The Rage

by Jaci J.

  “The fuck you aren’t.”

  “Rampage,” I start to argue. Holding a hand up he stomps over to me.

  “Shut the fuck up. Don’t want to hear your shit ‘bout you not bein’ worth it ‘n shit. My money, ‘n I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with it.”

  He’s lost his goddamn mind. I watch his back and as he digs through a drawer. Turning around, he leans his back against the dresser. Sticking a blunt between his lips, he lights it up and inhales on a satisfied groan.

  “Be serious, Rampage.” I try for reasonable.

  “Lala. When the fuck am I not serious?”

  “Rampage!”

  “Fuckin’ Christ, Lala. Drop it. I paid the goddamn money. Whether you fuckin’ think so or not, you’re worth it to me, okay?” I swallow past the growing lump of emotion in my throat.

  “Why?” I know I’m picking. I should just stop before I really upset him, but I can’t seem to fathom how I’m worth that much money and effort. I don’t have terrible self-esteem and I don’t think I’m worthless, but I don’t see that kind of value in me. I don’t see the point?

  “I fuckin’ like havin’ you here. I don’t want anything to fuckin’ happen to you, ‘n if I gotta pay fifty million dollars to do that shit, then I will, ‘n you’ll fuckin’ let me, so stop askin’ me why. I’ll do what I gotta do to take care of you. You trust me?” Nodding my head, I suck back the tears. I do trust him. “Good. Don’t ask me shit about what I do to keep that motherfucker away from you, you hear me?”

  “Yes, but Rampage?”

  “Jesus Christ, Lala. What part of what I said don’t you get?” I like havin’ you in my life. I don’t want to see shit happen to you. You bein’ here gives me reason and purpose, somethin’ I ain’t ever had. I like takin’ care of your ass. I like wakin’ up to your face, ‘n I like goin’ to sleep with you next to me, so that means I gotta do what I gotta do to keep that shit exactly the way I like it. I do it all for you, ‘n I’ll do it ‘til the day I die.”

  The tears well up and I can’t hold them back.

  “Don’t. I want your life easy, baby. Don’t worry, and don’t fuckin’ stress, alright? That shit goes for me too. No stressin’ ‘bout Ryan. He won’t be back. You’re safe. Don’t stress ‘bout me, either. I got you, ‘n as long as I got that shit, I’ll be good. I’ll always be good. You’re safe ‘n happy, ‘n Lala?”

  “What?” I feel a tear slide down my cheek to my chest when I stare at him. So big, so mean, so scary, and I couldn’t love him more. I couldn’t imagine ever not loving him. For the rest of my life, I’ll love him. “That’s all the repayment I need, baby.”

  Six months later….

  One year later. …

  16

  Shams

  Rampage

  Walking up to my place, I dodge the newly potted flowers on each step. Jesus fucking Christ! A few weeks ago, after the goddamn rain let up, this shit start happening. She’s gone crazy and turned the house into a fucking flower garden.

  Once I kick the screen door open, I hear music, along with the smell of cupcakes and paint. The cupcakes are a usual thing around this joint these days, but not the paint. What the fuck is she getting into now?

  “Lala?” I holler through the house, getting no response. I walk through the hall, following the music to the master bedroom. Lala’s back is to me, facing the wall with her hips swaying side to side. She’s got a loose fitting tank top on and some ripped up jean shorts. All of our shit is covered in plastic, including the floor.

  “Baby?” Looking over her shoulder at me, she smiles that big ass smile of hers that I know is just for me. She keeps on shaking that ass and singing along to the music, “Just got rich, took a broke…” she mouths and smiles.

  “You got rich, huh?”

  Shrugging, she bites her lip and says, “Yep. Love this song.” Don’t understand bitches and their music, but I enjoy the fuck outta watching her shake that sexy as fuck body to it.

  “C’mere, Lala.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.

  *****

  How the fuck did I get here?

  It started gradually. After we sorted out her living situation, we got her out of her lease and into my house, a house I used to loathe. The plan was for her to live here, and I would spend as much time as I could with her, but what I said and what I did are two different things. It’s become a place I spend damn near most of my time in. She’s here, so I’m here. There is no other place I want to be than wherever she is. She’s made this place a fucking home, a comfortable home at that, for the both of us.

  The place she was living in was furnished when she moved in, so there was little of hers to get, just clothes and personal shit. There were a few boxes and that was it. One day I come home to a couch in my empty living room. Yeah, I can do a couch. I need a place to sit my fucking ass down anyway, and since Lala and me were spending most of our time here, I guess a couch was a necessity. It was even a black suede couch. I can deal with that kind of couch.

  Come home a few days later and we got us a kitchen table. Guess we could use one of those, too. Her reasoning was that something nice needed to fill that space, and it did match the couch, so I said okay. I prefer to sit my ass on that couch and eat in front of the TV, but my baby wanted a table so she got one. Tables I can handle.

  Shams. She got shams next. What the fuck is a sham? Where the fuck do I even put one of those? The bathroom? Guess what? They’re fancy fucking pillowcases. Yeah, blew my mind too. What the fuck? Does she think we’re French Royalty or some shit? Her reasoning for that was that it made it homey in here for her. I’m a fucking sucker for that bitch. I let my baby have her goddamn shams. Fuck, she can buy one for each room of the goddamn house if it makes it feel homey to her. I can’t complain either, comfy shit ain’t too bad.

  So from then on, shit just spiraled out of control. One thing turned into another. Her and her bitches started bringing shit into our house, and now it’s what she calls a home. It was that before, wasn’t it? We now have a house full of shit I could care less about, but that shit puts a smile on Lala’s beautiful fucking lips and I’ll do whatever the fuck I gotta do to keep it there.

  Currently I’m standing in what used to be my bedroom. With its now black bed set, dressers, nightstands, pictures, and something Lala called, “Chevron patterned curtains” on the windows. Now, she’s painting an ‘accent’ wall ‘dove gray.’ What the fuck does that even mean? I feel like I need to make a trip to the strip club, maybe even a shooting range before I lose my man card indefinitely. It’s been a year, and she’s slowly, but surely, taken that shit away from me, but I said fuck it a long time ago. I don’t have to do it, so what the fuck ever.

  Want to know what it all means for me? It means a content and happy as fuck Lala in my life. It means she smiles, it means she’s comfortable, and it means she has a place to call hers. Happy Lala means dinner and pussy every night, and into the near future. So guess what? I’ve got an accent wall in my room, Chevron curtains, and I’m not fucking sorry about it. She wants me to paint that fucker myself I will. Whatever the fuck she wants, whenever the fuck she wants it.

  ****

  Sitting in the kitchen I watch Lala do her thing. I watch her yap to Sis about God knows what. Shit I don’t care about. They’re making me food and really, that’s all that matters.

  Sometimes I watch her and wonder how the fuck we really got here, one goddamn year later and she’s still here with me. Nothing was discussed and nothing was said. Shit just progressed the way I guess shit is supposed to progress. Weeks turned into months, months turned into a year, and I guess shit is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

  I’m fucking lucky. I get every goddamn day with her. She lets me take care of her. She lets me fuck her. She’s let me be a part of her life, and that shit is exactly how I want to spend the rest of my fucking life.

  “Rampage?” Lala snaps at me from the kitchen counter. Christ.

  “What babe?”


  “Tank needs your help settin’ up that bounce house.” A what?

  “The fuck is that?” Lala looks at Sis and they both start laughing. What the fuck am I missing?

  “For the party.” Sis laughs at me. This is nothing new. These two are so goddamn annoying together. I avoid them like bitches with herpes.

  “Care to elaborate?” I snap.

  “It’s a thing that you blow up so kids can bounce around inside of it. It’s for Dallas’s birthday party.” Yeah. Don’t care.

  “Yep.” I’ll do whatever I have to do to get outta the house and away from these two.

  I hate all this girly shit. Drives me crazy that all of the old ladies take over my goddamn house. I put up with all the decorations, pillows, paint, and candles in my fucking space, but Sis and the girls in my face and in my space all of the time drives me fucking insane. Instead of saying shit, I just let it go. It’s Lala’s space too.

  ****

  One year of Lala to myself hasn’t done shit to dull the fucking rage that blinds me when motherfuckers put their hands on her. No one gets to touch her without, at the very least, losing a goddamn finger. I’ve been known to kill for less. Touching my woman will get you a painful end with no funeral.

  “You gonna smash his face in or rip his head off?” Stitch tips his beer at the overly friendly asshole rubbing on an uncomfortable as fuck Lala. I can see her uneasiness by the way she pulls away, shoulders tight and back straight. I hate that shit.

  There’s a reason I took her ass out of the stripping game. It was because I hated the idea of men looking at her with anything other than the respect she deserves. I also hated that look in her eyes when she did it, and it’s the current look she’s sporting right now. Lala is too good for that shit.

  “I’ll decide when I get there,” I grumble back. Head, arm, or finger. I’m not fucking picky.

  “What the fuck you waitin’ for?” Stitch fires back. A little blonde haired girl is what I’m waiting for. “You see Dallas standing there with Lala ‘n Sis? That’s what the fuck I’m waitin’ for.” I’m not about to go over there and raise hell with that little thing watching. I won’t control myself in front of anyone when I get over there.

  As far as these kids here are concerned, we are the fucking best. We can do no wrong and I’d like to keep shit that way. Dallas loves us all, just as much as she loves her dad, and I’d like to keep her liking me for a while, or at least until she figures out we’re all a bunch of animals.

  “Dallas! C’mere, baby.” Tags hollers.

  A mess of sticky hands and hair comes bouncing up to us. “Uncle Rampage! Uncle Stitch,” she giggles. “Daddy!” She starts leaping all over the place to get to Tags. I’ve no fucking clue how he deals with all that. Little girls with their pink, girly shit really scares me.

  “Go play inside, baby.”

  “Daddy, daddy, daddy!” She hollers when he turns her toward the house.

  “What?” Tags asks her.

  “That man smilin’ at auntie Lala is icky.” Hearing that shit from a little girl makes me see red.

  “Go inside now, Dallas.”

  Fuck I try. I do. I try real fucking hard to keep my shit bottled inside, but the second Lala shoots me a look from across the yard, I can’t hold that shit in. Those big blue eyes are uncomfortable and worried. She should be worried – worried that I’m about to get that fuckers blood on that hot as fuck dress she’s wearing.

  My fist meets flesh, and the motherfucker has a hard ass face. The little puke wearing the unpatched cut stumbles back, his hand flying up to his mouth.

  “What the fuck?” he grunts in pain.

  “You like your arms? Fond of your fuckin’ face?” Hand over his mouth, he pulls it away and sees blood. I love that hue of red.

  His eyes get big when he looks from his hand to me. I know he doesn’t want to, but he has to defend himself. If he falls back, there is no way in hell he’ll get his colors. At least if he tries, they might let him keep prospecting.

  I let my fist find his nose this time. The crack of bone feels like an ice-cold beer on a hot day.

  Lala used to try and stop me when shit would get wild. She would have gotten teary eyed or upset when I started using my fists to solve problems, but not anymore. She doesn’t like it, but she deals with it. After I’m done beating faces, she’ll clean my hands and let me fuck her stupid.

  The little shit swings on me through blurry eyes and a bloodied face. He misses by a goddamn mile. Why even try? His sad attempt fuels my rage.

  I let my fist connect with his ribs, dropping the little shit to his knees. Why does this shit gotta be so fucking easy anymore? Where the fuck’s the challenge? It’s like half these men are pussies.

  “Get up!” I kick at his side. “You want to touch my woman, you better be ready to defend that stupid fuckin’ decision.” Sweeping his leg out, he tries to knock my ass down. I’m too big and too fucking heavy for that shit. Nice try.

  “Fuck that, man. I don’t want that stupid cunt,” he groans.

  He gets a good taste of my boot before I start getting a little carried away. Call my woman a cunt and you’ll be spitting teeth into next week. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, motherfucker. Stay the fuck away from my woman.” I wanna keep hitting the piece of shit until Lala calms my shit down.

  “Baby, you’re gonna kill him.”

  The only thing on this planet that can bring me back and calm me down is Lala. Her sweet voice and that soft body bring me right the fuck back to her. I’m breathing heavy and having a hard time letting this shit go.

  Running a hand down my arm, she grabs my bloody, busted up hand in hers. She holds it up to get a good look at the damage while I glance at her perfect face. When her eyes meet mine, she rolls those blue beauties at me.

  “We’re out of Band-Aids,” She says with a smirk.

  “Fuck Band-Aids.” I don’t need that shit.

  “Always the tough guy. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

  Lala

  Rampage has my body folded over the kitchen island, my skirt shoved up over my ass, and his fingers are sliding my panties over to the side.

  “Someone’s going to catch us,” I whisper.

  “Shut up, Lala. I just need to feel you.”

  Sliding into me with one, quick thrust, I can feel each metal stud against my wet flesh. The metal gliding in and out against my skin always makes me shudder, especially in this position.

  “Fuck, babe. I love how you let me give it to you.”

  He knows that I will never say no to him. If this is what he needs, then it’s all his. I don’t even care that it’s in a kitchen with people not more than ten feet away from the door.

  ****

  In my life, six months is a long time to be in one place, especially spending that time with someone. Hell, I might even go as far as calling it a milestone. I had never lived anywhere longer than a few months, never had consistency. I’ve never had anyone in my life that I didn’t owe something to, and I never owned anything. Even the car that Rampage tried to fix was a stolen car that I paid cash for, and even then it was a piece of shit. Lil is the only person that I have worked to have a friendship with. Never having a real friend before, I needed that and I worked to keep it. It was through that friendship that I met Rampage.

  It’s been a year. We’ve slipped into a solid year together. Rampage and Lala. We’ve had good, bad, and all that shit in between. The one constant we’ve had this past year is each other. I have Rampage and his club. I’d never had a family until I met him.

  I have it all now. I have friends, a home, a job. I have a life, and I share that life with Rampage. I have him to thank for all of it. He lets me be me, and he supports whatever I want to do. Once I left my job, he made it possible for me to go to school fulltime, which helped me to graduate early. Rampage has given me everything, but he’s never given me his love.

  It sounds so petty and ridiculous after everything he has done f
or me, but I’m still not sure where I fit into his life. I’m not sure what we are. I know that he wants me and only me, and I try to be happy with that, but sometimes I wonder what it would feel like hear him say that he loves me. I know he doesn’t look at what tomorrow brings, he just lives in the present, but it makes me feel like I’m a kept woman until he tires of me.

  He never claims me in front of anyone, so I have no right to claim him. It’s humiliating to me, acting the part of his old lady, but knowing that he will never claim me as his.

  I want him to fit me into his life. I want to stay in his life, whichever way he’ll have me. It scares me to think that at any moment, he could let me go. I’m not sure I could survive that. I can’t see life without him and that scares me.

  I’m so selfish for feeling this way and I know it. He doesn’t have to do anything for me, but he does. He keeps me safe and takes damn good care of me. I’m thankful he’s with me. He’s here for me. I have Rampage and that’s all the matters to me… for now.

  ****

  “I love this color, Cali. I’ve been tryin’ to get Gin to let me paint the bedroom pink for ages now, but he shuts that shit down real quick. Says he’s movin’ out if I paint it that color, but little does he know I’m gonna paint it whatever fuckin’ color I want.” Peaches laughs, waving her rolling paint brush around. Good thing I put plastic on Cali’s floor and furniture.

  “Guess he’s movin’ in with us then?” Lil fires back.

  Peaches just gives her a lazy shrug and says, “Probably, ‘cause you know I’m gonna paint it whatever color I want it.”

  “I painted that wall in the kitchen that pretty green. It’s not a girly or manly color, so he might like that,” Cali suggests.

  The girls start talking about painting their homes and all kinds of other things they want to do, and for the first time in my life, I can join in on the conversation. I have a home to paint and fix up too.