and sexy-ass eyes. We’d chill, get blazed, pop a few bottles and fuck like two rabbits every damn day. I fucked with that nigga for almost two years until he got caught up in some dumb shit and got sent upstate. When that nigga caught a case for drug and weapons possession and got sentenced, I almost passed out. I ain’t gonna front. E’erything in my fuckin’ body went numb. It was like the air around me stopped movin’. I damn near suffocated.
On some real shit, I tried to hold the nigga down. But, hell…what was a fly bitch like me gonna do for ten years? Seal up my pussy, sit by the phone and wait for collect calls, chase the mailman down for letters, cry and have my stomach in knots after every visit ’cause it hurt leavin’ him, spend my life bein’ a prisoner’s wife?
Well, I tried that. I really wanted to keep shit real and ride it out with him. What I felt for Naheem was probably the closest thing to love, ’cause everything in me ached without him. But the streets were callin’ me. Time was testin’ me. And almost two years into his bid, I told him I had to bounce. I was too young to have to put my life on hold for him. I didn’t have it in me to hold my breath waitin’ on appeals ’n shit. I couldn’t hang on to empty promises that shit was gonna be right between us. I wanted to. I tried to. But shit was hectic.
So instead of goin’ out like some crab-ass bitch, I told him face-to-face. The way his jaws tightened and his thick lips clenched, I thought he was gonna try ’n flex on my ass up in there. But he kept it cute and told me to do me. But the nigga was hurt. I heard that shit in his voice, seen it in his eyes. Still, there wasn’t nothin’ I could do ’bout it, I had to go. I told him I’d always have love for him. And I knew I was gonna miss that pretty dick, but…fuck that! With him on lock, I knew it’d be a long time before I got to ride up on it any damn way. Niggas don’t realize that when they do time, the bitches holdin’ them down is doin’ time, too. It takes a real special kinda bitch to stay true to a nigga on lock. I wasn’t the one. A bitch had a life. And sittin’ up on a hot, funky bus for two or more hours next to a bunch of stankin’ ass hoes bein’ herded like cattle to see a man in prison wasn’t a good look. Not for a butter bitch like me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I had just turned onto Chanel’s street when my cell phone started ringin’. I picked up. “I’m a minute away,” I said, then hung up. After speakin’ to Naheem last night I wasn’t really beat for bein’ ’round Iris ’n them. But Chanel was beatin’ me in my head ’bout chillin’ so I gave in. Girls or not, I knew I was gonna have a hard time keepin’ my mouth shut and not screamin’ on them hoes. I had decided on my way over that I was gonna sit back ’n peep how they moved. However, I knew me, and a bitch like me ain’t gonna keep her mouth shut too long. I’d like to think that a real bitch is gonna keep shit real, but I know every bitch ain’t gonna be real so sometimes ya gotta watch how she plays her hand. Truth or not, if a nigga in prison is hearin’ some shit ’bout ya ass, nine times out of ten, there’s some fuckin’ truth somewhere in the middle of all the bullshit. And truth be told, a bitch needed to know what type of hoes she was fuckin’ with.
When I walked up to Chanel’s apartment door, I could hear the music playin’. Lil’ Kim’s “The Jump Off” was bangin’. I rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, Tamia opened the door with a blunt hangin’ outta her mouth and a drink in hand. I could tell by the glazed look in her eyes that her ass was already lifted. “What’s good?” I asked, steppin’ in and shuttin’ the door behind me.
She took a pull from her blunt, then handed it to me. “Here, bitch,” she said. “You already two blunts and three drinks behind the rest of us.”
I looked at the blunt in her hand, shakin’ my head. I wish the fuck I would put my lips on that shit after what I heard. Whether the shit is true or not, that bitch is nasty as far as I’m concerned. Uh, correction…the bitch has
“Nah, I’m good,” I said.
“More for me, then,” she said, puttin’ it back up to her lips and takin’ a deep pull.
“Where’s everyone else?” I asked, removin’ my jacket.
The smoke filled her nostrils as she blew it out of her mouth and through her nose. “In the kitchen,” she answered. “Where else?”
I heard Chanel’s loud-ass mouth comin’ from down the hallway. I hung my jacket up in the closet, then headed toward the kitchen. When I got to the doorway, a cloud of weed smoke hit me in the face. Chanel and Iris were sittin’ at the table eatin’ shrimp and gettin’ their drink and smoke on. There was Remy, Hennessy, Alize, Absolut, Patron, and weed for days all on the table.
“Bitch,” Chanel started. “It’s ’bout time you got here. I called ya ass three times.”
“Well, I’m here now,” I said, goin’ to the sink to wash my hands. “What you bitches drinkin’?”
“Pick ya poison,” Tamia said, handin’ me a glass, “’cause we’s ’bout to get lit the fuck up.” She started dancin’ in the middle of the floor when Cassidy’s “I’m a Hustla” came on.
Iris handed Chanel the blunt. She took two pulls, then passed it to Tamia. I raised my eyebrow. When Tamia tried to hand it to me, I shook my head, wavin’ it away. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Oh, you ain’t smokin’ with ya bitches tonight?” Iris said.
“This bitch always on some extra shit,” Chanel said, laughin’.
“So what’s good with you, Iris?” I asked, pourin’ myself some Remy, then sittin’ at the table next to her with my back toward the wall. I made sure I sat facin’ everyone since I knew it was a matter of time before I started flippin’ the script. Just in case shit popped off, I needed to be on point. These my girls ’n all, but after a few drinks and a couple of blunts, a bitch’ll be ready to jump when shit gets heated. And since I’d changed my mind when I walked through the door and decided I was gonna bring it to these hoes, I knew it might get messy, especially since some bitches can’t handle the truth.
“Shit,” she said. “Just chillin’.”
“Really?” I asked, reachin’ for a plate and pickin’ up four jumbo shrimp. “I hear ya pushin’ shit for some nigga on Long Island, what’s good with that?” I pulled a napkin outta my bag and discreetly spit my razor out. Yes, a bitch keeps a razor in her mouth at all times, and can spit it out and put it to a bitch’s throat with a quickness. Fuck what ya heard. I never leave home without it.
“What?” she asked.
“Bitch, I ain’t stutter,” I said, dippin’ my shrimp in some cocktail sauce, then poppin’ it in my mouth. I shot her ass a look. “You heard what the fuck I said. So, is the shit true or not?”
Tamia and Chanel looked at each other, then at Iris, waitin’ for her to answer.
“Yeah,” she said, takin’ a pull from the blunt. “I’m doin’ a little sumthin’. Why?”
“Bitch, is you fuckin’ crazy?!” I snapped. “What the fuck is you thinkin’?”
“I’m thinkin’ a bitch got bills, and a bitch tryna make some paper. What, you gotta problem with that?”
“No, ho,” I replied. “I gotta problem with how you makin’ it. Outta all the muhfuckin’ hustles out here you gotta be transportin’ shit for some nigga. That shit is crazy to me.”
“Well, that’s you,” she said. “I’ma do what I gotta do.”
I shook my head, poppin’ another shrimp in my mouth. “Does Justice know?” I asked, wipin’ my mouth.
“Nah, that nigga don’t know. And he ain’t gonna know. Anyway, he ain’t my muhfuckin’ man. He’s just somebody I’m fuckin’. I’m ’bout to give him his papers, anyway.”
“You’se a real dumb bitch, for real,” I said, rollin’ my eyes. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you. We used to laugh at them bitches, and now you one of ’em.”
“Whatever.”
“So what’s good with you and that other nigga you were fuckin’?” I asked.
“Please,” she said as she reached for the Patron, “he’s just some side dick. Ain’t nothin’ poppin’ with him and
