My phone started to ring. It was my mother. I didn’t feel like talking, but I picked it up anyway.
“Hey, Mama.” I tried not letting her know anything was wrong with me as I got into the car.
“Hey, baby. Are you by a television right now?”
“No, Mama. Why? What’s going on?”
“They found a body in the Bronx, and they think it’s Imani.”
I gripped the steering wheel and steered it back toward the road again.
“Say what? Where you hear that from?”
“It was all over the news. That’s why I called you. I ’ont fuck wit’ her, but, damn, I ’ont wish death on anybody. What’s goin’ happen to that little boy?” Mama stated.
My head started to spin. All the words that Mama was saying were jumbled together, and I couldn’t understand any longer.
“Mama, let me call you back.” I didn’t wait for a response. I hung up.
I made a U-turn and headed toward Imani’s apartment. I hoped this shit was not true, because I would be the first person they looked at, even though I didn’t have anything to do with it. The closer I got to the apartment, the more I started to feel sick. She couldn’t be dead. She was the only bitch I ever loved. Who would kill her? As far as I knew, she didn’t have any enemies.
My worst fear was confirmed when I pulled up at the apartment complex. Police tape was on her door, and all the neighbors were outside gossiping amongst themselves. A few police cars were still at the scene. I stopped where a group of people was standing.
“What happened out here?” I asked.
“The young lady Imani was found dead in her apartment,” an older woman said.
“Thanks,” I managed to get out before I pulled off.
I loosened my tie as I drove down the streets. A few tears fell from my eyes. What the fuck happened to her? I know I said I hated her, but deep down, I loved her. She was my bitch, and now she’s gone.
This day couldn’t get any worse than this, I thought as I drove.
“I hate you, bitch, I never thought I’d say.
Too many years, I done paid the price.
Why you gotta put all this drama in my life . . .”
Z-RO’s lyrics blasted through my speakers. This was the perfect song for the way I was feeling. I played it all the way to the house.
I sneaked my way inside and tiptoed up the stairs to my room, where I grabbed my gun that was in my nightstand. Then I walked to her room, where I heard crying coming from.... I caught that bitch kneeling on the floor. Ha-ha, that wicked bitch was praying, which was fucking hilarious. I stood there, staring at her. Each word that that flowed from her lips angered me more by the second. My patience was running out and my temper was flaring. Rage boiled through my body. I barely had a chance to think of my actions. The only thought running through my head was getting her to shut up. I hated that bitch with everything in me, and it all had to end.
I pursed my lips and raised my hand back. I threw my fist forward as hard as I could, punching her in the face. The crack of skin smashing skin echoed off the walls. Vibrations of pain started in my palm and spread to my fingertips. My palm was bright red, the same red mark that matched the one on her face. She stared at me with her eyes wide as her hand slowly made it to her fire-red cheek. I should’ve felt some kind of remorse, but I didn’t. Not one organ in my body could produce guilt for my actions.
A triumphant grin spread across my face as I tried to stomp a hole in that bitch’s face with my brand-new pair of leather skin flats. The more that bitch screamed, the angrier I got. I pulled my gun out because I was going to shut her up for good.
Then I heard banging. What could that be? I thought.
I quickly dismissed the interruption and went back to focusing on this evil bitch. That’s when the banging got louder, and I heard yelling loud and clear. It was the police—the fucking police. Did this bitch call the police? How? My mind started to race, and I got desperate. I raised the gun to shoot the bitch, and then I would turn the gun on myself. There was no way I was going back to jail.
“Put the gun down. Raise your hands!” one of the officers ordered.
“OK, Officer. Don’t shoot!” I said.
I placed the gun on the carpet and put my hands in the air.
They quickly tackled me to the ground.
“Stay down! Stay down!” someone said as an officer placed cuffs on me.
“Hassan Clarke, you’re under arrest for the murder of Imani Gibson and the attempted murder of this woman. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”
“Murder? I ain’t killed nobody. Y’all got the wrong man.”
My pleas fell on deaf ears. They dragged me downstairs and into a police car. I saw all the neighbors outside peeping and whispering. I held my head down in shame as I saw the reporters pull up. I couldn’t believe this shit, but I wasn’t worried. I knew I’d be out in hours because I didn’t kill Imani. As a matter of fact, I still loved her.
Chapter Twelve
Destiny Clarke
I woke up in the hospital with bandages all over my face. Mama and Spencer were sitting by my side. I couldn’t remember what happened or how I got here.
“Hey, love. You’re awake,” Spencer said.
“Yes, I’m thirsty. Can you get me something to drink?”
He poured me a cup of the ice water that was in a pitcher by my bed.
“Hey, Mama.”
“Hey, sugar. How you feeling?”
“A little sore, but this cough is killing me more.”
“Did the doctor say anything about that?”
“Yes, he said I have pneumonia, but can’t come up with the cause. I don’t know . . . maybe the change of weather or something.”
“Well, maybe. I’m praying you get some comfort soon. I’m ready for you to come home and get some real rest.”
“I know. If all goes well, I should be home real soon.” I smiled at her. I saw the worried look across her face.
They stayed with me, and we chatted for a little while. I couldn’t control this terrible cough, and I was tired. I hated to see them go, but I had to get some rest. Besides the cough, I was exhausted and had difficulty breathing.
Hassan Clarke
I thought I was dreaming, but, nah, it was a cruel dose of reality. One minute I was about to kill that ho, Destiny, and the next minute, I was being arrested for the murder of Imani. My thoughts ran back to Corey but were soon interrupted when the arresting officer said, “You’re under arrest for the murder of Imani Gibson.” I stared at this fool like he had two heads. There was no way I killed Imani. Shit, regardless of what went down, I loved her ass. I might’ve beaten her ass, but that was only to scare her so that she would know I’m that nigga. I didn’t want her dead.
I went in front of the judge who denied my bond. His excuse was that I was already out on bond with charges pertaining to the victim. I wanted to collapse when that cracker spoke those words. This shit was more serious than I thought. I was sure they didn’t have any evidence, so how could they link me to her death, all because I was arrested for beating her up? Bullshit. They better find her killer. Shit, it might be her motherfucking son.
I was tight as fuck, I wanted to spaz out, but I kept my cool. I had to think fast. The first thing I needed was a lawyer. Maybe he could get a better understanding of what the fuck was going on.
Mama got the news that I was arrested. Of course, the entire city knew because they had it plastered all over the major TV stations. This was so fucking embarrassing. I could imagine all the whispers and gossip behind my back. I ain’t goin’ lie.... I wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there.
By the next afternoon, I heard the guard calling my name. “Clarke, Hassan Clarke, you have an attorney’s visit. Step to the front.”
I
jumped off the top bunk, ran down to the bottom tier, and walked up to the door. He escorted me to the area where my attorney was sitting waiting. He stood up when I walked in.
“Hassan, my man.” He gave me dap.
“Yo, please, tell me this is a mistake and you ’bout to get me up out of here.” I sat across from him.
“Sorry, I wish I could. You are charged with the murder of Imani Gibson, and two new charges have been added: conspiracy to commit murder against Corey Griffin and the attempted murder of your wife. I spoke to the DA handling the case, and he informed me that they found the murder weapon in your house, and they also have you on tape confessing to the murder of that Corey fellow.”
“What the fuck you mean?” I jumped up and flipped the table over. Rage filled my heart, and I was no longer thinking clearly.
The guard rushed in and looked at the attorney and said, “Is everything OK in here?”
“Yes, everything is under control.”
I paced back and forth with my fists closed tightly. I couldn’t believe what he was saying to me. Murder weapon, confession . . . Bullshit, I thought.
“Sit down. You need to control yourself while you’re here. Honestly, the shit doesn’t look too good for you, and I’ma need you to focus so we can sort through this.”
I walked back to the table and sat down. “Man, what the fuck you talking about—murder weapon and confession? I don’t know how to say this any clearer. I did not kill anyone, especially not Imani, and I did not confess anything to anyone. As far as Destiny, the bitch I’m married to, she’s bitter because I don’t want to be with her, and she attacked me. I was only defending myself,” I yelled and pounded on the table.
“Well, I haven’t seen the videotape as yet, but as far as I understand, you’re on tape confessing, and the gun that was used to kill Miss Gibson is registered in your na—”
“Bullshit.” I cut him off. “Ain’t no motherfucking way that’s possible. I own a 9 mm Glock, and I’ve never taken that shit out of my nightstand. Them motherfuckers tryin’a to frame me, Boss man. Get your own forensic team on my case, ’cause word to my mama, there’s no way that can be possible. No way, bro.”
“I’ll be going down to the DA’s office first thing in the morning, and I’m getting my whole team on the case. As far as a bond, I’m going to request one at your arraignment, but I doubt they’re going to give it to you because you were already out on a previous one. I suggest you sit tight and let us figure out what’s really going on. I need you to be straight with me. Don’t hold anything back.”
“Bro, I’m telling you, I didn’t kill her, and it wasn’t my gun. I’m innocent. The police might be trying to get back at me, ’cause I done got a lot of niggas off serious charges.”
“Well, I’m going to go over to the house also to speak to your wife.”
“Fuck that bitch. She not goin’ help you.”
“Maybe not, but I need to talk to her to understand her frame of mind.”
“A’ight,” I said reluctantly.
“Sit tight. I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
I didn’t feel any better after talking to the lawyer. Shit was crazy. I didn’t want shit to eat, even though I hadn’t eaten in days. My appetite was gone. Maybe it’s the fact that I saw my life spiraling downhill. I took a shower and decided to lie down on my bunk.
All kinds of thoughts invaded my mind. How the fuck I got in here on some bullshit-ass charges? I racked my brain, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “Confessed on tape.” I kept trying to figure out what the hell they were talking about.... That’s when it dawned on me that the only person that knew what went down was the nigga Big Dre. He had to be wearing a wire. “Fuck outta here, snitch bitch.” I should’ve followed my gut not to trust that pussy nigga. My head was pounding, and I felt sick. What the fuck have I gotten myself into? I thought as a tear fell from my eye.
Chapter Thirteen
Destiny Clarke
After numerous tests, the doctors were still not sure what was causing that terrible cough I had. There was also a rash on my arm that would not leave. The nurse gave me a cream to put on it, but that didn’t help. I was getting irritated because I didn’t know what was wrong with me.
Out of the blue, something popped in my head. I remembered the doctor telling me that he did every test possible.... But did he? I pressed the button for the nurse.
“Yes, may I help you, Mrs. Clarke?”
“Can you come here for a second?”
“Give me a minute. I’ll be in.”
While I waited for the nurse to come, I was nervous about what I was about to ask her. I tried to calm my nerves down because I needed to know the answer. Being in the medical field for most of my life, I knew the importance of knowing your status.
“Yes, Mrs. Clarke, how may I help you?”
“I know Dr. Chezc said he did a lot of tests on me trying to find out what’s going on with me. I want to know, did y’all do an HIV test on me?”
“Uhh... I’m not sure, but I can look in your files and let you know.”
“OK, please do, and if he didn’t, I want one done ASAP.”
She shot me a strange look, then quickly smiled at me. “Sure, I’ll get on it right away.”
* * *
Waiting on an HIV test result was detrimental to my mind. I tried my best to block out all the “what-ifs.” Even though I remained positive most of the time, I couldn’t help but wonder. The symptoms of HIV were there, and even though I wasn’t a whore or had niggas running all up in me, that didn’t mean shit. Hassan was a ho, and God knows how many bitches he done fucked before he got with me.
People say, be careful of what you ask for. That statement was so true. One afternoon around 2:00 p.m., Dr. Chezc walked into my room.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Clarke. How you feeling?”
“Not feeling too good. I stayed up last night, coughing, and this damn rash won’t leave me alone.”
“Well, your test is back from the lab and...” he paused.
“And what?” I asked as I sat up in the bed.
“You tested positive for HIV....” His words trailed off.
I didn’t say anything. I sat there, staring at the doctor. I wanted to curse him, to tell him to get out, but the words were not coming out.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Clarke. I know it seems like the end of the world, but it’s not. Some great medicines are on the market that can help treat the virus. I’ll get the grief counselor in here to talk with you. Please take care of yourself.”
I watched as he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Then I reached for my phone and dialed my mama’s number.
“Mama, please come see me,” was all I managed to say.
“Baby, what’s going on? You all right?”
I hung up the phone without saying another word, then pulled the cover over my face. That’s when the tears started flowing. A sharp pain ripped through my chest. Lord, I hope it’s not another heart attack, I thought. What the hell. I was going to die anyway. My child, Amaiya. How do I tell my baby girl that her mama is going to die? Too many questions and not enough answers.
About an hour later, Mama showed up.
“Hey, baby. Amaiya wanted to come, but I told her that you’ll see her tomorrow.”
“Mama,” I busted out crying.
She walked over to my bed and hugged me. “What’s going on, baby?”
“Mama, I got HIV,” I cried as loud as my voice allowed me to.
“You got what? No, they mixed up your test with some other person’s test.” She let me go and looked at me.
“Yes, I do. You know the cold, the rash? All that came from me having HIV.” I broke down.
“When and how? Baby, who gave this shit to you?” she yelled.
“I-I don’t know, Mama. I’m guessing it’s from Hassan. He’s the only man that I’ve been with for over fifteen years. And I’ve always taken the test, and I ain’t no
dirty bitch. I don’t deserve this, Mama.”
She hugged me tightly. “I know, baby, I know. You goin’ get through it, baby. We’re going get through it, you hear me? My God is a powerful God, and he has worked some mighty miracles.”
God? All this faith and how God works—I was sick and tired of hearing it. If God’s so wonderful, how did he allow me to get this shit? I’m not wicked, and I didn’t abuse my body.
“Baby, I love you, and there is nothing—I mean nothing—that we can’t get through. Your life is not over. You have a teenager relying on you.”
I continued crying as Mama tried her best to restore my faith. I knew there was a God, but I didn’t want to acknowledge him right now.
* * *
I was finally released from the hospital. Spencer was there by my side every day, taking care of me until I felt better. Each day that I was around him made it harder for me to tell him that I was HIV-positive. Numerous times, I tried, but he would say something nice, and I would forget about it. I was tired of hiding it and decided that today was the day.
It was right after dinner, and we were sitting at the table talking about our lives and our plans for our future. I pulled my chair closer to him and took his hand.
“Babe, I need to talk to you.”
“Damn. Don’t tell me you breaking up with me,” he joked.
I wasn’t in a joking mood. I had to stop myself from crying. “Babe, listen. You know how I had that bad cough and that rash, and I kept having difficulty breathing? Well... I-I have the virus.”
“The virus? You mean the cold virus?” he stared at me for confirmation.
“Nah, babe. The HIV virus that causes AIDS.”
“You serious? Don’t play like that,” he said while searching my face.
“I wish I were playing,” I burst out crying.
He got up out of his chair and knelt in front of me. “Baby, please don’t cry. I know that nigga gave you that shit. I’m going to fucking kill him, you hear me?” he yelled as he squeezed my hands.
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