
I roll my eyes. “Girl, you sound f*ckin’ crazy.”
“And, bitch, you crazier than I am.”
I laugh, dismissin’ e’erything she’s said. “You know what, ho, pass me da damn blunt. And instead of playin’ Oprah, make ya’self useful and take the lasagna outta da damn oven. Trick-bitch tryna lecture me. Not!”
“F*ck you, slut-bucket.” We go back ’n forth callin’ each otha a buncha names, laughin’ ’til it’s time to get our grub on.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, WE’RE SITTIN’ AT THE TABLE EATIN’ ’N tossin’ back Jose Cuervo mix margaritas. Our convo has changed up and I’m glad ’cause I really didn’t wanna have’ta go off on my girl ’bout shit she’ll neva understand. “Mmm, this shit is bangin’, Boo. I had no idea you could throw down in the kitchen.” She licks ’er fingas, takin’ a sip of ’er drink.
“Well, Sweetie, a butta bitch like me can do more than be fly ’n fabulous.”
“Hmmmph, so I see, boo. So I muthaf*ckin’ see. Annnnyways, what’s good wit’ you and Allstar?”
“Shit. But interestin’ly da nigga took me to meet his moms.”
Her mouth drops open. “Say what?”
“You heard me. It f*cked a bitch up, too.”
She smiles. “That nigga must really dig you. You know ain’t no nigga takin’ a ho he ain’t really diggin’ home to meet his moms; period.” I agree. “So how was she?”
“On some real shit, she was mad cool. She checks da nigga left ’n right, and was puttin’ ’im out on front street da whole time, draggin’ ’im for filth.” I start laughin’. “Ohmigod, girlfriend was airin’ his drawers all da way out.”
“What was she sayin’?”
Ohhhhkay…this is my girl and all. But, on some real shit, a bitch ain’t really up for tellin’ ’er too much ’bout this nigga. So I tell ’er just enough to let ’er know the nigga has real doggish ways.
She wets ’er throat, tossin’ back the rest of ’er drink, then refills ’er glass. “I guess you were shocked when she told you all that.”
“Kinda. I mean, not by what she was sayin’ ’cause I already knew da nigga had a buncha whores on his squad.” She sparks an after dinner blunt, takes a pull, then hands it to me. “I wasn’t expectin’ ’er to put ’im on blast in front of me. And da funny thing is, he didn’t try ’n stop ’er. It was like da nigga wanted ’er to spill his dirt.”
“Yeah, that nigga’s diggin’ you, Kat.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
She rolls ’er eyes up in ’er head. “Bitch, whaddaya mean, maybe? You already know what it is.”
I put the blunt to my lips, thinkin’ back on my convo with his moms while I was in the kitchen helpin’ her wit’ the dishes. Yes, believe it or not, a bitch rolled up ’er sleeves and helped his moms out. For me, that was a first. But it gave me a chance to get to know ’er some.
“Let me tell you something ’bout my son,” she said, eyein’ me. “Alex is my only child. And I know him like I know the back of my hand. That man has never brought any woman to my home to meet me. And believe me, he has been through multiple women. Even when he was a teenager, sneaking them fast-assed girls into my house, he wasn’t tryna have me meet ’em.
“But, for some reason, he wanted me to meet you. Now I don’t know what it is about you, but whatever it is, it has my son open. And, between you and me, I have been prayin’ every day that he’d meet someone he can settle down with. I don’t know enough about you to say if I think you’re the one. But I know enough to know that my son thinks you’re the one good enough for me to meet. So, that says a lot.” She paused, then added, “You seem like you on point. You classy, beautiful and I can tell a feisty one. And that’s what my son needs—someone who won’t put up with any shit. But I’ma tell you like this, don’t f*ck him over, or you and I will have to take it to the streets.”
Believe it or not, a bitch was taken aback when she said that. But I kept it cute. The only thing I could do was smile ’cause on some real shit she brought it to me how a real bitch should—straight to the damn point.
“So, all that said, you tryna make it pop wit’ da nigga or what?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m chillin’.”
“You chillin’? Bitch, ya ass need’a man.”
“I don’t need shit. And I definitely don’t need ’im. Not for anything serious; that’s for sure. The nigga is too extra for me.”
“Mmmph, if you say so. Well, have you at least f*cked ’im?”
I smirk. “Sumthin’ like that.”
She drops ’er fork in ’er plate. “Ohmiiiigod, you dirty whore. Since when you start holdin’ out on’a bitch? That’s da first thing that shoulda been cumin’ outta ya cock washas. F*ck goin’ to meet his mammy. Spill it. Is the nigga’s stroke game right?”
I laugh. “No comment.”
She sucks ’er teeth, rollin’ ’er eyes. “Well, answer me this. How many times you f*ck ’im?”
“Twice,” I tell ’er, liftin’ my glass in toast.
She laughs. “Say no more. Da dick’s good, and you diggin’ his ass.”
I grin. “What makes you say that?”
“’Cause I know ya kind, boo.”
I chuckle. “Oh, bitch, puhleeze. You think you know so damn much.”
“Well, am I wrong?”
“Ho, finish eatin’ ya damn food.”
“Tramp; just what I thought.”
“F*ck you, Booga,” I say, gettin’ up from the table to get another bottle of Cuervo.
She bursts out laughin’. We spend the rest of the afternoon, blazin’ and drinkin’ ’til we’re both so damn lit we can’t see straight. And as usual, Chanel’s drunk-ass ends up stayin’ the night.
Bang, bang, bang! Ding-dong, ding-dong! I OPEN MY EYES NOT sure if it’s a dream or if someone is really bangin’ on my damn door and ringin’ my doorbell like they two steps from crazy. The bangin’ and ringin’ continues. I glance ova at the clock. 8:47 a.m.
“Who da f*ck’s bangin’ on ya door like that?” Chanel asks, standin’ in my doorway in ’er bra and panties wit’ ’er hair all ova her head. She pops ’er hips in my room, walkin’ into my closet to get a robe. I glance at ’er. The bitch’s body is bangin’.
“Beats da hell outta me,” I say, rollin’ ova on my left side and pullin’ da covers up ova my head. “Go down and see.”
She walks outta the room, goes downstairs. I hear the alarm chirp when she finally opens the door, then wonder what the f*ck is takin’ ’er so long to come back upstairs.
A few minutes later she comes up and says, “Kat, girrrrrl, you gotta real problem.”
There’s more bangin’. Then pressin’ down on my doorbell. I snap up in bed. “What? Who da f*ck is on my doorbell like that?”
She shakes her head. “Baaaaaaby, you might wanna boot up. It’s ya Aunt Rosa.”
My eyes buck in surprise. “Whaaaat?! Rosa’s at my muthaf*ckin’ door?”
“In da damn flesh. And girlfriend looks like she’s ready to make shit pop.”
Bang, bang, bang, bang! I swing the covers off, then jump outta bed. “You gotta be f*ckin’ kiddin’ me. That bitch brought ’er ass to my muthaf*ckin’ home tryna bring da noise? Oh, hell no. I’ma f*ck this bitch up once ’n for all.”
I run into my closet, snatch’a Baby Phat sweatsuit off’a hanga, then hurriedly put it on. I boot up; tie my laces tight. “I’ma break this bitch’s face,” I say, brushin’ past Chanel. She follows behind me as I race down the stairs, then peek outta the livin’ room window to see what kinda work I gotta put in. Ohmigod, this crazy bitch came here solo, I think when I don’t see anyone else outside wit’ ’er.
“Kat, maybe you should call da police,” Chanel says, slippin’ into a pair’a sweats. She pulls ’er hair into a ponytail. “You said there’s a restrainin’ order, right?”
“Oh, I’ma call da police alright. After I finish rockin’ ’er sockets ’n knockin’ ’er grill out. I’ma need you to be on watch in case some ’xtra shit pops off.”
“I got you.”
Bang, bang, bang! “Kat, I know you’re in there, bitch! Open up this f*ckin’ door and take ya ass-whoopin’ like a real bitch. F*ckin’ no-good bitch!”
Bang, bang, bang!
I decide to go out the back door and run ’round to the front to catch this ho by surprise. I tell Chanel to open the front door to distract ’er. I grab two bricks from off’a the patio table, then race ’round to the front. I hit the bitch in the back of the head wit’ one brick and throw the otha through my front window to make it look like the bitch was the one who tossed it.
She grabs ’er head. “Aaaaaah! p-ssy bitch! You wanna sneak a bitch?! You wanna fight dirty?!” She charges me, but I got the ho dazed.
I grab ’er by the hair. “Bitch!” I snap, swingin’ ’er onto the ground, then draggin’ ’er by her scalp. “You come to my muthaf*ckin’ home like you wanna get it in, then let’s.”
“Bitch!” she yells, tryna pry my hands outta ’er hair. “Let my muthaf*ckin’ hair go and fight me like a real bitch.” I don’t let go ’til I yank’a handful of ’er hair out.
“Get da f*ck up, bitch. You wanna rock wit’ da hands, then let’s.” I wait for the bitch to get up; hands balled in tight fists. Give ’er a moment to get ’er thoughts in check, then we bang it out. We go at it like two bitches who have hated each other for years. She’s punchin’. I’m punchin’. My fist connects wit’ the side’a ’er face. Hers connects wit’ the side’a mine. We go blow for blow. I hit ’er dead in ’er grill. She stumbles backward. “I’m so f*ckin’ sick of you. I wish you’d die, bitch!” I punch ’er again. “I want you dead!”
She runs toward me, and kicks me in the stomach. I stumble back. “I’ma f*ck you up, Kat, for all da pain ya ungrateful ass caused my sista, for disrespectin’ ya grandmutha, and for comin’ at me like I’m some gutter bitch.”
“Suck’a crack pipe, slut,” I snap, punchin’ ’er in ’er throat, then kickin’ the bitch in ’er bad knee—the one I’m sure she thought I forgot ’bout—wit’ my steel toes. “You are a gutter rat.” She falls to ’er knees. “Get up, bitch! Let’s finish this shit once ’n for all.”
She gets up and, then in one swift motion, the bitch whips out ’er blade and swings it, slashin’ into the air. I jump back. She swings ’er blade again. Slashes the air again; attempts to bring it to my face. But I am smart enough to know not to get too close to ’er crazy ass.
Right now, I am too f*ckin’ mad to be concerned if the bitch cuts me or not, I want ’er ass dropped. I charge ’er. “Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch, I hate you!” I knock ’er backward into a tree, grabbin’ her by the wrist, then twistin’ ’er arm ’til she drops the blade. I flip ’er onto the ground, then jump on top’a ’er. We roll ’round in the grass, slappin’, punchin’ and clawin’ each other ’til I reach for the brick that’s beside me and start rockin’ the front of ’er face wit’ it. Blood gushes out. And it only entices me; gets a bitch’s juices flowin’ and makes me wanna crack this ho’s skull open. Right now, I wanna smash ’er brains in. I bang in ’er mouth, again.
I hear Chanel scream. “Ohmiiigaaaawd, nooooo, Kat!”
Someone must have called the police. I can hear the sirens in the background, but I don’t give’a f*ck. I let go of the brick, drop it on the ground, then get up, leavin’ Rosa lyin’ on the ground busted ’n bloody.