I was pretending. I hated the way he referred to me "as his good girl gone bad," we were "Bonney and Clyde," his nasty jokes, his arrogant tone whenever he talked about hustlin'. I listened to that shit day in and day out, but I love him. There was nobody I could talk to about Aman. Tee and I weren't kicking it anymore. I got tired of her jealous lies. My moms didn't know shit, but I doubt she would have cared. Geraldine Price was at home with a joint in one hand, and a screwdriver in the other. Gerri at one time had been one of the prettiest girls in Foundation Park, but years of drinking, druggin', and having babies, had added years to her round face. I am the oldest out of three girls, and mom's just hated me for some reason. I think she's mad at my deadbeat daddy, for not sticking around. Growing up, it didn't matter whatever I did, she was always pissed. "La, you didn't wash the dishes right, I didn't raise no trifiling girls, so clean that bathroom again." "Don't ask about your sorry daddy, if he wanted your ass, he would be here with you." Gerri didn't mind hurting your feelings. In a lot of ways we are alike, we don't take no mess. I just wish we could get along better, yet I wish she would stop drinking, and stop being so mean to me. When I was little, and she made me mad, I would pretend to runaway to my father's house, he would be loving, warm and happy to see me; whoever he is. I've never met the man; don't even have a picture of him. It's a sour note with moms, she won't tell me his name, or maybe she's too ashamed to tell me she never knew it. Moms used to be hot stuff. Back in the day, she could be with any dude she wanted. Our house on Des Moines Avenue was always jumping. There were late-night parties, drunken dances, Aunt Phyllis in the kitchen, frying chicken dinners, liquor, and weed running rampant. Mom used to run a shot house, until Turner came along. Turner was mom's on-again, off-again boyfriend. He used to work 2 FAST GOING NOWHERE 21 at the Coca-Cola plant making good money. I remember he used to give us ten dollars a piece, every time he saw us. He used to drive a tan Cadillac with the spare on the back. Now he rides a ten speed. The both of them now, just spend their time getting drunk. When they're on the outs, it was usually because Turner drank up all the rent money, or the drug dealers already have his money from his SSI check. Gerri thinks I'm stupid, but I know Turner does crack, and I just prey she doesn't start. As long as the money was flowing, things were chill, but I hated being home. I didn't want to be watching no kids, I felt like I was just the babysitter. So I stayed gone at least two to three nights a week. I figured I was helping out the grocery bill. I thought my life was fine as long as I had my man, and that was all that mattered to me. The bottom was about to fall from under, and I didn't even have a clue. 22 ZENOBIA 1-27-92 "Daddy Fuck Me," I screamed, as I rode Aman. My body was all over the map. I was in the zone, and ready to go into overdrive for the second time within an hour. The constant knocking on the door cut short, our explosion of ecstasy. "Uh umm baby, don't stop. I'm almost there," I screamed. "Take this dick!" Aman said, as he rocked my body, he loves his pussy. As we rocked back and forth, my eyes rolling in the back of my head, as my fingers gripped his dreads, I thought I could fuck him all day long. It was so good. BAM! My eyes opened wide, only to find the door kicked off the hinges. Aman rose up. "Man what the fuck you doing?!" Aman asked, as three men dressed in black hoodies, and ski masks came barreling in. "Where is it, man?" The fat one said, as he came toward me, pulling the covers off my naked body. "Tie him and his bitch up," shouted one of the men, as they grabbed me out of bed, slapping me on the ass, joking how PHAT I was. One of them tied my legs, and arms with duct tape. I squirmed but he pulled me back by my hair, as the other two, ransacked
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Published March 12, 2010
by Xlibris, Corp..
Literature & Fiction.