Thug in Me

by Karen Williams

  He was the man I went to jail for murdering.

  “He was my fiancé. He was killed the night before we were supposed to get married seven years ago.”

  Tears slipped from her eyes as she relived it. “He was the love of my life. My everything. And after he died, I wanted to die. I couldn’t imagine living in this world without him. He was all I had out here. My home, my comfort. When he died, I flew back home to Baltimore and stayed with my parents, wanting to get away from all the madness, all the memories of me and him. I knew I had to get out of the house that we shared because all it did was make me want to die. I would smell him, see him, and I thought I was going crazy. So I sold our house and left. But when I went back home, all I did out there was cry and cry. Everyone that I came into contact with who knew about what had happened to me, felt so sorry for me that even if I managed to make it through a day without crying they would make me cry all over again, by reminding me. So a year later, I came back to California. I thought if I kept myself busy with work the pain would be less. I threw myself into real estate so I had no time to think about anything else. I ended up doing so well and I became so busy that I opened up my own real estate office. It kept me busy but still nothing felt right anymore. I was unable to move on and love another man after him. And part of me felt like it was a betrayal to him if I did. During that time, I felt so empty inside.” She smiled through her tears and cupped my face in her hands. “And now seven years later, I meet you. Isaiah, baby, you have shown me that I can. You—I don’t know!” she screamed excitedly. “You don’t know what you have done for me. There has to be something different about you. You woke me up. You make me smile and laugh. You make me feel good. And most of all, you make me feel like it is okay to love you.” She wrapped my arms around me and sobbed into my neck.

  I was still in shock and had a sick feeling in my stomach.

  I continued to replay Deyja’s words in my head at home and who she was at home.

  I shook my head. The man I went to jail for murdering was the same man that Deyja was going to marry. To know this killed me and to know what I had to do at this point killed me even more.

  She had been calling me nonstop since we had gone to the grave site. I ignored the calls out of fear that she would pop up at my job I worked at the other store. But when she showed up at my room, I knew what I would have to do.

  I opened the door and simply stared at her. I must have avoided her long enough, I thought.

  “Hi,” she said in a shaky voice.

  My tone was flat, not loving like it used to be. “What’s up.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Naw. I’m tired.”

  She looked at me, confused. “Isaiah, I have been calling you nonstop and a couple times I stopped by the shop and you weren’t there. I got worried about you. I asked Zalman what was going on but he was tight-lipped. What is this?”

  I gave her a fake laugh. “Look, I think you got me misunderstood. What you looking for, I’m not. I’m not trying to be your man and you just a little too needy for me.”

  She whispered, “What?”

  “I ain’t looking for what you looking for, baby girl.”

  “But I—”

  “Bitch. I don’t want you! It wasn’t never like that, so fall the fuck back!”

  Her eyes teared up instantly and her shoulders begin to shake.

  “Isaiah?”

  I turned my back on her. “It was just pus—” my voice cracked. “Pussy to me.”

  Silence was all I got. All I wanted to do was take her in my arms, though. It crushed me to say that bullshit to her.

  She turned and walked away.

  I took a step to go after her, then stopped myself. I would rather break up with her then have her find out who I really was. What were the chances she would believe that I was innocent? None.

  That night as I tossed and turned, I couldn’t sleep for shit. I knew I couldn’t let it stay that way. So I jumped out of bed, threw some clothes on, called a cab, and rushed over to her house.

  When I got there, despite how late it was, I banged and banged on her door until I saw a light come on.

  When she opened the door and saw me she immediately slapped the shit out of me.

  I closed my eyes at the sting her little hand brought to my face. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  But she wasn’t done. I let her beat on me because I deserved the shit. I took all her punches and slaps.

  Soon the beatings stopped because she was now sobbing uncontrollably.

  I pulled her into my arms.

  I carried her to her bedroom, all the while repeating, “I was just scared, baby.”

  I laid her on her bed. She let me.

  I proceeded to make love to her.

  This may sound stupid, but I figured if I made love to her and if I was real good, it would correct the hurt I had inflicted upon her. And once I did serve her, I think that I did it right because once she came, she fell right asleep in my arms.

  Chapter 37

  I woke up the next morning to fingertips tracing my lips.

  I kept my eyes closed but kissed them.

  She started kissing me on my neck.

  I still kept my eyes closed but was relieved she was over how I had hurt her the day before.

  “If my fingers and kisses can’t get you awake, then maybe my hot breath will.”

  She sat on top of me and before she got a chance to, I rolled over quickly and straddled her.

  She squealed.

  I started tickling her.

  She started screeching and fighting me but I kept going, getting her under her smooth arms and on her small waist.

  “Isaiah, please stop!” she begged.

  “Yeah? And what do I get if I stop?”

  “A kiss.”

  “Nope.” I kept going. “Your breath stank,” I joked.

  “I’ll cook for you.”

  “I ain’t hungry this early.”

  She laughed and looked at her nightstand where a book lay. “Wait! Wait! I’ll read to you.”

  “You can read?” I joked.

  She punched me in my shoulder, playfully.

  “Get the book,” I ordered, slapping her on her behind.

  She leaped up quickly, laughing like crazy. She picked one of the books off her nightstand.

  She remained standing and flipped through the pages. When she found what she wanted, she stopped. “These are poems by Jack Gilbert. Okay, I’ll read this one. It’s called ‘The Great Fires’.”

  She took a deep breath.

  I leaned back on the bed and listened to her recite the poem.

  When she was done I clapped for her.

  She tossed the book to me. I snatched it up and my eyes scanned the cover. The man on the cover looked so depressed. Who would have thought he would write a nice poem like that? I thought.

  “After my fiancé’s death I joined everything from a writers group, to mountain climbing. I rescued homeless dogs and cats, almost broke my neck in a yoga class, fed the homeless, took a sewing class, and joined a charity group at my church. For a while I was writing an inmate while he was in prison.”

  My heart sped up.

  She didn’t notice and sat back on the bed.

  She smiled. “He was such a sweet guy in a really bad situation. He was in jail for murder. And you know what? Part of me believed he was innocent.”

  I smoothly changed the subject by holding up the book to her.“Looking at him I would think he would write the kinds of stuff that would make me want to put a bullet through my head!”

  She laughed.“Well, then, I won’t bother to read ‘Harp and Boon’ to you. I used to read that poem day and night after I lost my fiancé because the poem was about him getting over the death of his wife. I felt his pain because I was going through the same thing that he was going through. We had both lost the loves of our life. Michiko was his wife’s name and you could really tell that he loved her and was never the same after her de
ath. My fiancé’s death definitely changed me. I was depressed for so long. It was hard to find joy in things, in life. I always put on a fake smile for everyone else so they wouldn’t bring it up. But I was so unhappy.”

  I looked away.

  She caught it. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  She crawled over to me, stood on her knees, and cupped my face between both of her hands like she did that day at the cemetery.

  “But now that I’ve found you,” she said, chuckling, “I have that same happiness I had before I lost my fiancé, Isaiah. I have so much fun with you. You are . . . What’s the right phrase? A long-awaited comfort.”

  I pulled away from her. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t keep this shit from her. As a man, I had to tell her and pray, pray that she wouldn’t end things between us.

  I stood to my feet and took a deep breath. “Baby, listen. I have to tell you something.”

  She nodded and stared at me intently.

  “Some years back, when you were a part of that charity group, writing someone in prison?”

  “Yes. I did it for Mrs. Grace. He was such a sweet guy. His name was—”

  “Chance. Deyja. I’m Chance.”

  Her eyes got wide and her head snapped back. Her mouth popped opened as if she wanted to say something, but she couldn’t.

  “But that’s not the worst of it. Baby, you gotta believe me in what I’m about to say next.” I swallowed hard. “I spent seven years of my life in prison for a crime that I swear to you that I did not commit. Murder. Deyja, the person I went to jail for murdering was your fiancé.”

  Her eyes closed at the impact of what I just said.

  She stood to her feet, but once on her feet her legs must have gotten weak because she tried to back up from me and stumbled, bumping right into her nightstand. She then fell to the floor.

  I rushed over to her to help her up.

  Her hands shot up to block me.

  Then they covered her face. She sobbed into her hands, all while screaming, “You killed Devin?”

  “Baby.”

  She stood back to her feet and clutched onto her nightstand, backing as far away from me as she could.

  “Oh, God, what have I done?”

  “Deyja, listen.”

  She looked at me. “All this time it was you? You kissed me, made love to me, and all this time you were the man who took Devin’s life? This was probably a game to you.”

  I shook my head. “Baby, no—”

  “You are the one who ruined my whole world seven years ago. You killed a good man, my best friend, and you slept in his spot in my bed. Ate the food I used to cook for him. . . . ”

  She looked toward the ceiling.

  “Deyja, I—”

  “Get out.”

  “Just listen, baby, I swear I’m not lying to you.”

  “You have been lying to me this whole time. I feel so stupid. I’m so stupid! I spit on his grave sleeping with you. I’m so stupid!”

  “No, baby, you’re not.”

  “Get out!” she yelled through her tears.

  I pulled on my clothes quickly.

  Once I had them on I said, “I will go, but please listen to this. I love you. I feel like I fell in love with you before I even got the chance to actually meet you, Deyja. You gotta know that you are the reason why I’m still here. Your letters, your words. You helped me get through being in that box. When I thought I was going crazy, I thought about you and how you encouraged me to keep going. I owe my life to you.”

  I closed my eyes briefly and repeated, “I love you, Deyja.” Tears were not running down my face.

  I walked out of her bedroom, hearing her sob uncontrollably. The sound stayed in my head the whole ride back to my room.

  Chapter 38

  I called off work the next day. I couldn’t go. I would have stayed in bed that whole day. I could not get over what happened between me and Deyja. I kept hearing her cry. I couldn’t knock the image or her whimpers out of my head.

  I knew she now hated me and didn’t want anything else to do with me. To know that gave me that same sick feeling I had got the day she took me to that grave site. But I couldn’t lie to her anymore. The guilt was eating at me. Now I felt totally wrecked. I had no appetite at all. I couldn’t sleep. I just lay in bed.

  Part of me regretted even telling her the truth. If I had just kept my mouth shut, I’d still be in her life. But for how long? Sooner or later, my past would have caught up with me. Eventually she would have asked me to meet her friends and her family. Maybe they would have found out who I really was, even if her family lived in another state. It was like Calhoun had said. “The way you get someone is the way you lose them.” I had lied to her from the very beginning and my lies are what tore us apart.

  I closed my eyes and reminisced about how good it felt being with her, talking to her. She was so smart and so sweet. Everything about her felt good, it felt pure.

  My phone rang, taking me out of my thoughts. I thought it was Zalman, trying to get me to do a job, but when I saw the number was private I answered.

  “Yeah?”

  “We got ’em. Meet me outside in five minutes. If you have a gun, bring it for our protection.”

  It was Mateo.

  Adrenaline immediately pumped through me as I threw on a pair of jeans, a black T-shirt, and some tennis shoes.

  I pulled open one of the drawers in my room and grabbed the gun that Calhoun gave me, just in case.

  I jogged outside and watched Mateo pull up to the front of the hotel. Even as I opened his passenger door and got in the car, I couldn’t help but question if I should even go through with this. I didn’t know this Ron Jasper at all and he obviously was a criminal.

  The drive was silent for the both of us. Mateo headed over to the Imperial Courts in Watts. The whole time, all I saw was the man’s face the day I was in that courtroom with my freedom on the line and he was the one who took my freedom with his fucking lies.

  I balled and unballed my fist.

  We pulled in the front entrance and rolled down a couple lots. Even though it was late, like any other typical projects, you had people outside hanging out.

  “How is this shit going to work out?” I asked.

  “His girlfriend knows we are coming. I had to pay her two hundred dollars to have him here. He doesn’t know we are coming. By the way you gotta give me the two hundred back.” He hit the steering wheel, yelling, “Bang. Bang!”

  I shook my head. “How you even know he is going to be here?”

  “He is there now. I wouldn’t have brought you out here if it was bullshit. Easy. Easy.”

  I frowned. To me it seemed like he was just using me to play MacGyver and shit.

  “You sure you ready for this, Chance?”

  I didn’t say anything. I just made sure the gun was still in my pocket.

  I followed after him as he went to the back door. He held a finger to his lips.

  I nodded.

  Mateo slid open the unlocked door which had us in the kitchen, where we ducked and waited a few seconds before moving on. Over the kitchen counter, I could see into the living room. It was empty as well.

  “Where the fuck is he?” I demanded.

  “In the bedroom,” Mateo whispered. “Shut up!”

  I followed behind Mateo, who didn’t even have a fucking gun.

  We both tiptoed out of the kitchen through the living room up to the door he gestured towards and paused.

  He snapped a finger and pointed to the door. Mateo gave me a nod.

  I flung my left foot back and kicked the shit wide open.

  When I saw a male leap from the bed and a female run out of the room, I rushed past the chick and toward the guy before he could get away.

  “What the fuck is this?” he yelled and tried to run past me, but I was blocking him and Mateo was blocking the bedroom door. “Bitch, you set me up!”

  I took my fist and slammed it into his foreh
ead, making him fall backward on the bed.

  “Hola, sweetheart,” Mateo said, walking toward the bed. “I finally find you, amor.”

  When he tried to sit up, I yanked the gun out of my pocket and aimed it at his temple. “Lay back down, muthafucka.”

  He mean-mugged me but did it.

  Mateo sat next to him on the bed.

  I remained standing and leaned over him. “Do I look familiar to you ?” I asked.

  “Man.”

  Mateo said calmly, “Maybe this will help your memory.”

  Mateo took one of his arms and twisted them back. It was a move I didn’t know he had in him. The shit looked like it hurt and must have because he howled, fell back on the bed, and said, “You dirty muthafuckas! What the fuck y’all want?”

  “We ask the questions, mejia.” Mateo pulled him back to a sitting position on the bed.

  “Get a good look at me, muthafucka. ’Cause I’m not going to ask you again.”

  He stared at me long and hard before smirking. “Yeah, man. I know who you are.”

  “Good.” I punched the fuck out of his ass, knocking him off the bed. He flew into a lamp on the nightstand near his bed and came crashing down on the floor.

  When he tried to get up, I pointed the gun at him again.

  He froze in fear.

  Mateo sang, “Vido mas. Vido mas.” Then he whistled.

  Ron’s eyes flew from me to Mateo, then back to me.

  “Since you know who the fuck I am, you mind telling me why the fuck you framed me for a murder you know I didn’t commit?”

  “Man, fuck you. I ain’t gotta tell you shit.”

  I took the end of the gun and busted him in the mouth with it. Blood splattered.

  “You gonna tell me, muthafucka, or your ass won’t be walking out of here. You ruined my muthafucking life and you thought you was going to walk around like you ain’t done shit?”

  “Shit I did. Face it. You got played, nigga. I don’t even know why you here for answers. Fuck you and your life. What, you thought you were going to come here and get an apology from me?”

  I went crazy. I yanked his ass off of that bed and started fucking him up. Seven years’ worth of misery, pain, and loss was taken out on his bitch ass. I tossed him all around that room.