Love Made Me Do It

by Tamekia Nicole

  My lover picked me up from work and asked to look at my eye. I pulled off my glasses and let him look. Shame covered his face as he leaned over and kissed me. I smiled and pushed the incident out of mind. I put it on a conveyer belt in a box with all the other accidental, but purposeful ass whoopins. There were no more words exchanged. We shared a lighter, and we fueled up with dope.

  We had many, many, fights either over drugs, money or both. That interfered with my work performance. To add to my issues, I had started another relationship as somewhat of an escape with a woman at my job. She loved me so much she was willing to buy me drugs if I just left him. I considered her proposition. I loved her in a way that was past intimacy. However I knew that he would kill both of us if he found out.

  I stay many nights at her house and used carpooling and saving money on gas as an excuse. I did my best to hide my feelings towards her but soon he discovered that something was fishy and when he found a letter from her hidden in the lining of my purse. All hell broke loose.

  He was getting high in our bedroom and I was watching T.V in the family room after a long day of work. I had to wait to get high until his mama left for work. That wait seemed like an eternity. While I was waiting to sky rocket away from my problems he was looking thru my stuff.

  I was called into the bedroom and told to lie down. I did as I was told. He pulled out the letter and asked me to read it out loud, in the tone of voice I had written in. I kept thinking he was going to kill me. I read the letter out loud…the next thing I know is he grabbed my shorts by the belt loops and ripped them off my body. He delivered relentless amounts of blows to my body. I never saw such strength from him, it was terrifying. He yelled at me to stay quiet and not to move. I continued to lie still as he proceeded to examine my vagina. The woman I was involved with wore a lot of glitter eye-shadow. There was evidence all over my body. I was busted but I didn’t care. He’s lucky that I didn’t leave his ass.

  It was close to the time that his mom would be coming down stairs to leave for work. So he let me up with these careful instructions; “Don’t act funny, in front of mama.” I knew he meant business. So I fixed his mama’s plate and sat and made conversation with her. My body hurt, and I knew that he wasn’t finished with me. As soon as the garage door closed he came charging at me like a raging bull. He slung me around like a rag doll.

  He let go of me for a split second and I darted for the front door. Barefooted I ran for my life and as soon as I was literally an inch from my neighbors doorbell. He dragged me all the way back to the house by the hair at the top of my head (hair still does not grow there.) He beat me up half the night. I endured every blow and went to work yet again like nothing had happened.

  I never said anything to his mama she wouldn’t be able to save me anyway. So I left my girlfriend alone and even though we worked together, I never even looked her way at work. His mama knew something was wrong, she always did. But she never involved herself in our domestic dysfunction. She continued to enable us and she probably secretly hoped that I never came to her with my problems.

  Being high was our only escape from the fucked up reality we were in and his mama knew it. Yet we came in the house late with her car, with no apologies and just handed her the keys and locked ourselves in our room. She talked about us, but not really too us about the drug abuse. I feel like she could have helped but she opted out.

  Slowly we kept spinning out of control. The more money I made in commission at my job the more money was spent on drugs. However I also had my rent money for her. Meanwhile, he rarely was giving up his money unless it was for gas. I was able to treat myself and got my hair done. His mama made me feel guilty about that. So I gave her some money I had stashed so she too could get her hair done too. I tried to rectify every 10 shitty things I did in the world would at least one kind gesture.

  I wanted his mama to like me. I wanted her to love me like I loved her son, since I was feeling so disconnected from my own mama. I needed that connection and nurturing that only mama’s could give. It was hard but eventually me and his mama we got to a happy place. There was no consistency to it, but I was content with the progress that had been made thus far.

  Meanwhile the brother, the sister in law and the side chick all hated me. They stole from me, they talked about me behind my back and sometimes when I was in the room. I couldn’t win. I had a job and money to support my habit, as far as I was concerned they could kiss my ass, twice. I stayed silent and found constant solace and peace of mind in drugs.

  Although I was in an okay space with his mama, I was still being used. I cooked, I cleaned, and I watched those bad ass foster kids. Plus, I listened to her rant about her lazy ass son. She always played devil’s advocate. She would talk about him, yet never tell him shit.

  I would get random calls from his crazy ass sister in law, with wild accusations and arguments over pieces of junk mail that landed in her mailbox. When the brother would ride with us places, my lover made me sit in the back. The side chick only attempted to befriend me to get information about the wife.

  Everybody hated on me living there. But what I found out down the line; is that the brother, the wife, nor the side chick had any clue that I was putting in more than my fair share of work. Plus, I contributed an adequate amount of money towards household bills.

  They never cared about how my days went, or how hard I tried and didn’t care about the love that I had for each and every one of them. I just wanted to be accepted and feel good about myself and life again.

  Although they talked shit, and gossiped like old retirees they never had a problem with us selling or giving them stolen property. But they would gossip about how we were thieves. The brother tried to convince his mama to take the car privileges from us. I never seen such hate and dislike built up for a person they barely knew.

  Yet I dealt with it. At least I could escape Monday – Friday when I went to work. I had a talent for sales and my pay checks proved it. Even if I saw very little of my check, I knew that when I went to work…I worked. Although, I excelled at work and was loved there. I couldn’t come home and start talking about my day.

  His mama worked a grave yard shift at a gas station, and tried to sleep all day and still care for her foster kids. While he either slept all day, stole all day, or got high all day. So my bubbly personality had no place, in a house that had very little happiness.

  My lover would sometimes ask about my day, but when he did I was always suspicious. I had become so insecure it was hard to determine what was real and what wasn't. I was out of place in that house. I wanted it to feel like my home. But how could it? We slept in his mama’s computer room on an air mattress. With constant reminders that we were two “over grown adults,” that needed to get their shit together.

  CHAPTER 31

  CLARK COUNTY DETENTION CENTER

  We never caught breaks, because we were not living right. I feel like we were single handedly robbing Vegas blind, and we were bound to get caught up. Things were okay with my lover. We had taken a hiatus from the drugs. But we hadn’t taken a hiatus from stealing. I had become much more fearless than I was before. I liked nice things that were free. The rush that came along with breaking the law was unexplainable. I’m telling you, I didn’t recognize myself.

  I was in contact with my family, here and there. Nothing too consistent. That was a void that I wanted my fucked up relationship to fix. Situations, where there was no accountability from the people involved could never be fixed. Simply, because you want them too, everything in life requires work, effort, honesty and accountability. At that time those characteristics were in my reach but I fell short, every time I relapsed.

  We had a routine. He picked me up from work and we hit every store along the way home. Sometimes we had specific orders to feel to customers that were somewhat special. Otherwise you bought what we had or you just didn’t get shit.

  There was no method to our madness. The goals were to get in, get out, and get paid. W
hen we managed to accomplish those goals, everybody was happy. On good hustle days, we chilled, we gambled, we did regular couple stuff. That felt good. I was looking for love from him, and I had no idea how to give it to myself. Things were as they should be, because that is what I chose. That is what I prayed for, to be by his side. Instead of praying for guidance and will power, I was praying to be abused.

  He was definitely a part of the nose dive I was taking in life. But I am well aware of the role I played in my own destruction. I had never given myself a chance to heal from my fiancé. I clung to the first sign of love. I confused game with being genuine. I confused sex with emotions. If the sex was good and consistent, it must be love. Or I used sex as a weapon to make men care. Never giving myself credit for anything besides, what a man needed me for.

  I enjoyed the normalcy that we were experiencing together. When we were happy together and others saw it, they couldn’t help but laugh and joke with us. When we were laughing and joking that was a sign that we weren’t using. When we were using, we never made eye contact when we spoke. Shit, we didn’t speak. Life off of drugs was nice. But we still had an addiction that we were battling, and that was the stealing.

  It had become hard not to pick up things and put them in your purse, or your pocket. I never paid for anything. There was no need. I had built up a nice wardrobe, nice shoes, a few hand bags and I could eat out with my coworkers when I felt like it. I had hella money when we weren’t using. He never wanted my money when we were clean, because when he hustled all day, he kept that money in his pocket. Instead of, stuffing it in a pipe.

  How long would this detox last though? That was the million dollar question. At that point I had seen it all. So I was skeptical, that all of sudden the drugs didn’t matter. They were no longer in control of our lives…But I was in total support of us getting clean. I wanted to go to Heaven one day. I definitely wanted my own mother to be able to brag about her first born…Her only daughter.

  A lot of unexpected stressful situations started happening to his family. Which trickled down to us, stress and detoxing from drugs will have an adverse effect every time. We weren’t strong enough to carry anyone else’s burdens, family or not. Getting out of bed every day, took a thousand deep breaths and positive thoughts.

  The first unexpected freak occurrence involved a fatality. There had been a robbery in the South West side of Vegas. A group of teens had broken into a neighbor’s house. An altercation between two of them became heated, and one was shot point blank rage with a shot gun. There was suspect apprehended, and interrogated that denied any involvement. The suspect insisted that there was a masked man, that was also trying to rob the same exact house and he had killed the teen.

  The apprehended suspect was my lover’s nephew by marriage. We were awakened by his mama, telling us to turn on the Channel 2 news. There was his nephew… Black as the night sitting in that box that sits next to the news anchor, as he tells the story. It was breaking news. I kind of cared. But his sister in law was faker than a three dollar bill. I didn’t fuck with her or her shady ass kids. The nephew was her son.

  That was a serious situation. It was a pending homicide investigation. The stress and the talk about the case became overwhelming. His brother was there more than usual talking about the case with my lover. This cut into the time that we were learning to appreciate together doing simple shit. Like cuddling, & kissing. Now this crazy shit.

  So instead of being selfish with my lover, I supported him, supporting his brother in this dark time. I could feel the stress starting to consume us too though. It was like being in fog and as soon as the fog cleared. You accidently stepped in quick sand. Only one foot at first, so you still had action.

  This was a test. How smart were we really? We managed to stay clean through the first round of trauma. I still had my job. I hadn’t had any marks on me in a long time. Life was becoming manageable. The brother was in a sticky situation with his wife and his side chick. The side chick became pregnant and she was going to keep the baby.

  She was a punk bitch too. Ever since she watched me get hit with those beads and didn’t say shit I barely said anything to her. I tried not to even look her way. She was trouble. That had been proven. As if there wasn’t enough on our plate, the foster kids all 4 of them decided to blow the whistle on a few things…

  His mama was whoopin those kids when they were out of line. By no means do I disagree with discipline. However I disagree with disciplining kids that are not biologically yours. Apparently those kids had enough of Nana, kickin their ass. So they told the agency. The agency came and took the kids from her custody. I was at work when all this took place.

  The only solution and choice we had, was to move out of that house ASAP. Before any law enforcement started lurking around, and asking questions. So we picked up and moved. It could have been easy, had we not been handed $500 cash to get all the necessary essentials to move. Had either me or him, been the least bit honest. We could have easily said that we are trying to remain clean, and with the revolving amount of recent stress….We cannot handle this money appropriately.

  It would be a cold day in hell before that type of honestly took place. So when we were supposed to be packing and moving while his mama worked the graveyard shift. We caved, and he blew the money. He blew every drop and I was an accessory. I helped him. I told him not to spend everything. We spent all night getting high and taking dozens of trips from the old house to the new house.

  Some of that money was supposed to be used for a moving company. That never happened, but you would have never known. We moved successfully without incident. The new house was a lease to own, and my name was on the lease along with his mama. I loved that house. It had two master suites. One upstairs and one downstairs it was spacious and gave all of us the needed privacy.

  Then a house of three, turned into the house of four. The side chick had her baby about three months prior to our big move. A pretty little baby girl, she died one day while I was at work. Apparently her grandparents fed her food that she wasn’t old enough to eat. That was a sad day. That was a sad funeral and no matter how I felt about the side chick. I gave her endless emotional support.

  She lost her job soon after her baby passed, so in turn she lost her apartment. She was severely depressed. As I recall these times, I can still see her face and remember her difficulty and excruciating cries out at the baby’s funeral. This was hard, I felt for her. I wished that I could have carried some of her pain.

  She buried her baby and soon after that I buried my father. It was a long time coming. Still very shocking but expected none the less. My heart was already broken, because of the rift my relationship caused with me and my parents. I attended the services, but almost didn’t because they did not want my lover to accompany me. I was defiant and defensive when it came to him. I paid my last respects and went back to Las Vegas.

  I was stressed the fuck out. Drugs were once again prevalent in our lives. So we used, to ease the pain we held inside, and we used a little extra to ease the pain that others transferred to us.

  It was hard to use with the side chick there. She needed comfort, she needed eye contact. She needed humans to interact with. Since she was the side chick, the brother came and seen her when he could get away from the wife. Sometimes that was a long wait; I was expected to entertain her. While my lover locked his self in the bedroom using drugs. I was a horrible host.

  Night after night we went out after I came home from work and hit licks. There was a popular spot that generated a nice cash flow for us, that I was weary of going in. But he was so insistent. I followed behind him. I had left my purse in the car on purpose. I would not be taking shit out of there.

  It was All Star weekend and we had intended to make this quick money and go hang out. An altercation started between him and the store employees in the parking lot. I stood near the truck, being mindful of covering the plates. My lover socked the store manager in the jaw, who thought he had a chance.


  Weeks went by and the side chick began to feel better and cry a little less. Our routine hadn’t changed. But I wish it had. That night we were sold some fake dope. My lover noticed right away and was going to go back to the spot and see if he could re-up for free. I rode with him. I rode with him two more times for a total of three times.

  On that third trip back home, we were racing against the clock. We needed to give him mama the truck so she could go to work. There was a high speed chase behind us. So my lover pulled over to the side of the road to let them pass. Only they didn’t want to pass us, they wanted US. Our names were announced on the megaphone. We were directed to stop the car, get down on the ground and stay there. We did as we were told. The way they held us at gun point, I was sure that they had the wrong people. They acted as if we killed someone.

  They took us to jail. We drove down the older end of the Las Vegas strip and booked into Clark County Detention Center. When I was searched I had a little less than a gram of cocaine on me. We sat in the booking room for hours. That night I learned out to sleep sitting up, with cuffs on. This shit was unbelievable.

  I and my lover were sitting a few rows away from one another and when we weren’t nodding off out of exhaustion. We communicated with each other. He told me that when it was time to use the phone…Call the side chick and asked her to clean up our room. Anything and all items that looked suspicious, ask her to bag it up and throw it in the garbage outside. She said she would.

  Okay that was taken care of. Now I need get my charges and figure out how to get out of jail. I had to go to work on Monday. It was a Friday night in a 24hour town. A judge was not going to hear our cases until Monday, if we were lucky.