about not pulling off until after they have, waiting at least ten to fifteen minutes. Then I don’t drive directly home. I circle the area, first, to make sure I’m not being followed before I head home. But this nigga right here had to have followed me from the salon. The one place I never thought I’d have to be careful.
“Hurry up, bitch!” he snaps, pushing me up against the door as I fumble with my keys. He keeps his hand covered over my mouth. My mind is made up. There’s no way I’m letting this nut-ass nigga into my home. I throw my keys across the yard, then slam the heel of my shoe into his shin as I attempt to bite his hand and fight him off of me. But he’s much stronger than I expected and his leather glove is too thick. He slaps me upside the head. And in that split second, I think I hear birds chirping.
In all of my life, I have never been hit by a man so this stuns the shit out of me. I wildly kick him in his shins and stomp on his feet until he loosens his grip on me. As soon as he does, I spin around and attempt to dig my nails into his face but he’s wearing a ski mask. He wrestles me down to the ground, grabbing me by the neck. I claw at him until my nails connect with skin, then I dig my nails into his flesh, digging in deep and drawing blood.
He punches me. “Aaah, fuck! Stupid bitch!”
I start screaming, kicking, punching and clawing at him. “Aaaaaaah… HELP! HE’S KILLING ME!” I knee him in his balls, causing him to yelp. Thank God a car is pulling up into my neighbor’s driveway. This nigga lets me go. He gets up and starts running down the street. He yells, “This shit ain’t over, bitch!” Clint, my next door neighbor, jumps out his car and comes running over to me.
“Pasha, you okay?” I rapidly shake my head, holding my neck. “Call the police. I’ll be right back.” He runs off, trying to catch whoever it was trying to do me in, but the nut’s already ghost. Clint walks back over to me. “Did you call the police?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He gives me a puzzled look. “Why not? What if he comes back for you?”
“I don’t think he will,” I say, picking up my wallet, then searching the area for my keys. “I want to get in the house and take a long, hot shower.”
He reaches for me. “Pasha, whoever that cat was he looked like he was really trying to hurt you. You really should call the police.”
I look up at him. “I know. I will. I promise; just not tonight. I’ll go down in the morning and file a report. Right now, I need to find my damn keys so I can get in the house.” He helps me look for them. I have to admit. He’s a sexy-looking nigga. He’s about six feet tall with what appears to be an athletic build; has cocoa-brown skin and soft curly hair with a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache framed around succulent, pussy eating lips. Not that I’d ever want to fuck or suck him. But he definitely has it going on. He tells me he doesn’t think I should be in the house alone. Tells me I can stay at his place for the night if I’d like. I smile at him, genuinely touched by his offer. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I’ll call someone to come over and stay with me.” He pulls my keys from out of the bushes, then hands them to me. I thank him. He insists on walking me into the house and checking to make sure all of my windows are secured and that no one is in the house, even though my alarm is activated. I let him. This is the first time he and I have said more than a hello or goodbye to each other. And it’s definitely the first time he’s been inside of my home. But under the circumstances I think it’s warranted.
“Nice place,” he says when he’s finished checking things out. “I checked everything out for you and nothing looks out of the ordinary. You should be safe.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“What’s your number?” he asks me. He catches the look I’m giving him, then quickly adds, “I want to call you so you can have my number locked in your cell in case something else pops off.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.” I give him my number, then watch him call my cell. When it starts ringing, he disconnects the call.
“I don’t care what time of the day or night it is, if something sounds or looks out of pocket, you call me, aiight?”
I nod, feeling somewhat relieved, following him to the door. “Thanks, again,” I tell him.
“Anytime. Lock up. And set your alarms. Remember, call me if you need me.”
I force a smile. “I will.” I close the door behind him, locking it. Then press my back up against it and slide down to the floor. I lightly bang the back of my head up against the door. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Who ever heard of a nigga stalking a bitch for not sucking his dick? I get a flashback of all the niggas I’ve topped off and all the times I’ve heard them beg for another round of this throat. And then I remember all the times I said I was going to stop this shit before Jasper gets home. Now look at me. Sitting on a floor with my legs pulled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around my knees, crying hysterically. I wipe my face with the back of my hands and try to pull myself together so I can think long enough to figure out who that nut was. I try to match his voice to a face, or a place where I might have wet his dick. There are way too many to consider. I pull in a frustrated breath.
At some point, I make my way upstairs, remove my clothes and get into the shower. The palms of my hands are scraped up and raw from falling on the concrete. I stand under the water for almost twenty minutes, trying to clear my head and make sense out of why someone would want to hurt me. Yet, no matter how hard I rack my brain, I can’t come up with a logical explanation.
When I am done, I dry myself off, then oil my body before slipping into a pair of red laced brief panties and a white T-shirt with the words DIVA printed in red letters across the chest. I put my robe on, slip my cell down into my pocket, grab my cordless phone, then head downstairs. I go through the house, closing the blinds and shutting all the curtains. I call Felecia and tell her what happened. We hang up with her saying she’d be right over. I go into the kitchen, fix myself a cup of green tea, then saunter into the living room and turn on the stereo. I press the remote for CD, then wait for Sade to play. I curl up on the sofa, blow the steam from my cup then take a sip.
“OhmyGod, girl,” Felecia says, rushing through the front door the minute I open it. It’s almost three in the morning. “I got here as soon as I could. What the hell happened?”
“I was attacked.” Although I calmly state this, I feel myself becoming unnerved as I give her the lowdown as I close the door and lock it behind her. I am feeling paranoid. I wish I could pretend that this shit didn’t happen. But I can’t. His voice still haunts me.
“My God!” she exclaims, dropping her bag on the floor. “These niggas are off the motherfuckin’ chain. But I’m so glad that psycho motherfucker didn’t hurt you. Thank God your neighbor pulled up when he did.”
“Yeah, I am, too. There’s no telling what he might have done to me had Clint not pulled up when he did.” I shudder. Without thinking, I touch the right side of my face where he punched me.
“Your face is swelling up. You need to put some ice on it to keep it from getting any worse.” She gets up and heads into the kitchen.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I say, following behind her. She goes into the pantry and pulls out a large Ziploc bag, then fills it up with ice. I pull out a stool and sit at the counter. She hands me the ice. “Thanks.”
“Have the police caught this fucker, yet?”
I take a deep breath, brace myself for the series of questions she’s going to start firing at me. I shake my head. “No. I haven’t called them.”
She gives me an incredulous look. “You haven’t called them? What do you mean? Why not? Girl, what if that crazy nigga decides to come back? What if this nigga is stalking you?”
“I’m going to stop by the station in the morning on my way to the shop,” I lie. Truth of the matter is I don’t want them sniffing around. The less I have to talk about this, the better. The last thing I want to do is keep rehashing what happened. “I don’t think he’ll come back here tonight or any other time. I’m sure it was a random attack.”
“Girl, Jasper is going to blow a gasket when he—”
