Ruthless and Rotten

by Ms. Michel Moore

  “I know.” Kenya nodded, accepting his apology. “I understand.”

  “Kenya! Please don’t fall for that I’m sorry routine! If he hit you like that once he’ll do it again! It might not be tomorrow or the next day, but it will definitely come again.” London tried her best to discourage her twin from forgiving Storm.

  “Why don’t you try shutting the fuck up? It’s your fault all this shit went down!” Storm barked, wishing he could strangle his woman’s sister.

  “My fault—are you sick in the head? I’m not the one out here running the streets, poisoning the damn community with drugs!” London yelled loud enough to wake the dead. “That would be you and your no-good brother who’s guilty of that crime! You brought that wrath down on yourself!”

  Storm tilted his head toward the side and had a flashback. “Oh, you mean the same brother who I saw you getting your knees dirty for earlier? Is that who you talking about?”

  London was slightly ashamed, but continued her insults coming. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s also the same one that can get out of the bed and take a piss on his own! Not like you!” she teased with malice. “Damn bed wetter!”

  “Oh, my God, London, no!” Kenya tried intervening, not believing the low blow her twin had just dished out.

  “Kenya, I want this troublemaking whore out my motherfucking house!” Storm tried to get up out of the bed, but couldn’t.

  “Why don’t you get your crippled morphine-ass up and put me out?” London challenged, knowing full well he couldn’t.

  “Bitch, get the fuck out! I’m not playing around with your stankin’ wannabe-the-police-ass—leave!”

  Kenya stood up and broke up the below-the-belt insults that were taking place between London and Storm. “Listen, London, why don’t you go back downstairs and let me speak to Storm privately? And Storm, why don’t you try to calm down before you fall out again?”

  “Okay, Kenya. I’ll be in the living room.” London looked back over her shoulder at Storm with disgust. “Don’t let this animal taint your mind!”

  “Try being out on the curb, whore!” Storm screamed out as London made her exit.

  Almost at the end of the hallway she met O.T., who was busy talking to himself. “Excuse me!” She bumped his arm.

  “Why the hell is you bugging? I thought me and you was tight! What’s the problem?”

  London couldn’t believe that O.T. was so dense in the brain that he was truly convinced that his cold, heartless actions from earlier in the afternoon were acceptable. She went straight ghetto ham on him. “Okay, Negro! I’ll tell you what the problem is!” She pointed her index finger in his face as her voice got louder. “If you think that you’re gonna just mess around and toy with my feelings and emotions, you’ve got another thing coming, buster! And don’t ever push me again!”

  “Whoa! Slow the fuck down!” He brushed her hand away from his face. “I had to go. You heard Paris chirp me!”

  “And?” London waited, head tilted to the side.

  “And what? My girl needed me and I jetted. What else did you expect me to do?”

  “Maybe show some type of love or affection toward me!”

  “Come on now, London. Don’t act like me and you is in some type of real relationship.” O.T. stepped back, throwing his hands in the air. “You knew that Paris was wifey from the rip! She’s number one in my world no matter how much I mess around!”

  London was hurt once again as reality spit in her face. “Whatever! Ain’t nobody thinking about you like that anyway!” She marched passed O.T. and stomped down the stairs.

  “All these bitches bugging out today!” he laughed out loud as he went to check on Storm and Kenya.

  When O.T. peeped in the room he saw that she was next to Storm, holding his hand. They seemed to be in deep discussion, so he didn’t disturb them. O.T. went into the den and laid back on the couch as he looked over in the corner where the aquarium once sat that served as a final resting spot for Deacon’s head. Damn, I’m gonna hate to tell Storm about Deacon!

  It was now dark outside. It had started to thunder and pour buckets of rain, making the night seem to drag by. Storm and Kenya had been talking for hours, trying to get their lives back on track. Everything that she was holding in about her former life, he was now aware of. From the first morning she skipped school, Ty turning her out on the dance game, and even the fact that she pocketed the money that he and Deacon paid to Zack after her uncle and his crew shot up Heads Up. Kenya’s life was now an open book.

  Storm had no other choice but to confess about shit that he was holding back on also. Kenya sat silent as he talked about his mother’s crack addiction, which he never did before. She was stunned to learn that Storm had once did time in a juvenile facility for killing his stepfather and worse than anything else, he revealed that he, O.T., and Deacon had all slept with Chocolate Bunny at one time or another back in the day. Kenya knew that O.T. had fucked the bitch, but not Deacon, and certainly not Storm.

  Her hands were tied when it came to getting mad or passing judgments on his past, especially considering all her lies and the chain of events they set into motion.

  What could she say, after all the terrible secrets and scandal she was tangled up into? Kenya had to remain calm and be understanding, even though she couldn’t wait until she bumped heads with Chocolate Bunny again. All the “try to chill” information that she always begged Paris to do was out the window. By the time they were finished, Storm agreed to let London stay temporarily until all the bullshit was done and over. Kenya knew that it was gonna be a lot of fussing and confusion, but she loved both of them and wanted them both in her life.

  Storm wanted to talk to O.T. about Deacon because Kenya kept avoiding any and all questions that involved his partner’s name. Kenya went in the hallway and called out for O.T., hoping he was still there. When he finally showed up, she informed him that Storm wanted to see him and was asking about whether or not there had been any information concerning Deacon. O.T. entered the room and delivered the fucked-up, devastating news of Deacon’s callous torture and murder.

  When it was all said and done, Storm was speechless.

  17

  Mad Crazy

  The months flew by and things only grew wilder and crazier by the moment. Storm was still in constant pain and hadn’t stepped foot outside of the condo. He would have Kenya bring him home Tylenol 4’s and Vicodin on the regular and kept a bottle of Rémy up to his lips, not being able to deal with his best friend’s untimely murder. Even though Kenya would often beg and plead with Storm not to drink so much, especially while he was popping those pills, it was no use. He was obviously addicted and had started blacking out daily. His leg was still weak, so that meant that he was dependent on the aid of crutches, which messed with his mindset.

  The fact that Storm was having trouble getting his manhood hard was also a major factor in his recovery. Most times he’d have to damn near beat his meat to death or choke and twist it to just make the motherfucker squirt piss. So him and Kenya getting it in like they used to was out of the picture altogether, driving him to drink harder.

  Of course, London used that information to her advantage to taunt and tease Storm when he and she argued. What kinda comeback or response could any man have to that type of dis? Kenya, determined to make it work, would clean up behind Storm all day and manage Alley Cats at night. She was exhausted and drained each and every time her head would touch the pillow. She was nurse, maid, cook, and lastly referee between the still constantly-battling London and Storm. Her once-clear skin was now filled with pimples and dark bags were forming under both eyes.

  O.T. and Paris were also still beefing. The shit seemed to never stop with them. O.T. was out running the streets harder than before. With Storm putting his own self on house arrest, that left O.T. to try to keep thangs pumping. That meant that every drop-off, every meeting, and every risk that went along with slinging dope was on his shoulders and his shoulders alone.

&
nbsp; In between trying to be the self-proclaimed mayor of the hood, he still would squeeze in time to swing by and check on Storm. Those visits often would cause mad chaos to jump off at the condo when O.T. would see London. Kenya, knowing what she knew, was still on a strong mission to keep O.T. and London apart. She talked to a depressed and tearful Paris every night as she drove to the club. After the confrontation that she’d had at the hair salon with Chocolate Bunny, Kenya felt it best for the good of the club to let Paris go and get her head together. After all, it was only a temporary gig, so there were no hard feelings between the friends.

  With O.T. gone so much, Paris would sit on the couch for hours at a time, watching old reruns of Good Times and stuffing herself full of candy, cookies, and chips, waiting for him to come back home.

  London was having the time of her life as she sharpened her vocabulary skills Monday through Sunday, dusk to dawn, on an educationally disadvantaged Storm. They would find a reason to argue about rather the sun was shining at midnight or how many licks it really took to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. All it took for the argument to be on was for the two to lay eyes on one another. For London, getting and remaining on Storm’s bad side was second nature. She seemed to despise him no matter what he did or said. She even hated him when he was asleep.

  Kenya felt that it was time for her sister to go back to Detroit or rather back to school, since the sale of the house was now final, but would never suggest it. Besides, they were keeping Storm’s return kinda secret from the hustlers in the streets and with her and O.T. out and about, trying to hold things down, there was no one else that they trusted enough to keep somewhat of a watchful eye over Storm, especially with his blacking out from all the drinking.

  FATE

  It started off just like any other Friday night. Kenya was busy standing in the mirror, brushing her hair and getting prepared to head out to Alley Cats. She had on a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans and a blue and pink low-cut T-shirt with the words Hot Shit across the chest. Even with makeup on you could still see that she was worn out. Storm was lying, half asleep, in the bed with the television remote in his hand. An empty bottle of Rémy Martin was on the floor next to two 40-ounces of Olde English that were also bone dry. He was up to his usual behavior, getting drunk and passing out cold. Depressed and constantly belligerent, the once obsessed and overly attentive to his appearance man, hadn’t shaved in days and as far as him taking a shower, that was almost an impossible feat.

  The bedroom and the entire house, for that matter, smelled like a Texas roadhouse after a wild party. Kenya, never religious since Gran’s death, prayed to God nightly that with time Storm would snap out of the destructive path that he was on and hopefully get his life back together and on the right track.

  “Okay, sweetheart, I’m about to go down to the club.” With the scent of cucumber melon lotion massaged deep in her skin, she lovingly nudged him on his arm. “Do you need me to get you something before I leave?”

  Slurring, he reached out to grab her, almost falling out of the bed “Yeah, just you, Kenya! I want some pussy before you go!”

  Kenya helped him all the way back up in the bed and played his request off, knowing that it had been months since he’d been home and his dick still couldn’t get hard. Moreover, she had to go out and make the money and keep things going until her man got back on his feet and in his right mind. Kenya had no intentions on being late to Alley Cats because of one of Storm’s pity parties that he was about to throw. “Look, I’ll be back later. Why don’t you go soak in the tub and chill out? I’ll bring you a sandwich home from the club tonight—cool?”

  “Naw bitch, why don’t you bring me up another bottle of liquor and shut up your damn nagging?” He barked out orders like she was his slave and called her bitch so much she was beginning to think that was her name.

  “Not a problem! I can do that.” Kenya made her way into the den, yelling back to Storm. “I got you.”

  “Hey, London!” Kenya forced a smile as she saw her twin sitting at the desk, typing on the computer. “I’m about to leave and go to work. I know that this is asking a lot, but can you run to the store and get him something to drink?” Kenya pointed back toward her bedroom. “I’m late enough already.”

  “Don’t you think that he’s already had enough to drink for you, me, and the whole world?” London threw her hand up in her sister’s face. “Your Prince Charming has turned into the village idiot, that much is obvious! He needs to get some help and you and his brother need to stop hand-delivering his poison.”

  “Sis, I know you’re right, but I just don’t know what to do. You know he ain’t gonna humble himself and get help—well, not now anyways. So please, London, just this one time, for me?” Kenya begged, looking at her watch.

  “Yeah, okay, let me get off Facebook with Fatima and I’ll go.”

  Kenya, feeling like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, walked passed the open bedroom door without as much as turning her head to say good-bye to Storm. He’s starting to get on my last nerve!

  London went into the kitchen to put away a few of the items that she bought from the corner store when she picked up a bottle for Storm. As she was bending down in the refrigerator to put the sodas on the door shelf, she felt a pair of hands snatch her body backwards, roughly knocking her down to the marble floor. What the—! What’s happening? Her head struck the corner of the oak cabinet, making her woozy and somewhat confused. Argg! Oh, my God! When she regained her senses back she started to fight and struggle with a drunken, enraged, hallucinating Storm, who was now on top of her, licking her face. The more she wiggled, moving to get free, the greater pleasure he seemed to achieve.

  “Don’t fight with me, Kenya!” he drunkenly screamed in London’s face with his nauseating, foul-smelling hot breath and scruffy beard rubbing against her cheek. “I told you Daddy wanted some, didn’t I? Now give it to me!”

  “I’m not Kenya, fool! I’m not Kenya! Get off of me! Get off!” she protested, trying to shove him off.

  “I love you, girl! Why you acting like this after all I done did for you? Now give me some of that pussy you been holding out on!”

  Storm ignored London’s claims of not being Kenya and tried wrapping one of his huge hands across her mouth to silence having to hear anymore complaining or lies. London’s eyes grew wide and bucked as her sister’s fiancé held her down with the weight of his body. As he made use of his free hand to pull down his track pants so that his dick was dangling wildly between his and London’s legs, she panicked. Her trying to knee him in the nuts was stopped by the force of him applying his total strength and body weight down on top of her.

  “Are you crazy? Stop! Stop! Don’t do this! Stop!” She fought until exhausted and out of breath from the struggle.

  Storm was in some sort of a trance. It was like he was sleepwalking and totally unaware of his surroundings. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he ripped London’s shorts down and somehow shoved his hard dick up inside of her. It was the first, true 100 percent staying hard, can-bang-the-shit-out-of-you-all-nightlong erection that he had since being back home and here he was on the kitchen floor, drunk as a son of a bitch with Kenya’s sister’s legs stretched wide open going in.

  He acted like a madman as he went in and out of her overly moist pussy. All of London’s outcries and claims of her not being her twin Kenya had come to a complete halt. She stopped resisting Storm and even seemed to start to enjoy what she was feeling. At one point she even closed her eyes and imagined that Storm was his brother O.T., making love to her. After two or three minutes of him having his way and doing his thang, Storm let out a yell as his body jerked and collapsed onto London’s. After that, he passed out cold, not moving an inch.

  Reality quickly set back in for her when the rotten-smelling musk of Storm’s skin filled her nostrils. The ecstasy that she was just momentarily feeling had ended and now London wanted her sworn enemy the hell off of her. Somehow she managed
to push his heavy body off onto the cold floor and got back up on her feet. The sight of Storm sprawled out, smelling like who done it and why, caused London to rush over to the sink and throw up all over the dirty dishes.

  Damn! That felt good, but why did it have to be him? Stuff wasn’t supposed to work out like this, London mumbled to herself as she stepped over his crutches that were blocking the door and walked out the kitchen to take a hot shower, leaving a snoring Storm to sleep his punk-ass on the floor. But I sure see now why Kenya is putting up with all the crap that Storm is taking her through. I can’t imagine what it feels like when he’s sober.

  18

  A New Day

  The days that followed that night somehow brought about a drastic change in Storm’s personality. He’d been woken up at four in the morning by Kenya returning home from work. He felt like warm, melted shit on a stick. Storm had no idea how he’d gotten downstairs, let alone on the floor. As he passed the huge oval-shaped mirror in the hallway, Storm caught a quick glance of himself and froze with disappointment at the sight. He saw a complete stranger staring back at him. It was then and there that he promised Kenya that he was gonna get his shit back right and 100 percent correct.

  When he hugged Kenya his dick rose up, standing at attention, causing her to smile with excitement and anticipation of the possibility of what she’d been missing. The two of them made their way up the stairs and into their bedroom. Kenya turned the shower on hot as she helped Storm step inside. Having a new attitude, he spent what seemed like hours scrubbing months of built-up filth off his body. The combination of the soap and the hot water caused a mysterious deep scratch on the side of his neck to sting.

  Strangely, when he closed his eyes, Storm kept seeing flashbacks of having sex with Kenya on the kitchen floor in front of the open refrigerator door. He knew that it must’ve been a dream, so he dismissed it out of his mind. No sooner than he was finished drying off, he pounced on top of Kenya, making love to her for the first time in months. She was in seventh heaven as he freaked her from head to toe. Kenya, unlike Storm who just had some pussy earlier, hadn’t had sex in what seemed like twelve months of Sundays and was really feeling that shit. They went in ’til almost daybreak while London, having had a brief taste of Storm earlier, enviously listened to their loud moans from the other room.