My Husband's Mistress 2

by Racquel Williams

  “What the hell were you doing then? You look tired like you were sleeping.”

  “Ma, you’re hurting me. Let go. You need to stop acting so overprotective. I’m not a little girl anymore, so stop treating me like one,” she said with an attitude.

  “You listen to me, little girl. Don’t you raise your voice at me ever again in my house. Just because you’re smelling yourself, it doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that. Let this be your first and last warning,” I snapped.

  “Why are you acting like this? Ever since you and Dad broke up, you’ve been nothing but angry. It’s like you blame me for what he did to you,” she cried.

  “I’m not going to allow you to turn this around on me. This is not about your father. This is about you, little girl. You’re not going to disrespect me, and you damn sure ain’t gonna run up in here all hours of the night. So I suggest that you let that little boyfriend of yours know that.”

  “I’m not you, and José is nothing like Daddy. He doesn’t call me names or disrespect me with other chicks.”

  I walked away from her and headed into the kitchen. I wasn’t no fool. She had been drinking, and even though I didn’t have any proof, I had a feeling she was out fooling around with that boy. I knew from the minute I laid eyes on him that he was bad news. I needed Spencer to hurry up and let me know what he had found out, if anything.

  * * *

  That night, I couldn’t fall asleep for anything. The situation between Amaiya and me rested heavily on my mind. I loved my child, and I wanted her to be happy, but I wasn’t going to sit back and watch her get caught up with a street dude. He didn’t look like he had a job or even a high school diploma. If he thought that he was going to knock up my baby with his old bum ass, he needed to rethink that because it wasn’t gonna happen. Not over my dead body.

  * * *

  “Babe, you good? You were tossing and turning all night long.”

  I sat up and faced him. “Spencer, Amaiya didn’t come in ’til late last night, and when she did, I smelled alcohol on her breath. I don’t trust that boy with her.”

  “Babe, you’re worrying yourself too much. You have to trust her, you know?”

  “I trust her. It’s him I don’t trust. I know how these little niggas are.”

  “I’ll go ahead and run his prints as soon as I go to the office, and I’ll talk to my partner down at the station to see if he has any history of breaking the law. That should put your worries to rest.”

  “Thank you.” I rubbed his hand.

  “While you’re up, we have a wedding to plan, lady.” He poked me in the side.

  “I know we do. I plan to get a wedding planner this week,” I sighed. “I can’t believe I’m trying to walk down the aisle for a second time. I had sworn that I wasn’t doing that shit anymore.”

  “Well, I’m happy you decided to give a nigga a chance. I love you, woman, and I will protect you until I take my last breath.”

  I loved it when he spoke to me like that, and 90 percent of me believed him. However, that 10 percent kept reminding me that he was a man, and they could not be trusted. I didn’t say anything because I vowed not to let my doubts and insecurities fuck up my relationship with him. I was willing to give him a chance, but at the first sign of trouble, I swear, I was going to get rid of his ass.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Hassan Clarke

  I filed an ineffective assistance of counsel appeal. The basis of that motion was that my attorney was so incompetent that he essentially denied my Sixth-Amendment right to a fair trial. This occurs almost exclusively in criminal defense cases, and the standard for the appeal is very high—courts are extremely deferential to the competency of attorneys and maintain a strong presumption that the lawyer’s assistance was within professional limits. But that doesn’t apply to me because that fuck nigga was bullshit. As I thought about it, I thought he just decided to defend me so he could help bring me down. Now that I was out of the way, his law firm was doing great.

  Also, they didn’t have any evidence against me. I knew for a fact that I was nowhere near Imani’s apartment when she was killed. I remembered where I was when she was killed. I was determined to prove to the court that Destiny had set me up. This was my only chance to get out of prison. Now, on that statement about Corey, shit, I was drunk when they said I confessed. They would have to prove that my desperate ex-girlfriend drugged me. I intended to show the court that either Destiny had set me up by herself, or they both were in cahoots, and Destiny double-crossed Imani.

  * * *

  Man, I was mad as hell. It was my day to do commissary, and that bitch, Tanya, still hadn’t put money on my book. I should’ve followed my mind and not given that bitch my money to hold on to. I should’ve given it all to my mama. I tried to call that ho last night, and she just answered the phone and hung up without accepting the call. I was furious. That shit had never happened before, and that had me thinking that the ho had another nigga at her house. That white bitch knew better than to play with me. I was giving her ass another hour, and I swear that money better be on my damn account.

  It was minutes to three, and my account still was on empty. I walked into the phone booth and dialed that ho’s number with the last few dollars that I had left on the phone account.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “Yo, where the fuck you been? I’ve been tryin’a reach you. You know today is Wednesday, and I need to go shopping.”

  “I was busy, and why didn’t you go shopping then?” she replied sarcastically.

  “Bitch, with what money? Did you forget that you have my damn money, so you can pay my lawyer and put money on my books?” I yelled.

  “That money is gone. I paid your lawyer and used the rest to take care of your fucking child. You remember him, don’t you?”

  “Over fifty grand is gone? Bitch, what the fuck you mean? I swear, you better have my damn money. I swear.”

  “What you goin’ do, honey? I just told you that money is gone. As a matter of fact, you need to get one of those prison jobs in the kitchen or something. I’m gonna need child support soon.”

  “Tanya, bitch, stop trying me. You better bring yo’ ass up here Saturday, and that money better be on my books this evening before count time.” I slammed the phone in that ho’s ear.

  I couldn’t believe what I just heard. See, that bitch knew that if I were out there, she wouldn’t be talking to me in that manner. Then the bitch’s gonna tell me that she used my money to take care of that little bastard? Truthfully, I don’t give a damn if that motherfucker ate or not. Shit, that bitch wanted him, so she better find a way to feed him. I was so aggravated that my head started to hurt. I walked out of the phone booth, feeling lost as I got back to my cube and jumped in my bed.

  I was feeling weak and nauseated. I knew I hadn’t been taking my damn pills, and I needed to. I couldn’t risk losing my life before I got out and paid those bitches back.

  Josiah Clarke

  I was tired of playing that “in love” shit with that little bitch. What made me angrier was when she told me that her bitch-ass mother didn’t want her to hang out. I knew then that the bitch wasn’t really digging me, and it was a front when she acted like she liked me when I was there for dinner that day.

  A lot of shit has been bugging me lately. That nigga, Hassan, had been on my mind heavily too. Last I heard, that nigga was somewhere upstate. I tried to ask Amaiya ’bout her pops, but she barely even talked about him. I realized that if I needed to get to that dude, I was going to have to do it on my own. I knew that my ex-grandma and auntie would know exactly where he was. I didn’t fuck with them after I found out that nigga wasn’t my daddy, but I saw his mama the other day. That old bitch still referred to me as her grandbaby, so I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to give me info on that nigga.

  I got the info I needed to reach out to that nigga, so I drove to the store and bought me a notepad, a pen, envelope, and a stamp. I needed to write thi
s fuck nigga a letter.

  * * *

  After writing each other for over a month, he finally agreed to put me on his visitation list. I was feeling all kinds of emotions when I got on the highway. My final destination was Clinton Correctional Facility, which was a five-hour drive. I smoked a blunt before I left the house. I was trying to ease the anxiety that I felt because I knew I couldn’t act a fool up in these people’s shit.

  I parked and emptied my pockets. I had to make sure I didn’t have any illegal shit up in them. Then I straightened up my clothes and walked into the gates of one of the biggest prisons in New York State.

  I felt violated when the fucking officer asked to pat me down. Shit, I thought about leaving, but I’d waited too long, and the visit needed to be done. Finally, I was cleared and told to go into the waiting area, where I took a seat.

  I held my head down for a minute, trying to get my emotions under control. I didn’t see it when he approached me. “Hey, man. What’s good?” His voice startled me.

  I stood up and gave that nigga dap. I knew that if I wanted to get anywhere, I’d have to act at least cordially toward the fuck nigga.

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  “Living, I guess,” he chuckled.

  “Well, shit, you’re looking sick and shit, like you ain’t eating.”

  “Man, that’s what I try to tell these people. The fucking food they feed us ain’t shit to get us full at all.”

  “Anyway, you know that I wanted to see you face-to-face ’cause I felt like it’s because of you that my moms is dead.” I choked up, saying those words.

  “Damn, Josiah, I thought you just wanted to see how your old man was doing?”

  “My old man... I’m confused. The last time we spoke, I called you dad, and you went off on me, telling me that nigga, Corey, was my dad and not you. So, how you goin’ even say that shit? You ain’t my pops. You just the nigga that was fuckin’ my moms.”

  “Josiah, I was hurting, and I didn’t know how to deal with that shit. Your entire life, I thought you were mine. You were my little nigga, and then, out of the blue, some nigga that was my right hand was claiming he was your father. I was devastated. Put yourself in my shoes. How would you feel?”

  “I ain’t got no feelings about the shit. The only feeling I have is for my mom, who is dead and buried in some cold-ass grave. You, that bitch, and her fucking daughter are all alive.”

  “Son, like I told you in my letters, I’m sorry about the death of your mother. I loved her, and I’m also hurting.”

  “You never loved her. I used to hear you calling her all kinds of names. I saw the bruises. She loved you, and you dogged her out. You’re not a man. You’re a straight-up pussy nigga.”

  “Yo, she’s dead. Get over that shit. You say you want us to move forward. Now, let’s drop the past and move forward, son.”

  I moved over closer to him so no one else would hear what I was saying. “Bro, you not hearing me. There is no moving on until you, that bitch, and her daughter are all six feet deep. Only then will I be able to move on.”

  “You threatening me, little nigga? ’Cause I ’ont do well with threats. I’m telling you now, don’t you ever threaten my life again unless you’re ready to join your dead mama and daddy.”

  “Ha-ha. Make sure you read the papers daily.” I winked at the nigga and got up to leave. He also got up and hurriedly walked up behind me.

  “We will meet again, little nigga. I promise you that,” he yelled.

  I didn’t respond. I kept walking until I heard the door slam behind me. His empty threats didn’t faze me. He was always screaming “little nigga,” but he had no idea that this little nigga had nothing but bloody murder in his heart.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Destiny Clarke

  The wedding was only three months away, and although I was one of the happiest women walking these streets, deep down, I was going through some shit. For one, that bitch’s death kept tugging at my soul. Sometimes, at night, I would jump up out of my sleep because I kept seeing her before me. That bitch kept laughing at me like shit was funny. I wished I could kill that bitch again so she would leave me the hell alone. I wished there was someone that I could talk to about it, but I was no fool. I would never—and I mean never—confess to no shit like that, not even to my mama, and I knew she wouldn’t turn on me.

  I was up bright and early. I had a doctor’s appointment. Lately, I’d been feeling weaker and weaker. I tried to eat well and exercise, but I still felt bad. I called my doctor the other day, and he did some blood work on me. Going into his office made me nervous. I knew I already had HIV and herpes, but I was praying that with the help of God and my medication, I wouldn’t have full-blown AIDS.

  * * *

  As I walked into the doctor’s office, I felt a tear drop down my face. I quickly wiped it away and walked up to the receptionist’s desk.

  “Good morning, Miss Clarke. How are you this morning?”

  I wanted to say, “Bitch, how the fuck do you think I’m doing?” but I didn’t. Instead, I smiled and said, “I’m good.”

  “Great. Doctor Chezc will be right with you. Go ahead and sign in for me, and then, take a seat in the waiting area, please.”

  “Thanks.”

  I sat there in silence, and for the first time, my mind was blank. I pushed all thoughts out of my mind. I didn’t want to worry about things that I knew I had no control over.

  “Miss Clarke, Doctor Chezc is ready to see you.”

  I nodded at her, walked into the doctor’s office, and immediately took a seat.

  “Good morning. Let’s start by you telling me how you are feeling today.”

  “Well, it’s the same old, same old. Nausea and fatigue.”

  “Have you been taking your medication daily?”

  “Faithfully. Doc, let’s skip all the bullshit. I know my tests are back. So, please, let me know if I need to worry.”

  “Well, Miss Clarke, you are correct. Your tests are back.” He sat down and grabbed a folder. “It seems as if your immune system is badly damaged, and you have become vulnerable to infections and infection-related cancers called opportunistic infections. The number of your CD4 cells fell below 200 cells per cubic millimeter of blood. In other words, the herpes and pneumonia that kept attacking you are opportunistic infections, which resulted in your body breaking down, and the HIV has now progressed to AIDS.”

  “Noooo! I thought you told me that the medications were working, and I was doing okay,” I yelled out in between my cries.

  Doc ran over to me and hugged me tightly. “I’m so sorry. I was hoping that your T-cells would go up, but instead, they kept going down while the virus level kept going up.”

  I didn’t say a word. Fuck that. I couldn’t utter a word. I just sat there with my head on his shoulder, crying my soul out. He held me as he tried his best to comfort me. My body was there, but my mind was off in the distance. It was on that bastard who destroyed my life.

  After what seemed like an eternity, I finally got myself under control. I used my shirt and wiped away the tears. Doc took my hands and then spoke. “It’s not the end of the world. You are going to fight. I’m going to provide the best possible treatment available, and you’re going to fight this. Do you hear me?”

  I wanted to respond, but I had too much anger and hatred in me to answer him civilly. I just nodded at him as he fed me the shit that they taught him in medical school.

  “Okay, let’s get down to business. The goal is to get you healthy. You can still benefit from starting antiretroviral therapy. Our goal is to get you some better treatments and prevention of opportunistic infections. I’ve had patients that live a healthy life although they have AIDS.”

  I was ready to go. Just a month ago, that nigga told me that I was doing well under the circumstances. Now he was telling me that I had full-blown AIDS. I was a nurse. I knew what the fuck that meant, no matter how the fuck he dressed it up. The bottom line was that
my days on this earth were numbered.

  After he sat there trying to counsel me, I decided that it was time for me to go. He wrote me some prescriptions, and I walked out of his office with a heavy heart. I jumped in my car and pulled off, letting the tires squeak. I just wanted to get home and crawl in my bed.

  God, why is life so unfair? I know people who lived with HIV for many years without getting AIDS, so why the fuck did my shit have to move along so quickly? I swear I don’t understand that shit at all.

  I entered the house, and a delicious smell hit my nose. As I walked toward the kitchen, I realized that it was Spencer cooking. I cleared my throat so he would know I was there.

  “Hey, there, beautiful. I was trying to surprise you by making lunch.”

  “I see. What are you cooking? Whatever it is smells really good.”

  “I put a roast in this morning after you left. I also have some Jasmine rice on the stove cooking.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have.” I tried my best to smile.

  “What do you mean? You’re always cooking and making sure we’re well taken care of. It’s only fair for me to return the gesture every once in a while.”

  I was feeling weak, so I sat on the chair. I used everything in me not to break down. I stared at the man who wanted to give me the world but couldn’t give me the only thing that I needed. Life. I trembled inside as I thought about what I was about to lose.

  “Is Amaiya up?”

  “I haven’t seen her.”

  “Oh, okay. She might be sleeping in late.”

  “Are you gonna eat something?”

  “Nah, I’m not really hungry,” I sulked.

  “Babe, talk to me. What’s been going on with you lately? Is it the wedding? ’Cause you know we can wait.”

  “Why would you say that? You don’t think I want to marry you?”

  “Destiny, slow your roll. That’s not what I’m implying. I’ve noticed you’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” he said, sounding annoyed.