Tears welled up in my eyes. That’s a topic I was never able to handle. One day, I was going to see a shrink that could explain to me why that bitch chose a glass dick over her own flesh and blood, but for now, that bitch was dead in my eyes.
I quickly wiped my tears and snapped back to reality. I gave him a fake smile to assure him everything was cool. I didn’t want to give the impression that I was a weak bitch. As I lay in his arms feeling protected, I wondered how long it will last. My plan was to hang on for dear life.
Sierra Rogers
Life was good. I went from wearing Rocawear and Baby Phat to wearing Gucci and Prada. He certainly knew how to spoil a girl because my closet was full of the latest designer clothes and shoes. I had finally hit the jackpot and was working my way up the ladder. The power of the P-U-S-S-Y! My next move was to upgrade to a classier ride and a condo on the James River.
The weekend was here, and I was bored out of my mind. Alijah was out of town. I wished he had taken me with him, but he had to go handle business. I didn’t want him to think I was one of those codependent bitches, so I decided to chill until he got back.
I hadn’t been out lately either since we started kicking it. I had been neglecting my best friend, Neisha. We’ve been friends for as long as I could remember. Up until high school, we were inseparable; she was my partner in crime. We kind of grew apart in our adult years. I enrolled in beauty school while she went for nursing at VCU. We still talked on the phone from time to time, and I still hooked her hair up.
I dialed her number.
“Hellooooooooo,” she answered.
Gosh, I hated when she dragged her words. She reminded me of Sheneneh on The Martin Lawrence Show.
“What’s up, bitch?” I asked.
“Bitch, I ain’t heard from yo’ ass in over a month,” she commented.
“I know, just been busy workin’ and tryin’a move,” I lied. I really hate to lie to my girl like that, but I wasn’t ready to tell her about me and Alijah. Plus, she asked too many damn questions.
“I’m bored. Let’s hit Bojangles up. You know it’s Sunday; it’s on and poppin’.”
“You paying ’cause I’m dead-ass broke? Just paid my rent and bought some books.”
“Yup, I gotcha. Don’t I always?” I asked with annoyance. “Bitch, just be ready. I’ma pick you up at ten o’clock,” I said, then hung up the phone.
Dang! I loved Neisha, but this bitch kills me. She have all those lame-ass niggas digging her gut out, and still her pocket stays on empty. She needed to learn a thing or two from me, ’cause ain’t anything for free, and pussy is high commodity. You see, Alijah ass already paying his dues.
My outfit for the night was a black, strapless Versace dress with a low cut in the back and a pair of black Steve Madden stilettos. I decided to wear my hair down and put on a minimum amount of Maybelline’s foundation. I was a natural beauty, so I didn’t have to put on no whole lot of makeup.
I glanced at myself in the mirror. My curves filled out every inch of the dress. I sprayed myself with White Diamonds fragrance.
* * *
I headed to the South Side. I sure wished Neisha lived closer. She needed her whip. I pulled up at the apartment complex that she shared with her two uppity white friends. I honked the horn, and she came out in a white one-piece, body banging as if she hit the gym on the regular, but I knew better. The only exercise that heifer did was sexercise.
“What sup, bitch?” she said as she entered the car.
“Nada, tryin’a get my grown and sexy on.”
“I hear that. Can’t wait to see what balla I’ma get these hands on tonight,” she said, digging into her pocketbook.
“Look what I have here,” she teased while dangling a fat blunt in the air.
“Yo, bitch, light that shit up so I can get right,” I demanded.
“Calm yo’ nerves, bitch. I got this.”
She lit the blunt up and took a couple of drags before passing it to me. I took a long drag and started to cough. I tried to catch my breath.
“Bitch, you a’ight? Take yo’ time, yo’ greedy ass.” She busted out laughing.
I took a few more drags, then passed it back to her. By the time I got downtown, I was high as a kite. I had to give credit to this heifer; she always managed to come up on some good smoke. Wished she was as lucky with her men.
As I pulled into the parking lot of the club, I peeped the line was ridiculously long. I glanced over at Neisha. She was high as a bitch.
“Gurl, let’s get our party on.” I found a space toward the back door. By the looks of things, it seemed to me all the money niggas were in there. The parking lot was full of Hummers, Escalades, Bimmers, and Benzes; it would be the police’s dream to stop by.
The music was on point. They played a little bit of everything, and they kept announcing that Beenie Man was going to be in the house. I usually don’t like dudes with dreads, but he was one sexy muthafucker who could get it at anytime.
I noticed all the island girls showing off their skills on the dance floor. I had to give it to them; they were doing the damn thing. When Sean Paul’s “Gimme the Light” came on, I couldn’t control my urge any longer.
I started to wind my waistline. The guys started to cheer me on while the bitches tried to step up, but I didn’t let up. Somebody should’ve warned them. I got on my hands and flipped my body upside down and started to Tic Tac, and then shook my moneymaker with a vengeance. That alone shut those hoes down. The niggas were pleased. After the song ended, I flipped back on my feet and straightened my clothes while the selector kept shouting me out.
“Bitch, you did that,” Neisha said, slurring her words.
After the performance, I was tired as hell. I must’ve forgotten that I wasn’t sixteen anymore. My feet were hurting from the six-inch heels I was wearing. Neisha ass done disappeared on me. Knowing her, she might’ve been up in the bathroom fucking or something. I needed another drink, so I made my way to the bar. This is going to be my last drink for the night, I thought. This would turn out to be so damn true!
I made my way to the bar and got me a glass of Hpnotiq. On the way back to my table, I was stopped dead in my tracks. I blinked a few times to make sure the alcohol didn’t have me bugging out. The images were still there—clear as a brand-new mirror!
Alijah Jackson, my man, my nigga, or whatever you chose to call him at the moment, was standing in front of me in living color kissing another bitch. I hesitated for a minute so I could regroup. What the hell, I thought. I’m his woman.
I strutted my black ass over to where they were standing and tapped him on the shoulder, interrupting their little make out sessions. “Excuse me,” I said, clearing my throat.
Both of them turned around to face me. I kept my eyes focused on Alijah. I knew his expression was going to be worth a million bucks. He looked at me as if he had just seen a ghost.
“Whaddup?” this nigga asked as if I was bothering him.
“You,” I replied with venom in my voice and a deadly grin on my face.
“What’s going on, Alijah. Who is this woman?” This bitch spoke up with a look of confusion on her face.
“Well, hello, I’m Sierra, but you can call me Si’; that’s what Alijah call me,” I stated.
I stretched my hand out for a handshake, but the bitch didn’t respond. She placed her hand behind her back.
“So, Alijah, the cat got yo’ tongue? Are you going to introduce me to this lovely young lady?” If looks could kill, I would’ve been one dead bitch. “Well, since he won’t introduce me, I’m Shayna, Alijah’s wife,” she spoke in perfect English, then stretched out her hand to display the huge rock she was wearing on her finger.
I wondered if I heard the bitch right. This son of a bitch was married. “Oh, nice to have finally met you. Alijah told me such nice things about you,” I straight up lied. Why I did that, I have no clue. “Haven’t you, Alijah?” I asked with a devilish grin.
“It’s ni
ce to meet you, but I have to go find my fiancé. He should be wondering where I’m at by now.”
Alijah’s eyes popped opened; that gave me a sense of gratification. I said good-bye, then sashayed off.
My heart had just got ripped into a million pieces. My eyes began to gather water, but I used my might not to further humiliate myself. I looked around for Neisha; she was nowhere to be found. I bumped into a little nigga we knew, and he told me she left with Big Earl, a big-timer from Fairfield. I cussed under my breath and walked off.
As I sped down Broad Street, I was crying my heart out. I didn’t give a damn if police were out. I jumped into a parking space that I wasn’t sure belonged to me. The effect of the alcohol was taking its toll on me. I fumbled around in my pocketbook and found the keys to the apartment. After failing numerous times to find the keyhole, I finally got the door open and fell head on in.
The next day came and almost left without me knowing. I woke up around six in the evening. I had a really bad headache from all the alcohol I drank the night before. I should’ve never got fucked up, but it was too late for regrets.
I took a shower and downed two Tylenol PM to cure my headache, but I was going to need something stronger to cure my broken heart. I jumped up and threw some sweats on with a wife beater and flip-flops and ran upstairs to Li’l Jon Jon’s apartment. He stayed with some good smoke. I copped a twenty bag of Arizona and headed downstairs.
I rolled me a fat blunt and lay back on the sofa. Then I started to replay the whole scene in my head and started bawling again, only this time harder.
“Damn you, Alijah! How could you do this to me?” I asked retroactively.
I threw the glass of orange juice that I was drinking at the wall. Broken glass shattered everywhere as juice dripped down the wall. That’s exactly how my heart felt at the moment.
When the smoke illuminated my brain, I felt like a brand-new woman. My tears were dried up. My pain was turned into anger. “Wife,” I kept repeating to myself. This nigga played me for a fool. He wasn’t shit but a two-timing asshole. I wondered how I could be that blind.
A rush of jealousy came over me. This bitch didn’t even look like the average broad. I tried to find out her fault. When I inspected her from head to toe, not a piece of hair was out of place, and I could tell she shopped at the finest stores.
I couldn’t clown her ass even if I wanted to, and that rock on her finger made her shine even more.
I noticed my cell hadn’t rung at all since I had been awake. I took it out and saw that it was dead. I plugged it up and checked my messages.
“You have no new messages at this time. Press three to check old messages,” the operator said on my T-Mobile phone. I closed the phone, feeling disappointed. I was really hoping he’d call. Even though I was mad as hell, he could’ve at least apologized.
All kind of scenarios ran through my mind; what was he doing, and was he with her while I was here by myself? I put in a Mariah Carey CD and switched to my favorite song, “Shake It Off.” Her words didn’t help none because I couldn’t shake the feeling. This nigga had my heart in the palm of his hands. That’s when something hit me. I remembered when we first started kicking it. I had a feeling that someone else was in his life. I was too scared to ask, and he didn’t volunteer the information.
Alijah Jackson
The phrase “money ova bitches” has always been my motto, but I definitely was slacking on my paper chasing. I was putting in overtime when it came down to spending time with shorty.
I already knew her head game was on one thousand, but I was curious about the punany. I wasted no time letting her know I wanted to fuck. I laid the pipe down like a real nigga should. She took it like a beast. Every stroke I threw, she threw that ass back. I fell in love when I flipped her on her back and started to long dick that pussy. The pussy was so fucking good I busted quicker than usual. If I wasn’t careful, she might become suicidal over the dick. That thought blew my mind.
My next move was to take her out of the hood. I wasn’t feeling that place. I had a weird feeling whenever I pulled up over there. I felt like niggas were plotting on me. They had reputations for being Jock Boys. They don’t show you no love, especially if you’re not one of them. I knew I was treading on thin ice. This was her home team, and I believed if she heard anything, she’d holler at me about it. An old head once told me, “Never put your trust in anyone, especially a woman.” I figured I should listen.
It had been days since I handled any form of business. I let Darryl know my whereabouts, but other than that, I was chilling.
I told her what I did for a living, but I didn’t get too much in my personal life. We rapped about our lives growing up. I learned that she experienced a tough life growing up. I felt she had some issues she wasn’t telling me about. A felt tear dropped from her eyes, and I pulled her closer to me so she would know that those days were over. I got this.
I also spent a lot of bread on her too. We’d hit the mall up almost every day. I’d spend a couple of Gs on clothes, shoes, whatever her heart desired. She was my bitch, so she had to represent.
* * *
The weekend was finally here. After a stressful week, a shipment came in from up top, so we got together and broke it down. The streets were dry, and niggas were hungry; therefore, every second wasted meant a missed chance to make more paper. Now that things were straight, I could sit back and collect my paper. I was a millionaire. Who’d ever guessed that a li’l runny-nosed dude from the gutter would’ve been the HNIC of those streets?
I pondered how long it would last. Word in the street was that niggas wasn’t feeling us making money out there. It was expected, though, ’cause Mosby and Creighton niggas thought they were untouchable. I had to give it to them li’l niggas; they had heart. I was gon’ let them get their shine on, and in due time, I was going to shut them down.
I almost felt some type of fucked-up vibes coming from my nigga too. Ever since the other day when we had words, Darryl seemed distant. Although we squashed the shit, and he said everything was cool, my instinct told me different. Dude was my brother, so if he said it was, then, that’s what it was.
It was Sunday night, and we usually were up in the Canal Club down in Shockoe Bottom. It be jumping with honeys. Plus, if you wanted to take in some good reggae tunes, it was the place to be. Tonight, the doctor was blowing up in Bojangles, another Jamaican spot, so I hit Darryl up.
“Yo, whaddup, son?” he answered.
“The doctor is ’bout to be up in Bojangles tonight.”
“That sound like a plan, yea, ’cause I need some fresh pussy,” he bragged.
I didn’t comment because he’s my boy, but he changed bitches more than his drawers. But that’s my ace, so whatever floats his boat.
“A’ight, son, that’s what is.”
“One.” I hung up.
I took a shower and got dressed. As I headed out the door with a sexy looking female by my side, I was ready to get my party on.
* * *
A rush of guilt swept on me as I drove down Broad Street. I hate the fact that I had to lie to Sierra. I had her believing that I was outta town. Fuck it, I can’t let her know my every move. I do a lot of dirt and couldn’t afford to get torn off. I also needed a chance to breathe.
I parked my car in the space closest to the exit. I checked and made sure my burner was loaded before getting out. Security was tight as usual, but I had my homie waiting at the door.
I stepped out of my cream-colored Benz—my choice of ride for the night—with a badass chick by my side. I felt like the King of the South the way I was flossing. I walked by a few bitches that tried to holla at me, but now wasn’t the right time, so I kept it moving. I gave the bouncer five bills and kept on.
I immediately peeped my niggas. I gave them dap, and we headed to the VIP, where bottles of Dom P, Cristal, and Grey Goose with grape juice were waitin’ on us. Darryl had ’bout a pound of Haze and Dro; our intention was to get fucked
up.
A couple of broads came back there with us, but I couldn’t fuck around, though. I looked over at my company. She was still as beautiful as the day I met her. However, a lot had changed. My feelings were not the same, but we had been through so much, I was hesitant to say, “Fuck her.”
The selector was on top of his game. He kept coming with some old-school reggae; nothing but the best. All hell broke loose when one of Sean Paul’s songs came on. Bitches crowded the dance floor the same way cockroaches made their appearance when the lights go out in an infested apartment. There was this one chick that was doing the damn thing. Others tried to compete, but she shut them down. I tried to catch a glimpse of her face, but her back was toward me, and I didn’t want to get caught peeping. I couldn’t help but wonder where her man was while she was out acting a damn fool.
It was almost time for the doctor to hit the stage. I was ready for his performance. My cell started to vibrate. I had a feeling it was Sierra blowing me up. I decided to call her back later or something. I’ll take her shopping, then dick her down, which will make up for my wrongs.
Right about now, I was high and tipsy. I felt like I wanted to fuck; instead, I was up in the club. Beenie Man better give his best, or I’ma ask for a refund.
Shorty was feeling her drinks too ’cause she started to rub on me. I tried to resist, but she was persistent. I didn’t want to seem suspicious, so I gave in when she tried to kiss me. I was ready to leave.
I didn’t get a chance to share my intention because I felt someone tap my shoulder. My first thought was it was one of my boys. I turned around . . . It’d be an understatement if I said I was shocked! Sierra was standing in front of me in living color. Man, what the fuck! Where did she come from? My mind was racing; I had to think fast.
I was busted, but like a true player, I held my composure. I remembered the three cs: calm, cool, and collected. I put my game face on and braced myself for the drama that was getting ready to kick off. Any other time, I could’ve lied my way outta any situation, but this time, it was up close and personal.
Wifey Status Page 4