by Amour
I could tell whatever she was about to say was probably the hardest thing she would ever say.
“What do you mean, it wasn’t Mike’s?” I questioned while standing up. It had always been Mike’s, and I was beyond tired of Mike being excused.
“It was Albert’s,” she confessed, looking up at me. She put her face in her hands and began crying hysterically.
It was like at that moment the world stopped turning and was caving in on me. “It was Albert’s” echoed in my brain, and her telling me my father raped me and his name was Albert let me know it was him. He was my child’s father and I was so disgusted. I wanted to rip my heart out and die right there. How could he?
Memories of me waking up to find him leaving my room played in my mind. I cried my soul out as I recalled the many times I would pretend I was asleep just so I wouldn’t have to confront him raping me. I had pushed those nightmares to the back of my head for so long that to me they no longer exist. I’d pinned them on Crystal, because she deserved to be hurt more than I did.
Why Tiffany had told me she never had my sister and why Omar had said he’ d never met her now made sense.
I was her.
I was Crystal. I was living out my childhood, but I was on the outside, looking in. Things that had happened throughout my life, I made them happen in Crystal’s life. I was in denial. I was the one my daddy had raped. I was the one whom my mother had made act dumb when they were running studies on me.
I was the one who had gone to the school where you had to physically go and get the child out of class. And I was the one who everyone thought had a problem. I cried my eyes out on my mother’s shoulder.
She rubbed my hair and told me everything would be okay. For once, I believed her. I couldn’t believe that I had actually thought that I had a little sister. I’d really thought that I was taking care of her and that I saw her. Everything felt so real, but how?
I had a problem, and now I was finally admitting it.
Chapter 20
Cliff was beyond pissed that Angel hadn’t returned with his car or his black card. He was even more irritated at the fact that she hadn’t returned at all. It had been almost two days since he had seen her, and he was worried that maybe she was in jail. He decided to call booking to see if she’d been incarcerated.
When he called, the operator told him that they didn’t have a Crystal Jacobs or an Angel Jacobs. Now he was sure that she had run off with his shit. He decided to ask Chelsea if she had heard from her. When Chelsea said no, his suspicions were confirmed. He wondered whom she had run off with. He called her a million times, and she never answered a phone call. He left voice messages and sent text messages, but to no avail.
He needed to know where she was. She was his fifty-thousand-dollar ticket. He couldn’t let that get away, and since he hadn’t got any fights in the past month or so, that money was needed. His phone danced on the table while singing “Making Love to the Money” by Gucci Mane.
He looked at the screen to see who was calling. It was Porsha.
“What’s up?” he answered.
“Where’s Angel? Albert is out and ready for her,” she said.
He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but he had no clue and that was what he told her.
She was pissed. She had given him the easiest assignment in the world, and he couldn’t even fulfill it. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” she asked with an attitude.
“Exactly what I said! I don’t know,” he replied.
She smacked her lips and hung up on him. Cliff felt that whether he had Angel or not, they still owed him some type of money. He had kept her out of jail for months and for that, they owed him at least half the money.
He called Porsha back. She answered with the same attitude she’d hung up with.
“Listen, lose the damn attitude, ’cause whether we find her or not, he ain’t marrying yo’ dumb ass. Now, what I’m calling for is I feel I deserve half of that money because I kept her out of jail,” he said, knowing she would agree.
She chuckled and politely said, “Nigga, you ain’t getting shit.” Then, once again, she hung up in Cliff’s face.
He heard complete silence, so he looked at his phone. It was lit up, and the screen read CALL ENDED. In Cliff’s head, Porsha was playing with fire now, and she was about to get burned.
Two could play that game, but Clifton Moore played it better.
Albert stayed away from Porsha as much as possible. He always had her car which helped him stay out of her sight. He was riding by the park, where a few young cats were playing basketball, when he spotted a pretty young thing. She was thick, and her hair weave was fresh. She was getting out of a brand-new Nissan Altima.
He slowed down and crept behind her, watching her walk over to the basketball court. She looked behind her and saw a car, so she moved out of the way. Albert slowed down some more and drove at the same pace at which she was walking. When he got to her side, she looked at him and frowned.
He chuckled. Young girls were good at catching attitudes for no reason. Her eyes seemed familiar, but he couldn’t recall where he’d seen them. She looked like the type who liked niggas in the streets. Maybe she was one of those girls that visited one of the inmates while he was in jail.
He had it etched in his head that he was going to get her or at least fuck her. She was way too thick and cute not to. He pulled Porsha’s car over and got out. The thick chick was a great distance away by this point, so Albert had to jog to get to where she was.
“Hey!” He was rocking some basketball gym shorts and a wife beater. His muscular frame and jail tattoos made him look younger than he was. Porsha had just purchased him some all-white shell-toe Adidas, so in Albert’s head, he was looking young and fly.
The thick chick stopped and turned around in Albert’s direction. Her tight purple miniskirt and matching camisole looked like they’d been painted on her. Her stomach was as flat as a board, and her ass and titties were voluptuous. Not to mention her skinny waist and wide hips. She was a perfect ten to him.
“Yes?” she asked.
He smiled as he walked over to her and then stopped when they were within arms’ reach.
“What’s your name, gorgeous?” he asked. He was an old head, so he knew that younger girls liked when a nigga came at them politely.
She scrunched up her face. She wasn’t the least bit interested, but she still answered his question. “Crystal,” she said softly. “Yours?”
As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she wished she’d told him that her name was Angel, but now it was too late.
“I’m Chris,” he said, smiling. “Crystal and Chris.” He chuckled.
She smiled at the fact that they had similar names.
“Well, it was nice meeting you,” he said, extending his hand. She put her hand out to shake his. He grabbed it and kissed it. “Take care,” he said and left her standing there.
She was impressed. She had never had a nigga stop her just to find out her name. Most niggas wanted her number, and they all wanted her body. She turned back around and began walking to the basketball court to watch the guys play.
Albert jumped back in the car and headed to pick Porsha up from work. He knew in due time that the thick chick would be trying to find him. She was curious, and curiosity always killed the cat. He had plans on getting her cat.
When he pulled up into Bennifeld law firm’s parking lot, he noticed Porsha standing alone with her arms crossed. It was obvious that he was running late and she was very upset. She got in the car and was getting ready to start an argument, but after Albert rubbed her inner thigh and got her soaking wet, she changed her mind.
He continued rubbing her thigh as they cruised through the streets of Chicago. He was wondering where Angel was. He had let her live long enough.
“So what’s the word on Angel?” he asked.
Porsha was dreading answering this question. She knew she was supposed to be on top of this situation, but th
ere was nothing she could really do about it. “Well, Cliff . . .,” she began.
Albert already knew where this was headed, straight into an excuse. “Look, save the damn lies and shit, and tell me what the fuck is up.” He grew angry. He knew her dumb ass would fuck this up for him. She didn’t know that Angel was the only reason he was involved with her.
Her smile quickly became a frown, which drifted into tears. She just wanted him to love her. She could see right through this situation. Albert didn’t give a fuck about her, and that hurt the most. What will it take for him to realize I’m the one for him? she thought.
Albert was irritated at the fact that she was useless. He pulled up to the Lake Meadows, where her apartment was located, and parked. She looked at him with evil eyes and mumbled something he didn’t catch. He didn’t say anything, and she knew how he truly felt without him saying a word
She smacked her lips and opened her door. She looked at him one last time and said, “Selfish-ass bitch! I see where Angel gets it from,” and then she slammed the door. Albert chuckled. He knew she was just upset that things weren’t going the way she’d envisioned. Then again, it wasn’t going how he’d planned either.
Porsha went up to her one-bedroom apartment and flopped down on the couch. She should have known that he wasn’t shit. Hell, his daughter wasn’t shit, either. She was tired of niggas trying to get over on her. She was a queen and deserved to be treated like one. She had something that she knew would set his ass straight forever.
Mama had always said, “You play with fire, you will get burned.” She was going to make sure that Albert would feel the wrath. Even though she never liked Angel, she’d grown to stand her. For that reason, she would do her a favor and send her father away forever.
She picked up her cell phone and dialed three numbers. She wanted to press SEND, but then she second-guessed her decision. Was she making the right choice, or was it going to backfire in her face and haunt her forever? She was in what she thought was love, but love didn’t love her.
“Press SEND or END, Porsha, damn!” she yelled at herself while her cell phone rattled in her hand from her nervousness. Someone had to lose in this game, and it for damn sure wasn’t going to be her.
I was lying in my hotel room with a headache that made my head tremble. This hangover was killing me. I had gone to Vision Nightclub to get a few drinks that I damn for sure needed. After my long conversation with my mother and after Omar telling me he had a girl, I was stressed. I sat up in the bed, and my head instantly spun.
I placed my hand on my forehead and closed my eyes. I inched my way out of the bed to get my purse, which sat beside a pile of dirty clothes. I grabbed my brown Gucci bag and dug inside for my BlackBerry and its battery. I put the battery inside my phone and cut it on.
I had so many voice mails, it was ridiculous. The majority of them were from Cliff and Omar. Cliff was going on and on about how he had trusted me and I had betrayed him. He wasn’t as angry as I expected him to be, but I could tell he was mad, though. Omar was telling me he missed me and asking me to answer so that he could tell me something. I didn’t really care to know what it was he had to tell me. As far as I knew, he was already spoken for.
My mother was also one of the people who left me messages. She simply said that I was heavily on her mind and she didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. I decided not to call her back. She always seemed to bring tears to my eyes. I decided to call Cliff. It wasn’t like he could do anything to me, anyway. I was clear across the map, and he had no clue where to find me. I didn’t even think his phone rang before he answered it.
“Angel, where are you?” he asked with a calm voice.
“Chicago. Your car is at the airport, and it’s available for you to get. The keys are there, and your black card is in the glove compartment.” That was all I had of his, so I figured he’d be satisfied.
“That’s not the issue, Angel,” he responded. I didn’t understand why there was even an issue to begin with. It was clear. We weren’t in love, and what we’d had was just a convenience for both of us.
“Look, I’m not what you want. I fucked your brother, Trist, and I fucked Face. I’m a ho. I was stripping at KOD, and I just fucked my ex all of two days ago.” I needed to get it off my chest.
He sat there, silent, and then he said, “Angel, I don’t have a brother, nor do I know a Trist.”
I looked around my room. I didn’t know why, but when he said that, all of a sudden I felt like somebody was watching me. Omar had said that Cliff had only a sister. If Cliff didn’t know Trist, how did I meet him at his house?
“What?” I was confused, because I knew Trist existed.
“I don’t have a brother. Who is Trist?” he asked.
I hung up the phone. I leaned back and looked up to the ceiling, and it appeared to be moving in a circular motion. “I really am crazy,” I said out loud. “I’m fucking nuts!” I laughed.
I began laughing so hard that tears started to fall from my eyes. I guess I was a little off my rocker, but who gave a damn? I decided that I needed to go find me something to wear for the day. Despite my hangover, I managed to get up and take a shower. I threw on the T-shirt and shorts that I had previously worn, and then I headed out the door.
I went to the mall ended up buying a few PINK sweat suits from Victoria’s Secret. I changed into one in the dressing room after I paid for them and went about my day. My stomach was growling, so I headed to McDonald’s. I decided to dine in, being that I had nowhere to be.
I sat there and daydreamed about that strong, muscular man that I had run into at the park. He was handsome and looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I had seen him before. He had me wanting more. Maybe it was the way he approached me, or was it how he left me there in awe? I was in a daze as I looked out the window, until someone sat down and blocked my view. It was him.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said with a smile full of pearly whites. I instantly snapped out of my trance. I smiled shyly.
“Hey, you,” I said softly.
“I been looking for you,” he declared.
He had been heavily on my mind since the first day we met. I was happy that we were finally meeting again. There were a few things I wanted to do to him. His creatively tattooed arms were exposed, and from the way they looked, I knew he had gotten them done in jail. I loved me a thug, and he was just that. I could tell.
“Let’s go somewhere better to get something to eat. You’re worth more than the dollar menu,” he told me.
I looked down at my untouched nuggets and fries and took him up on his offer. We ended up at a semi-expensive restaurant. As we sat there talking, I visualized us in bed. I kept trying to tell myself to keep it classy. In my mind, I kept it nasty.
After we ate, he excused himself and went to the bathroom. I sat alone at the table, looking at my silverware. There was something about the steak knife that made me want it for myself, so I quickly wrapped it up in my napkin and placed it in my purse. When he came back, he put money, including a nice tip, on the table and we headed out.
He asked me if he could take me to a hotel, and I didn’t tell him no. I left my car at the restaurant, and we left in his Honda. I remembered Porsha’s ass having a car identical to this one. I kind of wondered if she still had it.
We pulled up to Hotel Sax on Dearborn Street. We parked the car and headed inside. I sat down on the sofa that was in the lobby while he got the room. After he got the key, we went straight to the elevator. We stepped in, he pressed five, and the elevator doors closed.
Porsha had to do it. It was killing her inside not to. She had a gut feeling that he was somewhere fucking another bitch. She couldn’t have that. She pressed SEND. The operator quickly got on the line.
“Nine-one-one. What’s the emergency?” she asked.
“Yes, there’s a guy I know who is plotting to kill his daughter,” Porsha said, quickly regretting it.
“And how do you know this
, ma’am?”
“He wanted my friend Cliff to help him set her up, but I just can’t let them, and I want to help before he kills her,” Porsha cried. She felt bad for Angel all of a sudden and knew that Albert was going to get her if he ever caught up with her. She told the operator everything she needed to know, except for her involvement in the whole ordeal.
When she got off of the phone with the police, she felt that a weight had lifted from her shoulders. She felt that she had done a good deed. She wished that she could call and warn Angel personally. She still had her number, but she figured she had gotten it changed. She thought about sending her a picture of Albert with a text that said, Stay away.
Porsha got up to clear her house of Albert. She decided she would pack up all his shit and have it sitting in the hallway when he got back. She was tired of being played for a fool. He was too damn old to be trying to be a player. She headed into her confined bedroom and went over to the closet, forcefully opening it. She snatched his shit off the hangers and threw it onto the floor. He had only about ten outfits. She took his shoes from the bottom of the closet and threw them on top of the pile she’d started for him.
At this point, she was dripping with sweat and tears. She wiped her forehead and headed over to the nightstand, where more of his underclothes were stored. She pulled the two drawers completely out and launched them across the room, one by one. One of the drawers put a hole in the wall.
She dropped to her knees and cried. She was tired of the same shit over and over again. She lay down on top of his clothes and wept. After about ten minutes, too long, she got up and headed to the kitchen to get a garbage bag. He was garbage, and his shit deserved to be treated as such.
Her face was full of tears, and her mind was filled with unresolved issues. She stood in her bedroom doorway with the black Hefty trash bag in her hand. She stared at all his shit piled up in the middle of her bedroom floor. Then it dawned on her, she’d paid for that shit. That nigga wasn’t getting shit.