Child Support (Urban Books)

by Amour

  My mother grabbed me and told me to calm down. Dr. Gunner rushed out the door. That was her best bet, because I didn’t like being judged. Now I had to figure out whose dick was so horrible that I forgot we slept together. My mother kept trying to remind me that they had already told me I was pregnant. I couldn’t recall anyone telling me anything about a pregnancy. I simply told her to just shut up and mind her business. She gasped and got quiet.

  This was too much information given to me at once. Here I was, a kid my damn self, and now I was going to have one of my own. I didn’t have the slightest idea who could be the father of this baby growing in me. Maybe Dr. Gunner was right. Maybe I was a ho.

  Chapter 8

  There was chaos throughout my entire pregnancy. I was beyond tired of everything and everybody. Most of all, I was irritated with the appointments, the vitamins, and even the creams that would prevent me from having stretch marks. I had a reason to complain all the time. I didn’t want this baby, but my mother didn’t believe in abortions.

  I didn’t see why she would want an innocent kid to grow up without a father. She should be able to see the pain it was creating just by looking at me. My pleas fell on deaf ears, because she didn’t care how much I begged. Getting an abortion just wasn’t an option. It just wasn’t happening.

  One particular day my mother was gossiping with Miss Cheryl from down the street. Now, this lady knew everybody’s business and didn’t have a problem telling the next neighbor about it. She was also on the neighborhood block watch committee, so you already knew she knew any and everything that went on.

  I had just woken up from one of my many naps, and I was on my way down the stairs to get some milk, which I was craving. My mother and Miss Cheryl were in the living room talking when I heard, “Yeah, Angel’s trifling ass doesn’t even know who her baby daddy is. You know I think she was fucking my man.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Who the hell was her man? If I wasn’t mistaken, she hadn’t had male company in years. I crept down the stairs slowly so that I could hear them better.

  “Really? You think she would do that?” Miss Cheryl was trying to milk my mom for all the information.

  “You think she wouldn’t? Hell, I seen him coming out of her room one too many times,” my mother announced.

  I gasped. Who was she talking about? Nobody ever came out of my room, and I didn’t have the balls to fuck in her house. By this time I was at the bottom of the stairs and could see the back of both their heads. They were sitting on the long sofa that faced the door.

  My mother looked at her and said, “The only reason I’m making the little bitch have that baby is to see if it’s his.” She looked at Miss. Cheryl. “And if it is . . . that bitch gotta go!”

  Miss Cheryl gave her the “Are you serious?” look, and my mom returned it with an “I’m for real” smirk. “Girl, don’t be like that,” Miss Cheryl said. I guess she was as shocked as I was.

  “Like what? That bitch made me lose my man and took him. The only reason that nigga came over here it seemed like was for her. He fucking her, and all I got was to give him head. Fuck the ungrateful bastard,” my mother vented.

  I had heard more than enough. I ran back up the stairs as tears filled my eyes. They must have heard the stairs creak, because Miss Cheryl was at the bottom of the stairs, asking if I was okay.

  I heard my mom say, “Don’t baby that bitch.” Then I shut and locked the bathroom door.

  A voice started talking to me. It said, “Just do it, Angel. It’s not like anybody’s going to care.” I opened the medicine cabinet, took both of my bottles of pills, and filled up the cup on the sink counter with water. Then the voice came back to say, “What are you waiting for? It’s obvious that you’re better dead than alive.”

  Tears began to form in my eyes, and I answered back. “You’re right.” I took half of both bottles. I didn’t feel any different. I had expected to pass out right after. I went into my room and grabbed my deceased grandfather’s machete, which sat on a top shelf of my closet. I had it put up in a box, and after knocking everything down, I retrieved it. I took a hair ribbon and tied it around my arm tightly. I stood up and focused my eyes on my wrist. When my vein was poking out, I sliced it. Blood gushed out and flowed down my leg and on the carpet. I fell on the floor.

  The pain was sharp, and my vision started to turn black. I couldn’t see anything, and then I could no longer feel anything. I was at ease.

  “Glad to have you back,” a female voice said.

  I turned my head in the direction the voice had come from. It was a dark-skinned lady in a hospital scrub, writing in a folder. I looked around the room and realized that I was lying in a hospital bed. I started touching all over my body, and I felt all kinds of tubes. I sat up and started pulling the tubes out of myself. The lady came over and tried to make me lie down.

  “No, no, Miss Jacobs. You don’t want to do that,” she said.

  I ignored her and hopped off the bed.

  “Miss Jacobs, listen . . . ,” she yelled.

  I turned around to face her.

  “Look, you tried killing yourself, and you have been out of it for quite some time now. You really need to lie back down, because you won’t make it,” she claimed as she began walking up to me.

  I stood there, eyeing her. I didn’t know if I should or shouldn’t believe the shit she was saying. I climbed back into bed and lay down, and she started reattaching the tubes to me. She told me that she would be back with my dinner and asked me to just remain calm. She told me her name was Janet and that she would be my nurse for the next six hours.

  The room was cold and clean. The only thing I could hear was the medicine dripping in the IV. There was a little square TV hanging from the ceiling and the remote was on my call light. I looked around the room. There were no get-well-soon balloons, flowers, or cards, or any other sign that someone loved me.

  Out of nowhere, I felt a sharp pain in my wrist. I looked down to see what it was, and I saw that my wrist was bandaged up. I peeled the tape and took the bandage off. My wrist was stitched up and had dry blood all around the stitches. I decided that my only option was to turn the TV on. I had nothing else to do. I flicked it to the Lifetime channel. There was some movie on about a man stalking his ex-wife. I could barely hear anything that they were saying on the screen, but it was better listening to that than the sound of the IV.

  I had been in the hospital for almost two weeks, and they were treating me like a convict. Every five minutes there was a hospital employee of some kind who would come in just to check on me. I couldn’t even piss in peace.

  Janet was checking my vitals and telling me about her son, who was offered a scholarship to Ohio State University. I was listening, not really giving a damn, but I acted as if I did.

  “So you do know you’re twenty-nine weeks pregnant?” she began.

  “Pregnant?” I said with disgust. I had a small paunch. I didn’t look pregnant, though.

  She gave me with a puzzled look. “You didn’t know you were pregnant?” she asked while wrapping the blood pressure band around my right arm.

  I shook my head no. She gave me the “Yeah, right” look and I went off. “Look, Janet, don’t start giving me looks like I’m a liar. What the fuck I gotta lie to you for? Huh? You ain’t my damn mama,” I said as I snatched my arm from her.

  “No, Angel. It’s just that we were told that you were aware,” she tried to explain.

  I just rolled my eyes. I was done with her and her lies. My biggest pet peeve was someone judging me, and she was doing just that. She left the room shortly after I let her take my blood pressure.

  When she walked out, Mike came in. I instantly grew angry. I hadn’t seen him in God knew how long, and here he was, trying to creep back into my life. He had his head down as he walked over to sit down on the swivel chair. We both sat there silently. He was looking handsome in his Nike starter outfit with the matching shoes. I just stared at him with an evil look whi
le he stared at the TV. I knew he couldn’t hear it, because I couldn’t.

  “You need to quit fronting,” I said to him, breaking the ice.

  “Look, I heard what happened to you, and I’m real sorry,” he confessed. He stood up and walked over to my bed. “You’re just not the same anymore,” he said.

  I just sat there and listened, because I had no clue what this man was talking about. I was the same, and nothing had happened to me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m pregnant,” I told him.

  He looked surprised. “By who?” he asked.

  Wrong question.

  “What do you mean, by who?” I questioned him. I was itching to smack the stupidity out of him.

  “Angel, you don’t think that this baby is mine, do you?” he asked with a dumbfounded look on his face.

  “Who else’s could it be? You’re the only person I’ve ever had sex with.” I couldn’t believe that Mike was in doubt about this.

  “We haven’t done anything in almost a year. It can’t be my baby.”

  I was fuming with fire, and every word of denial that slid from his mouth pissed me off. He was still talking about how and why he couldn’t be the father, and I just snapped. I grabbed him by the neck and began shaking him. I had a grip so tight that there was no way air was sneaking through. He was coughing and turning red, but I just enjoyed watching him struggle.

  Luckily, Janet came in at that moment to check on me. She was the only thing that kept him alive, because I was going to kill him. She ran over to the bed and grabbed my hands, but she couldn’t pry me off of him. Then she came back and stuck me in the side with a needle. I slowly loosened my grip, and then I drifted away.

  Chapter 9

  “What you say your name was?” asked the little eighteen-year-old I met while buying a quarter of weed.

  I had gone downhill since I lost my job. It had been damn near a month, and my depending on Cliff was coming to an end. Omar and I were still fucking around, and he was always good for breaking me off with a few hundred dollars here and there. Cliff had introduced me to a lifestyle that the money Omar gave helped me keep up.

  “Does it matter?” I asked in my seductive voice. I put his dick in my mouth. We had just got done smoking a blunt, and with him asking me a whole lot of worthless questions, he was blowing my high. I began licking his shaft and then twirling my tongue around the head of his dick nice and slow.

  “N-n-no, it d-d-don’t,” he answered.

  I noticed that I had him where I wanted him. We were lying on the floor of his sister’s apartment, and it made me feel fifteen all over again. I didn’t really mind, because it gave me a thrill. After teasing him and getting his dick rock hard, I began jacking him off while nibbling on his earlobe. Then I started sucking and blowing on his neck. His dick started thumping, and I knew for sure he was vulnerable.

  “You ready for this pussy?” I whispered in his ear. I was still jacking him, and to add fuel to the flames, I started massaging his balls. All he could do was nod his head, but that was enough for me. I reached into his pocket to get a condom out, and he snapped out of his trance.

  “What you doing?” he asked, moving my hand. I felt two condoms and a bankroll.

  “Getting a condom. Damn!” I acted as if I was irritated as I snatched my hand out of his hand and sat up. I folded my arms and rolled my eyes.

  He, too, sat up and wrapped his arms around me. “Baby, don’t trip. I just don’t let nobody go in my pockets,” he explained, handing the condom to me.

  I cracked a smile, as if he won me over. I grabbed the condom, opened it, and slid it down his long, thick muscle. I had a plan, and now it was time to execute it.

  I slid my body down on his dick and began riding him like a bull. I placed my hands on his chest and thrust my hips up and down. He held my hips so tight, his nails pierced my skin. I began rolling my hips as I heard that slushy sound I loved so much. He moaned and groaned, and his eyes were nowhere to be found, because they were in the back of his head. I kept the pace constant, and then when Mike’s face appeared it blew my high.

  “Ugh, why won’t you leave me the fuck alone!” I yelled.

  Eighteen was so deep in me, and he wasn’t paying me any attention. I grabbed a pillow and put it over his face. I put all my weight on it, and he fought until he lay there, lifeless.

  “You stupid, ungrateful bitch! How dare you keep her from me, Mike? You fucking bastard,” I screamed as I punched the pillow and cried. I cried as I continued riding him.

  Eventually I collapsed on him, rested my head on the pillow, which still sat on his face. I wrapped his arms around me, and then I fell asleep. My heart was broken. I loved Mike dearly, and here he was, keeping our daughter from me. When I woke up, I realized that I had slept for over two hours. I looked around the room, wondering where the hell I was. I looked down and noticed I was lying on some man. What the fuck? I thought. I eased up off of him.

  He was knocked out cold. His pants were on the floor, and his money was seeping out. I looked at him and then back at the money, then back at him. He seemed to be in a deep sleep. I tiptoed over to his pants, and when I got to them, I kneeled down and slowly eased the money out of his pockets. I looked back at him, and that was when I noticed I was buck-ass naked. I carefully looked around the room for my clothes.

  After I found them, I slipped into them quickly. I snatched the pillow from the man’s face. He was cute and young, and I had to be fiending for some dick, because I definitely wasn’t a cougar. I left my panties right by his head, just in case his memory was off like mine.

  On my way out the door, I noticed half of a blunt on a stand. I decided to grab that too. I had put him to bed, so in my mind he owed me one. I shut the door quietly and then headed to my car. On my way I noticed a lady who resembled the little boy a lot. They had the same eyes. As I was walking to my car, she ran up the stairs that I had just come down, and went into the apartment I had just left. When I was halfway to my car, I heard a loud scream and then, “He’s dead! He’s dead!”

  That was my cue to get the hell up out of there. I hopped in my Taurus and put the pedal to the metal. I instantly got the chills as I drove home. He’s dead! He’s dead! kept replaying in my head. I couldn’t go home. I started to remember those gloves and the crap in my trunk. Damn! I needed to get rid of this shit.

  I rode all the way to the outskirts of Chicago and parked my car where no one could see me. I got out and popped my trunk. The smell was so deadly that I almost passed out. I already knew the only way to get rid of this was to get rid of the car altogether. I didn’t want to get rid of my only form of transportation. I knew that if I just drove it into the water, they would still be able to check the DNA and trace everything back to me. I decided to take the tags off, set the trunk on fire, and then drive the car into the water.

  I removed my tags, closed the trunk quickly, and got in to drive to the nearest store. The nearest store wasn’t near at all. In fact it was too damn far. I walked into the convenience store and went straight to the back, where the lighter fluid usually would be. I got a few stares from the customers, and that was when I realized I was in an all-white neighborhood. I already had the lighter fluid in my hand, and in my head it was too late to put it down. I slowly walked to the counter, and next thing I knew, the guy from the club walked in. I never thought I would see him again, and when he saw me, his eyes got big and he started backing up. He eventually backed up all the way to the door. He was frightened.

  “You are a crazy bitch!” he yelled with his hands up. He was basically telling me to stay back. I didn’t know what the hell this man was talking about.

  “What?” I was disgusted that he was embarrassing me. All the white customers were already skeptical about me. Everyone watched the show that he put on.

  “Oh, don’t act like you don’t remember, Laya,” he said.

  I was confused. Who the hell is Laya?

  “I’m sorry. You must have me
mixed up with someone else. My name is Angel,” I assured him.

  “So you don’t remember going to the Palmer House with me after the club? You don’t remember me . . . Josh? You don’t remember damn near killing me? Psycho cunt!”

  I put the lighter fluid on the counter. The cashier collected my money, all the while giving me a crazy look. He handed me my bag, and I began walking out. I rushed past Josh and quickly got in my car. I heard someone say, “Get her plates.” But I was too embarrassed to care. After all, I had plans of getting rid of my plates after I left the store. I sped off and continued on my mission.

  I parked my car at my designated place and hopped out. I popped my trunk and looked to see if my mini toolbox was still in there. I found it under a few of my clothes. I took the screwdriver out and began removing my plates. I moved fast, looking over my shoulder, making sure no one was watching me.

  I was paranoid as hell and happy that I was able to get the plates off. I threw them in the trunk and poured the lighter fluid all over the trunk. Then I lit a match and threw it in. I quickly ran to the driver’s side, started the car, and put it in neutral. I backed away from the car and watched it slowly go over the rail and into the water. I began walking slowly in the direction I had come from.

  I started thinking about the whole ordeal at the store. Did I really leave the club with that guy? I wasn’t even that type of girl. Why would I ever try to kill him? He seemed harmless. It dawned on me that the hotel had looked familiar to me. Maybe I did go there with him. I just couldn’t see myself trying to kill anyone. I wasn’t crazy . . . or was I?

  I walked all the way home. When I got inside, I turned on the radio in the kitchen, tuning it to a local news station. “Once again we have breaking news. There was a nineteen ninety-six Ford Taurus set on fire and blazing in the Chicago River. Officials believed that this was an act of arson. Police have still not identified who the car belonged to. We’ll have more at eleven,” the reporter said.