by Amir Abrams
The rest of the week I stay locked in my room, out of my mother’s sight. She’s not saying much to me. And I’m not saying much of anything to her, either. For what? I’m grounded. Well, so she thinks. I’m still sneaking out of the house. Not every night, though. Still... every chance I get I’m with Malik.
This time, instead of climbing out of my bedroom window, I’m sneaking out through the wine cellar door down in our basement. And I’m back in the house way before three A.M.
She really thinks she can keep me chained in this house. Stuck and bored. I don’t think so.
29
I moan as Malik’s tongue slowly slips into my mouth. His hand glides down the small of my back, then rests on my butt. He squeezes it, and I feel myself melting a thousand times over. No boy has ever made me feel the way Malik has.
He makes me feel... alive.
Wanted.
Special.
Loved.
Sexy.
He presses his body into mine and we meld into one. I can feel his excitement. And he can feel mine. I am so hungry for him. He’s hungry for me. I don’t know how much more of this tongue-dance I can take before I am going out of my mind.
His kiss becomes more intense. His tongue swirls against mine. Once, twice, again and again, he kisses me until I am feeling light-headed and dizzy.
Whoever thought a person could feel tell so much about another person from just a kiss. But this isn’t just any kiss.
No. I’m being kissed by a boy . . . I mean, a man.
I love his expressive face when he’s in deep in thought, or when he’s laughing or angry or, like now, looking at me like I’m the most important person in his world.
I love his bad boy persona. Love his street grit. His take-charge commando ways.
Malik makes me feel like a woman. I feel grown. And like I’m ready to take on the world.
I love the way he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. I feel so, so safe when he holds me. I love how he puts his almond-shaped eyes on mine, and smiles at me. Love the way his heart beats against mine. And how he tells me each beat is his love for me. I love that about him. I love . . .
Him.
All of him; every drop of bad boy blood that runs through his veins.
Malik is my drug.
I’m hooked on him.
He knows it.
I know it.
I love him.
I love him.
I love him.
Three weeks!
And I am in love!
How did it happen so fast?
I keep asking myself that question over and over. Yet, no matter how many times I mull it around in my head, I can’t seem to come up with an exact moment that it (love) happened. It just did. Unexpectedly.
And boy, oh boy, I’m happy that it did.
Malik is the only guy I can ever see myself being with.
He has a good heart.
He’s thoughtful. Generous. Caring.
He’s my everything.
“I want you so bad,” he murmurs against my lips as if he’s reading my mind.
“I want you, too,” I say back. He kisses me again. But just as things start to get hotter and steamier than they already are, one of his three cell phones start ringing.
He groans, pulling away. He tries to fix himself in his sweats. “See what you did?” He shakes his head and grins as he retrieves his ringing cell from off the dresser.
I swallow, touching the bare space his lips have now left on my own.
“Yo,” he says into the phone.
I walk over to his bed, stepping over an ashtray overflowing with half-smoked blunts. I reach for last month’s edition of XXL magazine lying on the floor beside the bed and sit.
“Nah, Chillin’ wit’ my girl, son. Yeah, yeah. You know how I do it, fam. Say what? Word? Yo, get the fu—” He cuts himself off. “Yo, babe . . .”
I look up from the magazine.
“I’ma ’bout to step out and finish up dis call, a’ight?”
“Okay.”
He walks over to the bed, leans in and seizes my mouth with another kiss. A quick peck, but it is one that holds promise of what’s to come when he returns from his phone call. One I can’t wait to collect on.
I idly flip through the pages of the magazine before deciding I’m really not interested in reading anything about Kanye’s paranoid rants. I like his music. But I think he’s really crazy. Like maybe he hears voices or something kind of crazy. I toss the magazine over onto the bed, get up and pull my iPhone from out of my messenger bag to check my messages.
I have four text messages.
The first text is from Hope: UM, HELLO? CALL ME.
The second message is from Sasha: THERE’S A POOL PARTY 2MORROW IN UNION. U DOWN?
The third text is from Mom: I’M TAKING YOUR AUNT LISA OUT FOR HER BIRTHDAY. TRY TO BE HOME BY SIX. TTYL.
The last text is from Blaze: YOOOOO WATZ GUD? WEN WE LINKIN UP?
This is like his third or fourth text over the last few days wanting to link up, as he calls it. But I’ve been avoiding him. Now with Malik in my life, I don’t have any room for any other guys in my life, especially since I promised Malik last night that I would cut off any boys who I knew liked me, that I used to date, or have gone out with. He said it was disrespectful. And all they’d be is a distraction from what we have. And I believed him. Not that I have a lot of guys I’ve dated. Still, I don’t want any distractions.
And I don’t want to ever disrespect Malik.
I quickly text Blaze back. HI. WE CAN’T. I HAVE A BF NOW.
Less than a minute later, he sends a text back. OH WORD? AIGHT DEN. GOOD LUCK WIT DAT.
I delete his text messages, then start cleaning up Malik’s messy room. I start with the fifty pairs of sneakers that are scattered all over the floor, putting them back into their designated boxes. I empty out his ashtray, then gather all the empty Heineken beer bottles. Sixteen.
Ohmygod! How can anyone sleep in this slop?
“Girl, you real stoopid,” someone says in back of me, startling me. I jump, turning in the direction of the voice. “You prolly da dumbest ho he’s been wit’ so far.”
I blink. It’s his sister, Mercedes, sneering at me. I’m not sure why they call her Mercedes since nothing seems exclusive about her current situation.
“Please don’t call me that,” I say calmly.
“Don’t call you what? Dumb? Or ho?”
“Both.”
She tsks. “Well, you are dumb. And by da time Malik finishes runnin’ all up in you like he does da rest of ’em, a dumb ho is exactly what you gonna be.”
“Well, I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know I’m not going to be anyone’s ho.”
She chortles. “Yeah, that’s what dey all say ’til he gets ’em strung out on da D.”
I give her a confused look.
She huffs. “Da dingdong. Da wood. Oh, excuse me. I mean. Da penis.”
I blink.
She’s so crude.
She snorts. “Li’l girl, you don’t know nuthin’ ’bout nuthin’. All you are is some young, fresh piece of tail for my brother.”
I take a deep breath, willing my heart to slow its rapid pace. I don’t know why, but Malik’s sister unnerved me. From the first day I met her I’ve tried to be nothing but nice to her, but my attempts are only met with glares and snide, nasty comments.
“Malik isn’t going to do me like he’s done any of those other girls. Your brother loves me.”
She cracks up laughing. “Your brother loves me,” she mocks. “He ain’t ever gonna do me like he’s done dem other hoes. Hahahaha.” She shakes her head. “Just like I said, dumb.”
I blink. And now I immediately feel stupid for letting that last part slip from my lips. “Love? My brother loves you? You think? Girly, bye. My brother loves anything wit’ a big booty ’n’ a smile. Why you think he has four baby muhvers?”
I blink.
Four baby mothe
rs?! I thought he only had one baby mother. Four? No, she’s lying. She has to be.
She must see the stunned look on my face.
“What, you ain’t know? Oops.” She covers her mouth. “Looks like the cat’s out the bag.”
“I already knew about his baby mothers,” I lie.
She shifts her weight from one swollen foot to the other, staring at me as if she doesn’t believe a word I’ve said. “Oh, really? Well, isn’t that special. Then I guess you know raw punnany is da only thing my brother is gonna ever love. He doesn’t know howta love anything other than what’s between yo’ legs, li’l girl. But you keep believin’ whatever lies he tells you. You’ll learn soon enough. That’s my brotha ’n’ I love him. And trust. I’ll beat a bish down if she ever tries to play him. But I can tell you not really ’bout dis life so you need to stop pretendin’ ’n’ head on back ’cross town where you belong. But I know you ain’t. So I’ma tell you dis to save you some heartache. Get out now before it’s too late. All my brotha’s gonna do is dog you out, sex you out, then toss you out like a used tampon. Just watch.”
I swallow.
“Yo, Mercedes,” Malik says, brushing by her as he finally walks back into the room, “what ya picklehead in here talkin’ to my girl ’bout?”
I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s come back in when he has. I don’t know how much more of his sister’s sneering I could have taken.
Thanks to her, my mood is ruined.
I am sooo ready to get out of here.
She narrows her eyes at me, then looks over at Malik. “Oh, we was just havin’ us a li’l girl talk.” She starts laughing, shaking her head. She turns to leave, then turns back. “Oh, you got yaselfa real winner right there. I can’t wait for Big Sexy to meet dis one.”
“Yo, go ’head wit’ dat, Mercedes,” Malik says, grabbing her by the arm and pushing her back from out of his door so he can shut it. “Get da eff up outta here wit’ da dumb ish.” He slams the door.
I can hear her laughing as she walks off.
I glance over to my right and notice three roaches scurrying along the wall.
Malik kicks off his sneakers, removes his T-shirt, then steps out of his jeans. He stretches out in the center of his bed in only his boxers and sweat socks. He grabs and pulls at his privates until he gets himself excited.
“Yo, take dem clothes off ’n’ c’mon over here ’n’ give ya man some lovin’.” He pats the space on the bed beside him. “Ya man needs some special attention.”
I swallow. “Who’s Big Sexy?”
Malik frowned. “Yo, don’t start askin’ me a buncha silly questions, yo. She ain’t nobody, a’ight.” He keeps grabbing himself. “So chill, a’ight?”
I nod. “Okay.”
He grins. “Me ’n’ big man need you to come handle us, now.”
Reluctantly, I remove my clothes, leaving on my bra and panties. Then slowly I make my way over to him. Each step causes the voice in my head to get louder.
“. . . All my brotha’s gonna do is dog you out, sex you out, then toss you out . . . Just watch.”
“. . . Get out now before it’s too late . . .”
I climb into bed beside Malik.
It’s already too late, I think as I close my eyes, letting Malik’s lips and hands wander all over me.
I lose myself in his touch, his scent, his sweet kisses. He has become everything to me. It doesn’t matter what Mercedes or anyone else says about Malik.
I love him.
30
“Keep it a hunnid wit’ me. Why you wit’ him?” Hazel Eyes wants to know, looking up from his tray. I agreed to meet him at the mall . . . to talk. And now he’s sitting here across from me at the food court, questioning, drilling me about my relationship with Malik. Even though I had already told him that I didn’t think we should hang out anymore, he insisted on knowing why. So I told him about Malik and me. And, honestly, it felt good to be able to talk openly about Malik, for once, to someone.
Hazel Eyes unwraps his grilled chicken cheese steak, then chomps into his sandwich, the smell of green peppers and onions mingling with meat and melted cheese swirling around my nostrils.
I take a slow sip of my Dr. Pepper, eyeing him as he slaughters his sub in big bites, causing grease and ketchup to coat his lips.
“Why am I with who?” I finally ask, feigning ignorance.
He looks up from his food and with a mouth full of sub. His brows crease. “C’mon, Kennedy. Don’t play me, yo. You know who I’m talkin’ ’bout. Why you wit’ dude? I mean, what’s he got dat I don’t, huh?”
“He’s different.”
“Different how?”
“Ohmygod! What is this, an inquisition?”
“Nah. I thought you was feelin’ me; dat’s all. I kinda thought we was buildin’ on somethin’. But it’s all good.”
“I am . . . I mean, I was, feeling you. But then I met Malik. And I don’t know. Things just clicked with us.”
“Oh, word? Like how?” he says, stuffing fries into his mouth.
I shrug. “I just like him more, that’s all.”
He takes another big bite of his sandwich. Talking, then chewing, then swallowing, before rinsing it all down with two long swigs of Sprite. Finally he says, “What you like ’bout him, huh?”
I shift in my seat. Shift my eyes from his gaze, taking in what’s going on around us. I keep an eye out for Jordan since I’m out here with her. I meet his gaze again.
“I don’t know. I mean. It’s hard to explain.”
He twists his lips and nods, glancing at his Invicta watch. “I ain’t got nowhere to be, so try.” He takes a sip of his drink. Then belches. “My bad.”
I shake my head.
“So you gonna give up all dis”—he sits back in his seat, spreading open his arms while making the muscles in his chest bounce—“for dat dude?”
I nod. And although I am certain of my decision, I feel horrible. But I’m not sure why. Yes, I do. It’s because I was really starting to like him, too. But Malik won me over more. And now my heart is all wrapped up in him.
“I think I love him, Blaze,” I admit softly.
“Didn’t you just up and meet dude?”
“So,” I say defensively. “Time is all relative. I know him enough to know how I feel about him.”
He frowns. “But you don’t even know dude. Riddle me dis, then I’ma leave it alone: You smokin’ wit’ him?”
“Yeah, a few times. Why?”
He nods his head. “How many times he got you sneakin’ outta da house?”
“I beg your pardon.” Indignation rises in my voice. “Malik doesn’t have me doing anything I don’t want to do.”
“Yeah, but I bet he doesn’t tell you not to, either.”
“No. He doesn’t. Still, that doesn’t make him a bad influence either.”
“Did I say that?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Well, no. But you implied it.”
“Nah, I simply asked a question.”
“Boy, bye! Fall back with that dumb ish,” I say without thinking. I shock myself.
He grins and then runs his tongue across his lips.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
He folds his arms across his chest and cocks his head sideways, taking me all in. “You changin’, yo.”
I give him a shocked look. “No I’m not. I’m still the same girl.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, you different, ma.” He narrows his eyes. “What, you let him hit dat?”
I swallow. Shift in my seat. “Why would you ask me something like that?”
“You just have dat look, yo. Dats all.”
“What look?” I ask curiously.
“If you ain’t lettin’ him hit it, then it don’t matter, does it?”
“No, but I still want to know what you mean by that.”
“He hit dat yet?”
I frown, feeling uncomfortable. “That’s none of your business.”
He stares at me, grinning. “Yeah, you right.”
I watch him finish up the rest of his fries, trying like heck to keep my gaze off his lips. I suddenly feel as if I’m cheating on Malik by having thoughts of how good Hazel Eyes’ lips felt on me. Those are not thoughts I should still be having, right? I mean, we only fooled around twice. His lips are the last thing I should be daydreaming about, right?
Ohmygod! What in the heck am I doing here with this boy? What was I thinking agreeing to meet him here behind Malik’s back?
I glance at my watch. It’s a quarter to four. I push back my chair and stand. “Hey, I gotta get going. I’m supposed to meet my friend Jordan at four o’clock down in front of Sephora.”
“Oh, a’ight,” he says, scratching his chin and looking up at me.
“Okay, then. I’ll see you around, I guess.”
“No doubt. Be easy.” I turn to leave, but he says something that stops me in my tracks. “That dude ain’t right for you, Kennedy. I ain’t ’bout kickin’ no one’s back in, feel me? But dude ain’t gonna do nothin’ but bring you down, yo.”
I blink. “Why would you say that?”
“I’m just sayin’ . . . be careful, babe.” He tears his gaze away from mine and chomps heartily on the last bit of his sandwich.
I walk away without saying a word.
For the next three weeks, Malik and I become inseparable. I spend every day with him, sneaking off to be with him, some—no, most—nights not even bothering to go home. I’ve even quit my job just so I can have more time with him. Well, actually, to be perfectly honest, Malik suggested I quit. So I did. He said he didn’t want to have to share me with a job. That he’d give me whatever I made every two weeks, plus an extra few hundred dollars.
My boo wants me all to himself.
Still... so much has happened in such a short period of time.
My mom and I, all we do is fight now, almost every day. Blaze no longer calls me. And it’s really for the best, anyway. Then there’s my strained relationship with Hope and Jordan. Every since I told them in confidence about Malik they’ve been against us being together. Well, moreso Jordan than Hope. Still, they both seem to have something snide to say about it. So I don’t spend as much time with them anymore. Mostly because I get tired of them bashing Malik, who they don’t even know. And bad-mouthing Sasha—who they’ve never met—like they’re so perfect. I feel like I shouldn’t have to constantly defend my boyfriend, or whom I want to hang out with, to them. Or to anyone, for that matter.