The Kat Trap

“Why is muhfuckas all up on my clit? Damn, can’t a bitch do her without niggas clockin’ my moves? What the fuck!”

Okay, now the bitch was tryna shine like she was a rock star or some shit. “Well, maybe it’s the company you keep. Obviously them niggas you gettin’ it in with don’t give a fuck ’bout you. They got you soundin’ real loose ’n shit. Maybe you should chill out for a minute.”

“Bitch,” she snapped, “don’t judge me. I’m doin’ me. And whoever don’t like it can eat my big, black ass.”

“Trick, ain’t nobody judgin’ ya dumb ass. If anything, I’m tryna come at ya ass on some real shit. I don’t like what the fuck I’m hearin’ ’bout you. And if we girls ’n shit, then I should be able to confront you about it. You should know I’m a real bitch. I ain’t gonna grin all up in ya grill, then kick ya back in. I’ma come at you on some woman- to-woman-type shit. Now, do you have the herpes or not?” The bitch got quiet. For a hot minute, I thought the ho hung up on me. “Hello, you still there?”

“Yeah, bitch.”

“Well?”

“I’m not answerin’ that,” she said. “That’s none of ya muhfuckin’ business.”

“Sweetie,” I said, gettin’ up from the sofa and walkin’ into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and took out the cranberry juice, then poured some into a glass. “You just did.” I gulped it down, tryna ease the dryness in my throat from talkin’ to this chick. For some reason, I almost felt bad for her ass. Why, I don’t know. ’Cause at the end of the day, the bitch deserved whateva the fuck her hand called for. “You betta be careful ’cause niggas is really sayin’ you burnin’ ’em.”

“Oh, well,” she said.

I screamed on her ass. “Oh, well?!? Bitch, is you fuckin’ crazy? What kinda shit is that? If your ass got that shit, you need to be gettin’ ya ass treated, then chalk it up as a lesson learned, instead of tryna spread that shit, fuckin’ up people’s lives ’n shit.”

“Kat,” she said, sighin’. “You do you, and let me do me. I’m not puttin’ a gun to a nigga’s head. If he wanna fuck raw, then we fuckin’ raw; if he wanna wrap up, cool. If not, then the shit’s on him. Fuck at ya own risk. If he doesn’t give a fuck, why should I?”

Needless to say, a bitch was through. “You know what,” I said, rollin’ a blunt, “that’s some real grimy shit you doin’, real talk.”

“Well, right now, that’s how I’m livin’. I’m like whateva. Muhfuckas didn’t give a fuck ’bout me—”

“So you turn around and do the same shit. Bitch, if you don’t give a fuck ’bout you, then what the fuck makes you think a nigga should? You gotta look out for you first. And that means protectin’ ya’self and makin’ a muhfucka strap up. Fuck all the extras. You playin’ Russian roulette. Next time you might end up with somethin’ worse.”

“Obviously, I didn’t get that memo. And it’s a bit late. So yeah, if the mood hits me, I’m suckin’ and fuckin’ and poppin’ E’s. We all gotta die someday.”

Let me tell you. I knew right then and there that this chick was turnin’ into a real live cum-guzzlin’, junkie bitch. Okay, okay, maybe she wasn’t a junkie yet, but with the way her reckless ass was movin’, it was only a matter of time.

“Well, are you at least on some kinda medication or somethin’?”

“Kat, listen. I don’t wanna talk ’bout this. It is what it is. So don’t be askin’ me a bunch of questions. I don’t need ya tryna air my business out.”

Oh, my fuckin’ God, this hoodrat bitch was actin’ like she was a damn victim; she’s the one makin’ choices to be loose in the ass, fuckin’ e’erything movin’, and she wanna act like somebody raped her ass or somethin’ and gave her the shit.

“Me, air ya business out? Bitch, is you suckin’ on paint chips or somethin’? I don’t gotta air shit out. Niggas got ya stank ass all over the front page of the street news. You a walkin’ billboard, ho. So, get real.” I grunted. “Uh. You know what…forget it. Like you said, you a grown woman, so do you. But I think ya ass is playin’ with fire.”

“That’s ya opinion.”

“You right, it is.”

“Well, when I ask for it, then it’ll matter. Until then, I don’t give a fuck ’bout ya opinions ’n shit. So do me a favor and keep ’em to ya’self.”

“Oh, trust. You ain’t gotta worry,” I said, takin’ two pulls on my blunt. “I’m done. From this moment on, I’ma keep my mouth shut. Just have your sister call me. I need to speak to her.”

“Whenever I talk to her, I’ll let her know.”

“Do that,” I stated. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“What?”

“Grown-ass women don’t still live in the projects with they mammies, sneakin’ niggas into they bedrooms.”

“Fuck—”

I ended the call on her ass. Silly bitch!

Two days later, Tameka’s monkey ass finally hit me up. And the bitch came at me with major ’tude. But instead of blastin’ her ass like I wanted to, I kept it cute. “Hey, girl,” I said. “What’s good?”

“What’s up?” she questioned, soundin’ all paranoid ’n shit. “T said you were tryna get at me. What you need?”

“Well, I wanted to know the name of that doctor’s office you work at.”

I could see the bitch twistin’ her lips up, lookin’ at the phone. “Why you wanna know that?” she asked, soundin’ all tight ’n whatnot.

I sighed, then paused. “Because I need to get tested, ASAP,” I lied.

“Well, that’s not what T said. She said you was tryna get at me ’bout your moms ’n shit.”

Well, if you knew that already, bitch, why the fuck you askin’. I shook my head, rollin’ my eyes. I thought for a quick minute how I was gonna come at her. Although I wanted to really dig in her ass over the phone, I knew if I did she’d hang up, then I wouldn’t get what I wanted. And right now, my only focus was gettin’ at her. Keepin’ shit real, I didn’t know if my issue was really with her flappin’ her fuckin’ gums or if it was ’bout the idea of my moms bein’ pregnant again. I was feelin’ some kinda way that the bitch barely wanted me growin’ up and now…humph. I ain’t even goin’ there, not now, anyway.

“I…well, on some real shit, I had heard my moms was up in ya spot. I woulda asked her where the spot was, but we beefin’ again. And I ain’t beat to call her ass ’bout shit.”

“Humph. Ya’ll at it again. That’s a damn shame.”

And so is ya damn grill, I thought. “Anyway,” I said, pausin’. “I think a bitch is knocked.”

“Get the fuck outta here?!” She laughed. “Not Miss I Got My Shit Together. Humph. Now, that shit’s priceless.”

I don’t know what the fuck she thought was so goddamn funny, but I humored her dusty ass, anyway. “I know, right,” I said, givin’ this bitch one of my phony laughs. “A bitch got caught up in the dick. Hey, shit happens —even to the best of us.”

“So why you ain’t tell Tamia? She didn’t say shit ’bout you bein’ knocked up. What’s good with that?”

This stupid bitch, I thought. “’Cause I didn’t tell her,” I said. “That’s why.”

“So, what you tryna do?”

“Well, right now, I need to be seen. I haven’t given much thought to what I’ma do after that. A bitch ain’t tryna have no baby.” I threw that in for good measure.

“Well, I can schedule you to see one of our doctors next—”

“Girl, can I get somethin’ sooner? I’m already two months late. A bitch is stressed.”

She sighed. “Let me see.” I heard papers shufflin’ in the background. “Hold on,” she said. I smiled. Yeah, I’ll hold on alright, ho. Well, the bitch had me on hold for almost five minutes. “Okay, I can get you in to see one of the doctors tomorrow at three forty-five.”

“That’s perfect. Umm, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, if I can.”

“Well, can you keep this on the low until after I find out what’s really good with me?”

“Girl, you know how I do. We from the same ’hood. I got you. Just let me know how you make out.”