by T. Styles
The look in WB’s eyes was harsh. It was as if he wanted to kill her if he was closer. I never saw him look so evil before, and at the moment I started to wonder if he was responsible for Rose’s murder. Despite her being interested in me, I didn’t give the bitch the time because I didn’t like how she carried my friend, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
“It’s funny how bitches think you a dude. I should tell her.”
“For what?”
“For trying to play me.”
He didn’t do it. Instead he waited for the bus to pull up, and when it did he ran up behind her, pushed her on the bus’ steps and snatched her wig off. I don’t even know how he knew she was wearing one. We laughed on the way back to The Catacombs until he got quiet.
“You think I’m too black?” he asked me.
“Ain’t no such thing as too black,” I told him. “You know that shit.”
“Well why she ain’t want me?”
“Girls be that way sometimes, WB,” I said. “They never want you when you want them. It’s the story of my life.”
When we got back to The Catacombs that day he presented the wig as a gift to Fortune. She loved it.
****
The thing about Fortune is this. She wanted WB from the moment she laid eyes on him. When WB was sick it was Fortune who was there to nurse him back to health. When WB needed or wanted anything, it was Fortune who would sell her pussy to be sure he got it. Most of the men in The Catacombs fucked Fortune, which is another reason WB couldn’t take her seriously. However, her heart belonged to him. But there was something I must say. Nobody knew if Fortune was a girl or dude and I heard when she gets fucked its always in the asshole.
We also believed when Fortune was up top she took too many silicone shots to the face and never got right. Without the bangs on her forehead she was ugly. With all that aside, Fortune was one of the nicest people you could ever wish to meet. So when the lights were low and she got to dancing, we would yell, more hair, more hair! And for that moment she was our Beyoncé.
When the meat was cooked and our stomachs were filled, WB let Wicked and Speedstar share a hot dog, although we were like fuck him at first. He ate and left The Pit without even saying thank you.
When we were done eating WB pulled out a bottle of Hennessy and my eyes lit up. Finally I was feeling like myself again. That is until Wicked came back to The Pit with a new face we didn’t recognize.
New faces were trouble. We never knew who you were or what you wanted with us. Sometimes a new member was a homeless person who just gave up on life, but most times they were on the run for some violent crime. So we had to give a new member the Rights of Passage, where everyone interested would ask the new member questions before we accepted them.
The last person Wicked brought in ended up being a serial rapist and killer, and nobody could respect Wicked’s taste in associates. So this was serious.
“Where you from?” WB asked the New Face.
The New Face tugged on his long knotty dreads. “From Arizona.”
“Why you here?” Gage asked with her hands on her hips.
“Don’t got nowhere else to go I guess,” he shrugged.
“Why don’t you got a place to go?” Spirit continued.
“It’s like this,” he sighed, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend’s daughter once. She liked it a lot, but her mother got mad ‘cause I didn’t want to be with her no more. Her daughter was fucking me back and everything. Anyway she told the authorities and I had to leave. It’s about to get cold and I don’t like being up top. They kill people like us.”
I looked at my crew and knew immediately that this dude was bad news. “How old was she?” I asked. “Your lady’s daughter?”
“Twelve.”
“Nigga, get the fuck out of here before we break your jaw,” I said pointing at the exit.
He looked back at Wicked who was staring at me with hate in his eyes. “Do I really gotta leave, man,” he asked. “I thought you said it was cool. You said that everybody here has a past and that they would accept me.”
We all waited for Wicked to confirm what we already knew. It ain’t up to Wicked. It’s up to us. All of us. “You gotta go, man, I’ll get up with you later,” Wicked confirmed.
When New Face left, Wicked rushed up to me and stared me down. I could tell that he wanted to do something to me, but if this dude puts his hands on me I’m going to kill him. Instead of touching me he turned around and looked at everyone.
“Did ya’ll know that this bitch wears a plastic dick under her jeans?” he asked everyone.
My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach.
“What you doing, Wicked?” Gage asked. “Why you out here tripping?”
“Ain’t nothing going on with me,” he rubbed his crouch. “I got what she wants. A dick. She on the other hand running ‘round here faking like she a nigga.”
“Who cares,” the Parable said walking up to us. His voice was strong and when he moved the crowd separated. His skin was really gray and I could never tell if he was black or white. The jeans he was wearing were so worn at the bottom that they raised to his knees. “Who cares what he’s holding between his legs? I got a peg leg and Fortune been stuffing her titties with old newspapers for years. You gonna fuck with us too?”
Fortune gasped.
“I got nothing but respect for you, old man,” Wicked said to him. “But I’m talking about this bitch right here. You don’t have nothing to do with this shit.”
“I don’t know much about her past, but I know that in the short time she’s been here she’s been doing a lot for the community. We don’t judge people on their past once we accept them, Wicked. You know that.”
“You don’t understand,” Wicked continued. “She’s faking like she a nigga when she’s not. And she’s lying to everybody too. All I want to do is protect the people who live here.”
“You need to be easy, Wicked, just because you roll with blacks don’t give you a license to use the word nigga so freely,” I said to him. “You been taking way too many liberties with that word and your black card has expired. Plus I know people who have been killed for less.”
“You gonna wish you never came here. I promise you.” Wicked said angrily.
CHAPTER 6
MAD
I needed to get out of The Catacombs for a minute before I fucked Wicked up so I decided to hang out in front of the Korean Liquor store by myself up the block. Most times if I waited long enough I would run into somebody just like me who was willing to share a bottle.
I was leaning on the brick wall of the store with my baseball cap down over my eyes. I’d seen two police officers earlier in the day and didn’t want to take the risk of one of them recognizing me. I also pulled my curly hair back into a tight ponytail, so they couldn’t see it from the front.
When a girl sporting the tightest pink shirt I’d ever seen in my life walked up to me, wearing jeans just as tight, my joint jumped. I wanted to fuck her.
“What’s your name?” she asked me holding her hand on her hip. “You kinda cute.”
“Who’s asking and why?” I responded.
She giggled but I was dead serious.
“Oh so what you playing hard to get or something? Your name so top secret that you don’t want nobody to know?”
“Listen, I’m not looking to make new friends. So either get to the point or step out my face.”
“Like you so busy you can’t afford to give me a little convo. You do know that you not no better than me right?”
Silence.
She rubbed her right honey brown arm and said, “You got a loosey on you I can borrow?”
“Naw, I don’t smoke right now. I looked away.”
“Smoke right now?” she giggled. “What that mean?”
“It means that I don’t totally diss smoking, and I do whatever I want that makes me feel good at the time. But right now cigarettes ain’t it.”
I took my attentio
n off of her because although she was pretty, she was also annoying. I was here to share a bottle with someone who had money, not to rap to some bitch that was bumming just like me.
But instead of leaving Pink Shirt stayed next to me, just on the other side of the door of the store. I was kinda blown because if someone with a bottle had it to share, who would they give it to? Me? A girl who looked like a dude who wasn’t fucking? Or her? The pretty friendly one in the pink shirt with her nipples poked out.
My worst-case scenario happened when some old man walked up to the store, turned his head right and said, “You sure are a pretty little thing.”
Pink Shirt grinned, looked at me and said, “Thank you.”
I couldn’t make out what he said next but I do know that he walked into the store, and fifteen minutes later he came out and handed her a pack of cigarettes along with a fifty-dollar bill. When they exchanged numbers and he left, she walked over to me.
“You want one?” she asked holding the pack of Kools out in my direction.
I shook my head no and avoided eye contact with her. I was hoping that since she got what she wanted, she would beat it and let me have the store now. It was getting late and that’s when all of the good drunks came out.
“You don’t talk much do you?”
I shook my head no again. Damn, kick rocks already!
“You drinking?” she asked me. She pulled out the fifty dollar bill and it was the prettiest thing I seen in a minute.
Now she had my attention. “What you really asking?”
“Well I was going to buy a bottle. But since I don’t have a favorite liquor, I was wondering what you liked. I got the money so don’t worry about pitching in.” She flashed her yellow teeth. “This one is on me.”
“Why you gonna do that?”
She exhaled. “I’m lonely and all I want to do is spend a little time with somebody. I promise I don’t want nothing else. Just some convo and a little time. You got it to spare?”
I guess shawty turned out not to be too bad after all.
****
Since we were obviously both homeless, and I knew I couldn’t take her back to The Catacombs, we sat on some cardboard boxes in the alley next to the store. She bought a big bottle of Hennessy, and after awhile I realized we had a lot in common. We both came from violent homes and were born to women who preferred the streets over us.
“I don’t hate my mother,” she said taking a large gulp, “I just don’t like how she raised me. It’s kind of hard to explain.” She handed me the bottle.
“Trust me,” I said taking a swig before handing the bottle back to her, “I get you. My mother wasn’t the best person in the world either, but I guess you learn to deal with it.”
She smiled. “My mother was a heroin addict for fifteen years before she thought she could fly. She was always doing something so I never worried. The crazy part is before she walked up to the top of our apartment building, raised her arms and jumped off I always thought she was invincible. Even when I watched her fall I expected wings to pop from her back.” She shook her head. “When her brains decorated the curb I knew that was a lie. And you know what, to this day I expect her to come back to me.”
I just nodded. I couldn’t relate on that part because I hated my mother when she was alive and I hate her more now that she’s dead.
“You wanna fuck?” she asked me out of nowhere.
“Got a place?” I responded drinking the rest of the Henny.
“No,” she grinned, “but I know a place.”
****
I was on the floor of a supply closet, in an apartment building, fucking the dog shit out of Choosey. At least that’s what I thought her name was because when she told me I was buzzing too hard to hear straight. It wouldn’t matter after I got mine anyway so I didn’t ask her to repeat it.
Choosey was laying flat on her back with nothing on but her shirt. My jeans were pulled down, and I had one hand on her ankle until I used one of my fingers to flip her clit. As the dildo pressed against my joint and I moved into her body, I felt invincible. Choosey’s pussy was dripping wet, and her pink clit stuck out of her body like a button. She smelled a little musty but I didn’t give a fuck. Plus if she kept looking at me the way she was doing I was going to bust in a second and it wouldn’t matter anyway.
And that’s exactly what happened when she bit down on her bottom lip and squeezed her titties so hard they turned red. I felt like I exploded inside of her.
The moment I got mine off, I started looking at her differently. She didn’t look like the sexy girl in the pink shirt anymore. She was a whore just like my mother, and I hated her for it. I immediately tried to think of a good excuse to bounce.
Maybe I’ll tell her that I have to go to work in the next hour. Or maybe I’ll tell her that my friend is going to meet me somewhere in fifteen minutes and that I forgot about it until now.
“That was so good,” she said looking in my eyes as I struggled to pull my clothes up. “You fine?”
I didn’t respond. Why do I despise her so much right now? She a gutter whore who’s fucking niggas outside the liquor store. But since I hit the pussy what does that say about me?
“You okay?” she asked sliding back into her jeans. “You look different now. Like you not having a good time no more. Did I do something wrong? I can lick it if you want. My mother taught me that too before she died.”
“What?” I frowned. “Fuck no!”
On the sly I rubbed my dildo on her jeans to wipe off her body juice. Then I reconnected it to the strap.
“Naw, I’m good,” I responded and yawned. “Just kind of tired that’s all.”
I stood up and looked down at her. I decided against making up some fake ass story on why I wanted to leave. I was just going to tell her I was ready to bounce, and that it was nice knowing her.
That was until she said, “Hey, I’m going to get us another bottle of liquor? Feel like hanging out with me a little while longer? I sure could use the company.”
She sure did know how to court a nigga.
****
Someone was dragging me by my legs and pulling me on the streets of DC. When I looked to my right, I saw people at the bus stops holding conversations as I slid by them. The last thing I remember was Choosey getting more money from three different dudes and us drinking bottle after bottle in the alley. I do know she sucked their dicks for the money and I smelled the funk on her breath when she talked. I guess after that I went into the Drunk Zone.
When stuff started getting darker I finally focused on who was pulling my legs, which caused my back to scratch against the concrete in the process. It was Fierce, and he smiled down at me. Spirit, Gage and WB were beside him and they looked angry. I guess they found me passed out somewhere up the block and were taking me back to the place I dreaded. The Catacombs.
CHAPTER 7
MAD
The subway seemed rockier today as I sat the long way across a seat. My soda bottle was filled with Hennessey and I was thinking about my life. My back still burned from being drug on the street by my ankles by Fierce.
Although I know I live in The Catacombs, the best part about it is not being there. Plus I never know how I’m going to handle myself around Wicked. I feel like I’m five seconds from unleashing on him and if I do where will I end up?
Last night I thought a lot about my mother. It’s never good when she comes to my mind because I hate her so much it gives me nightmares. I remember the days she starved my twin sister and me. I remember the days she burned me with an iron until it ran cold. I remember how I watched her fuck a man over the arm of the sofa in the living room, which caused Mr. Nice Guy, the only man who ever loved me to get murdered in my face. I hate that bitch so much that sometimes I can feel it all over my body. As if I’m possessed by her.
When I was not thinking about her, I was thinking about my son. He’ll never know that I brought him into this world and that even though I saw him once, I love him more
than I could ever show him.
The last time I saw my son was outside Harmony’s funeral. I didn’t plan on going to the funeral, which is why when I showed up it was already over. To tell you the truth I don’t know what made me go. Maybe I wanted to see my twin sister who I hadn’t seen in months at that point, or maybe I wanted to see the casket of my mother being led from the funeral home to the grave, to be sure she was dead. All I know was that when it was all said and done, I was outside of that funeral home. But I never expected to see my sister with my son.
You gotta understand a crack head friend of my crack head grandmother stole my baby from me while I was giving birth. So I thought he was lost forever. Whole time though, Jayden was holding my baby acting like he belonged to her. But I can’t provide him with a life. I’m living in a tunnel with no place of my own. I’m not fit to be a person let alone a mother.
I took a large sip of liquor when a group of niggas who looked about my age stepped onto the train. They were all about my height— short. The tallest one, who was wearing a blue jean t-shirt, was also the loudest. Behind him were two other dudes and they seemed to be hanging onto everything he had to say.
“I’m letting everybody on this train know right now, if anybody even look at me funny, I’m busting they face back,” Blue Jean Shirt said into the train.
I turned my head and looked out of the window. I could see the graffiti walls flying by in bursts of colors, as the train sped down the track. I turned my head not because I was scared of him, but because I don’t feel like the drama today. Besides, the last thing I need is to be getting involved when I’m wanted for murder.
Through the glass I could see Blue Jean Shirt approaching a white kid with a baseball cap flipped to the back. Blue Jean Shirt snatched the cap off of his head and threw it to the floor. Then he got up in the kids face and pointed a long finger at his nose. “What the fuck you doing looking at me? Didn’t you hear what I just said earlier?”