Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

“Yup, bitches before niggas.”

He laughs. “Sounds like we got sumthin’ else in common.”

“Nigga, peace out.” I say as he continues laughin’. I click over, then snap, “Bitch, what the fuck you keep callin’ me for?”

CHAPTER SIX

Lonely bitch…dick stuntin’…sac garglin’…lettin’ no-good nigga’s run all up in ’er back…gotta bitch wildin’ out like she’s stuck on crack…got ’er chasin’ fake muhfuckas who ain’t tryna get caught…got da dumb trick countin’ all da bitches she fought…forgettin’ da tears she done shed…too scared to open ’er eyes…’til one day da bitch ends up stretched out dead…

“Kat, girl, I just got off the phone wit’ Tamia—”

I frown. Now she knows damn well I don’t get down wit’ that bitch anymore. Once I peeped how triflin’ her dirty-ass was, it was a wrap. I don’t wanna be associated wit’a bitch like her. Especially one who was stuntin’ like she was a top-of-the-line bitch, then come to find out that fake-ass trick was rentin’ all her handbags and shoppin’ in consignment shops. Bitch, please! I don’t rock wit’ fraudulent bitches, and I damn sure ain’t gonna get it in wit’ no ho poppin’ Valtrex, okay? That bitch is toxic waste! “Umm, sweetie,” I snap, cuttin’ her off, “why the fuck you callin’ me ’bout her ass? You know I don’t wanna hear shit ’bout ya convo wit’ her.”

“Kat, this is serious. You need to come home, now.”

“Come home for what?”

“Ya moms in the hospital. Patrice tracked down Tamia tryna get ya numbers to call you.”

“And?”

“She gave me Patrice’s number to give to you.”

“Burn it. I’m not callin’ ’er.”

“Kat, Tamia said ya moms’s in I-C-U. It’s not lookin’ good.”

I blink. Does this ho really think I give a fuck ’bout Juanita bein’ up in somebody’s damn I-C-U ? Nope, I sure don’t. And I’m damn sure not about to let myself get dragged into any of that woman’s fuckin’ man drama. I already know what it is. If her ass is in the hospital, then it’s behind a nigga and his dick. When she doesn’t have her legs tossed up over a sorry-ass muhfucka’s shoulders, bein’ pressed down on a hospital mattress is the only other time her ass is layin’ flat on her back. So what else is new?

“That’s nice,” I say.

“Kat,” she says, sighin’, “all jokes aside. They don’t think she’s gonna make it.”

“Well, then, I guess she’ll finally make it to hell.”

She gasps. “Ohmiiiiigod, Kat. Now you bein’ real messy. Don’t you even care ’bout what happened to her?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you? No matter what, she’s still ya moms.”

“By whose standards, Sweetie? Definitely not by mine. You put a nigga before ya own child, you pull a knife out on me and get all slick ’n greasy at the mouth in front of a muhfucka, then you ain’t shit to me. So please. Don’t go there wit’ me. Not today.”

“Kat, that’s fucked up.”

“Yep, and so is her life. So what I care? It is what it is. You make ya bed, you lie in it. Bitches need to stop stayin’ stuck on stupid, playin’ helpless-ass victims all da damn time. There comes a time when a bitch gotta say enough is enough, and pick her dumb ass up, dust shit off and do sumthin’ other than what da fuck she’s doin’.”

“Kat, it ain’t always that easy,” she says defensively.

“Mmmph. And I ain’t sayin’ it is. But what I am sayin’ is a sick bitch needs to get herself some help and stop havin’ muthafuckin’ pity parties. You keep doin’ stupid shit, fuckin’ wit’ sorry-ass niggas, then what da fuck you expect you gonna get? A buncha shit, period! At some point these dizzy-ass chicks gotta stop blamin’ a muhfucka for her demise ’n misery, and start takin’ a look at herself. I’m done. So, movin’ on.”

“Well, alrighty then. I guess, wit’ that said, you don’t wanna hear nuthin’ else ’bout what’s goin’ on wit’ her, or what hospital she’s in?”

“I sure don’t. And I’d ’preciate it if you don’t waste my time tryna tell me.”

“OhmyGod, what a hot mess!”

I feel myself ’bout to snap on her ass. “Well, bitch…whaddaya want me to do? Break down and start yellin’ ’n screamin’? You want me to act’a fool over some woman who never gave a fuck ’bout me? Baby, puhleeze. Not gonna happen. I ain’t servin’ up no sympathy, no tears, and no muthafuckin’ love for a ho who has done nuthin’ but be da stupid, neglectful bitch she’s always been. So, do me a favor. If you really wanna make my day, call me when the bitch is dead.” I give her ass the dial tone, then toss the phone over onto the bed.

What the fuck?! I fire up a blunt, then go out onto the balcony to puff ’n chill. Why da fuck can’t these muhfuckas leave me da fuck alone. I’m here doin’ me and mindin’ mine. And these bitches just feel it necessary to get at me tryna disrupt my flow. Two years ago, it was the same shit wit’ Rosa callin’ me ’bout Juanita bein’ in the hospital all beat up ’n shit. Now she’s there again. Women like her never learn until a muthafucka stomps their lights out. A bitch like that, weak…needy, is better off dead, if you ask me. I take two deep pulls, hold the shit in my lungs ’til it burns, then slowly blow it out. I sit, starin’ out into the view.

For some reason, I find myself thinkin’ back to when I was ten. It was late at night and I couldn’t sleep. Again, Juanita was at it wit’ her headboard bangin’ up against my wall, and her nasty-ass holed up in her room, moanin’ ’n screamin’ out all kinda filthy shit. Words a bitch couldn’t wrap her mind ’round back then. But I understood enough. “Fuck me…Big dick…Good pussy…Don’t stop fuckin’ me…” Those were the things that stuck out. I knew enough to know she was in there gettin’ gutted, once again.

This one particular night, I remember gettin’ outta bed and goin’ into the livin’ room to watch TV ’cause I didn’t have one in my room, and I was fuckin’ tired of hearin’ her and her fuck of the moment goin’ at it. I turned on the Cartoon Network and had the volume down real low. I can’t fuckin’ remember what the hell was on, but I remember startin’ at the screen daydreamin’ ’bout someone rescuin’ me and gettin’ me the fuck outta there, away from her, away from that nasty-ass kitchen, those roaches and all of them on-again-off-again muhfuckas who she kept lettin’ come in and outta her bed—and life.

I don’t know how long I had been sittin’ there starin’ at the screen, dazin’. But when I finally took my eyes off’a it and turned my head, Juanita’s nigga was standin’ in the livin’room butt-ass naked, playin’ wit’ his sticky-ass dick, grinnin’ at me. The only light in the room was comin’ from the television, but it was like a spotlight was shinin’ on that nasty muhfucka.

I felt like I was ’bout to throw up all over myself. I made a face, twistin’ my nose up. “Ewww, that’s nasty,” I said, shiftin’ in my seat and foldin’ my arms ’cross my chest. That nigga kept standin’ there, peekin’ back at Juanita’s room door e’ery so often, strokin’ his dick.

“You want sum’a this?” I rapidly shook my head. “Yeah, you do. And I’ma give you sum real soon. I’ma tear that lil’ tight ass up.”

“I’ma tell my mommy,” I said, feelin’ tears well up in my eyes.

“And if you do,” he hushed through clenched teeth, “I’ma kill her and you. You hear me?”

What was I ’posed to think? There was this tall, blue-black, burly muhfucka, mean-muggin’ and hoverin’ over me. A bitch was only ten, and scared. I already saw him yoke her up, once, so if the nigga said he was gonna kill us, then that’s the fuck what he was gonna do. So I believed him.

I got up to run into my room, but while I was goin’ past him, he yanked me by the arm and covered my mouth with his big hand to keep me from screamin’. I could smell Juanita’s pussy on his fingas. The tears I tried holdin’ back started pourin’ outta my eyes as the nigga threatened, and warned, me to not make a sound.

He put his hot, stank breath up against my ear and reminded me in a whisper, “If you tell, I’m gonna kill you. You understand me?” I quickly nodded. “Besides, who you think she’s gonna believe, anyway—me or you?”