When My Soul Met A Thug

by Jessica N Watkins

  “I’ve been stalking her social media pages. She’s alive and very pregnant as of two months ago when I could bring myself to look at it last.”

  Rakim sat up with a bleak stare. He poured us two more shots and pushed mine towards me. He threw his back and told me, “Aye, man, this ain’t you to have some kid out there that you aren’t taking care of. You always told me you would do better than your parents.”

  I groaned. “I know, man, but I can’t be there to watch her… to watch her… die. Man, that’s fucked up. I was just getting to know shorty, starting to like her, and now this? I can’t do that, man.”

  Rakim leaned forward, looking me dead in my eyes. “I know you aren’t close to a lot of people because of what you been through in the past. I know you don’t like emotional shit, but you gotta do this. How will you feel about yourself if you don’t?”

  I sucked my teeth and shook my head. Groaning, I mumbled, “Maaan...”

  “What’s more important?” Rakim grilled me. “Sheltering your feelings now like some punk-ass bitch or feeling like a punk-ass bitch later when she’s gone and you can’t fix this?”

  I sucked my teeth again, face bawled up, frustrated that I was even dealing with this bullshit. Every time I felt this frustration, my anger towards True grew. But as I threw my last shot back, I knew that after six months, my feelings for her had outgrown my anger so much more.

  REMI

  ♫Hold up, get right witcha (I'ma get right witcha)

  Bad bitches, fuck 'em then dismiss em (bad, woo)

  I ain't really here to take no pictures (flash)

  Middle finger up fuck the system (fuck 'em)♫

  “Ayyyye, that’s my shit!” I started to sway my hips to Migos as I maneuvered through the tight crowd at the President’s Lounge. It was a Saturday night, so the club was bussin’. People were packed in that bar like sardines, and I could barely get through the crowd back to my seat at the bar. I was actually having a good time, but that was because my misery had been masked by the countless shots and drinks I’d had that night. Tonight, I would dance and laugh like my heart hadn’t refused to mend its broken pieces.

  “Fuck!” I heard a guy bark in my ear.

  I whipped my head towards him and saw that he was wiping himself down. He glared at me and spat, “You knocked my drink out my hand.”

  “I’m sorry.” I wanted to help him wipe down his Gucci shirt with my napkin, but his glare was full of drunken rage, so I backed up.

  Despite my apology, he snarled. “Fat ass.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What did you say?” I asked, as if I hadn’t heard him.

  Biting his lip furiously, he stepped closer to me. “I said fat ass. Gawd damn, your big ass needs to watch where you goin’.”

  People around us started laughing as they looked my large body up and down. I cringed inwardly, tucked my tail, and continued to make my way through the tight crowd. Now, I was purposely pushing my way through.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Gigi asked me as I appeared next to her at the bar.

  I knew I was wearing my emotions on my sleeve. I had already been feeling insecure and embarrassed. The littlest things set me off and turned on the tears. I could feel them pooling in my eyes as I snatched my purse and coat off of the barstool I’d been sitting in.

  I threw my purse over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  “Whyyyyy?” Gigi whined. “We just got here, and that fine dude over there keeps sending me drinks.” She looked a few feet away towards the end of the bar where an average-height guy with a thick, Rick Ross beard and bald head was gushing at her and licking his lips. She was right. He was fine. But every man in this world annoyed the shit outta me at the moment, fine or not.

  I rolled my eyes as I threw on my Moncler puff coat. “Fine. Whatever. I’m leaving.”

  Gigi dramatically tilted her head to the side. “Are you serious?”

  I smacked my lips. “Yes!”

  Instead of copping the same attitude as I had, Gigi looked at me with concern. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I took a deep breath, trying not to give my sister an attitude that wasn’t meant for her. I was also trying to keep the room from spinning. All of those shots of 1800 were catching up with me. I wasn’t sure whether it was the liquor or the fact that the guy in the Gucci shirt had called me fat that had me ready to throw up on Gigi’s Ugg boots.

  “Nothing. I’m fine,” I lied.

  Gigi pulled me closer to her, giving me a sincerely concerned stare. “Sissy, it’s been months. Let that nigga go.”

  That made my blood boil. I was sick of people telling me to get over it and let Banks go as if I was supposed to get over my man of ten years leaving me for a bad bitch and flaunting her all over social media as easily as kids got over colds. It wasn’t that fucking easy!

  Despite my clear annoyance, Gigi went on, “Sis, he’s moved on, so you should too. You’re letting him affect your good time when he’s not letting you affect him at all.”

  I lightly pulled out of her grasp. “I’m out, Gigi.”

  Regretfully, she nodded. “Are you good to drive?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Well, I’m staying for a little while longer. Call me when you make it home.”

  I nodded as I turned to leave. Luckily, the door was right next to us, so I was able to scurry out without anyone seeing the tears streaming down my face. By now, it was January. The air was cold and crisp. As my hot tears slid down my face, they froze against my icy cheeks. I struggled to stay on my feet, fighting with my drunkenness and the black ice that covered the uneven sidewalk.

  As I hopped into my car, I was hot on the inside despite the wintery temperature. I was enraged, mad at myself, and mad that Gigi was right. I was allowing Banks to affect me when he had not stopped one part of his life because of me. He was moving on, having a baby, and enjoying the newlywed life, all without having looked back at me once. Yet, I was stuck in a rut, drinking more than I ever had before, losing friends, isolating myself, and burying myself in my work.

  At the beginning of the year, I had sworn that the New Year would mean a new start for me. I wanted new friends since my old ones had been disloyal and attended that wedding. I wanted to lose weight. I wanted to get a man who would love me unconditionally. But all I had managed to do was overwork my liver.

  Inside my car, I turned the engine. To pass the time it took to warm up, I reached behind the driver’s seat for the bottle of 1800 that I kept on the floor. I removed the top and drank from the bottle until my throat burned.

  Slow tears slid down my face as I finally started to feel the heat. I threw the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot, not even looking at my surroundings. Horns honked violently as cars swerved around me. I blinked to force myself to be able to see the road through my drunken haziness.

  I was floating, anger guiding me. I saw my anger, instead of the streets. I was ignoring every stop sign and light, only paying attention to my hurt and the rejection… until a light flashed brightly, blinding me and a sound blared so loudly that I was forced to stop focusing on how Banks had hurt me and focus on the road instead. I blinked, hearing the blaring sound over and over again so blaring that I winced.

  “Shit!” I gasped as I realized I was approaching train tracks at ninety miles an hour on an icy, slick road. The train was barreling towards the intersection at an even faster speed than I was driving. I had a split-second choice between stopping and causing my car to spin out and most likely, hit the trees that lined the street or barrel into the train.

  The train’s horn continued to roar as if the engineer saw me coming but couldn’t stop. Cars on the street were blowing their horns as well.

  I struggled with the decision of what to do when it suddenly hit me that it wouldn’t be so bad to hit that train dead on. Why continue to live with this heartbreak and misery? Clearly, I wasn’t good enough to love or to be chosen for a wife.

  Death felt
like a relief at the moment.

  12

  Angel

  Russell and I had only been dating for about six months now. However, he had put in more work than any other man that I had ever experienced except my late husband. But I truly believed it was because he and Darnell were of the same caliber. Both were real men from the hood who knew how to stake claim on the woman that he wanted to become his. He knew how to court me and sweep me off of my feet with the same swag and confidence Darnell had. Russell and I had yet to discuss the details of a committed relationship. I believed it was because he knew that I had yet to even consider being with another man after Darnell. Yet, Russell had been so successful at changing my mind that my body had been yearning for his intimate touch for weeks.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I jumped slightly at the sudden sound of Russell’s voice as if I weren’t lying in his bed right next to him. Nervously, I ran my hand over the back of my head through my tapered hair as I ignored the throbbing sensation between my legs.

  “Angel…”

  Shit. He was so dominant, so masculine.

  “H-huh?” I stuttered.

  When he chuckled, he was so undeniably handsome. “Baby, what’s up with you?” Before I responded, he reached over, placed his hand on my waist, and turned me towards him. “Talk to me.”

  I had shared a bed with many men since Darnell, even in one of their T-shirts, as I currently was, but I had never felt such a need to be touched and loved.

  I needed it. I had needed it for quite some time. I had just never felt comfortable enough to get it from anyone until now.

  I just lay there smiling at Darnell, stuck between wanting him to fuck all five years of abstinence out of this pussy and not wanting to regret it.

  He matched my smile, and we lay there in the darkness, the light from the television bouncing off of our faces.

  Then he leaned over to kiss me, which wasn’t unnerving, because we had kissed so many times before. But, hell, I was forty years old, and I wanted him to do more than just kiss me. Finally, I wanted a man to make love to me. Russell had never pushed me any further than what I was comfortable with, but this was the first time I would do the pushing.

  As we kissed, his hand held the front of my neck softly. I took my hand and placed it on top of it and slid it down, passed my chest and over my breast. His breathing became labored as he sensed what I wanted. He started playing with my breasts beneath his Nike shirt, and then my breath became heavy as well. I leaned into him, pressing my covered breasts to his bare chest. His tongue traced my lips as his hand started to hungrily caress my hips and ass. My fingers went into his hair, gripping his curls.

  Then my phone rang.

  When he hesitated, I begged him, “Don’t stop.”

  He smiled into our kiss, then left my lips and began to kiss his way down my neck.

  I let out a raspy moan.

  After my phone finally stopped ringing, Russell’s hand disappeared under my shirt and began to caress my back, before he pulled me to him. I arched my back, pressing myself against him. I moved my leg up his body, hugging him with it. I felt him hardening against my thigh. I began to rub my sex against his, like some virgin teenager, and he groaned. He began to claw at his shirt that I was wearing, tearing it off.

  I giggled at his anxiousness as he threw it behind us on the floor.

  “You sure you wanna do this?” he asked.

  I nodded as I nibbled on my bottom lip. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  He gazed at my breasts as I stared at him. “Beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned forward, pushing me on my back, and climbed on top of me. He began to tongue kiss my neck. Wrapping my legs around him, I squirmed from the sensation while attempting to kiss him wherever my mouth could reach. Our breaths were so heavy that they began to drown out the series that we had once been watching on Netflix. Continuing to kiss my neck, he rested on his side and started to play with my pussy.

  But he only played with it long enough to realize how soaking wet it was. “Shit,” he groaned at the touch of the lake between my thighs. He reached over me towards the nightstand. He opened a drawer, and I could hear the fumbling of plastic. He then rested on his knees between my legs. I snuck a peek at his dick as he placed the condom on it. I was satisfied with his above average size, but, considering how long I had been abstinent, I wasn’t picky. Yet, as he leaned over and slowly penetrated me, I gasped at how thick it was.

  I opened my legs wider to allow him full access. He rested completely on me and started to kiss me slowly as he fully thrust inside of me.

  “Fuck,” he grunted as he started a series of rhythmic thrusts.

  My eyes began to roll to the back of my head. My mouth lay agape. I couldn’t form any moans or words. The way my pussy had stretched around his dick, gripping it, milking it, and hugging it as he thrust perfectly inside me was orgasmic.

  “Ahhh,” I finally moaned and bit his shoulder lightly. “Yesss…”

  He reached down and cupped one of my legs, causing me to open up and him to fill me up even more.

  “Shiiiit!” I hissed, just as my phone began to ring again. “Fuck,” I groaned in frustration.

  He left me, and I reached to bring him back. But he chuckled and continued his journey away from me towards my phone that was continuously ringing on his nightstand. Looking at it in his hand, his eyes widened a bit as he thrust the phone towards me, saying, “It’s True.”

  I grabbed it and answered immediately. “Hello?”

  I heard panting… lots and lots of panting. “Mamaaaa!”

  I sprang up, nearly pushing Russell off of me. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “I’m having contractions, Mama,” True forced out through heavy breaths. “The baby is coming!”

  TRUE

  “Should she be throwing up like this?”

  My mother was hysterical as I vomited into a bucket for the fifth time. I clung to it in the hospital bed, heaving as nothing came out because literally nothing was left inside me. The cold towel my mother had applied to the back of my neck gave me no relief. Exhausted, I lay back, gasping for air as I stared up at the ceiling.

  “Here comes another contraction,” the nurse announced.

  I could feel my mother’s overly concerned eyes on me as I struggled for strength. I had been immensely exhausted for the last two days. It had been a struggle to walk or stand. The vomiting had gotten worse. If I wasn’t vomiting, I was sleeping. Some days, I’d found myself delirious. Yet, I had been hiding it all, blaming it on the baby. I had even struggled with Joy that night so that my mother could spend some time with Russell who I felt like was a godsend. He had even refused to leave the hospital, hanging out in the waiting room and offering to tend to Joy. I was so happy my mama had found someone to love her and be there for her.

  She was going to need it.

  “Okay, True, breathe,” the nurse encouraged as the contraction began to tear through me.

  “Aarrrrrrrrrrrgh!” I bit down, breathing, gritting through the intense sharp pain for a few agonizing seconds until relief filled me so heavily that I threw myself back on the bed, gasping for air.

  Again, I could feel my mother’s concerned eyes on me, but I was in such intense pain that I could no longer front. I allowed the headache pain to take over. I squinted and fought to see, tears coming to my eyes. Exhaustion was consuming me.

  My mother stood above me, holding the cold towel to my forehead now, as I looked up at her, my eyes begging for help that I knew she couldn’t give me. She stared at the look at my eyes and tears came to hers. “You’re okay,” she tried to convince me. “You’re doing good, baby.”

  I watched as the nurse stared with concern at the monitors. “Doctor Shaw, her blood pressure is still rising.”

  He rushed over to gage my vitals. “Prepare for C-section.”

  “C-section?” my mother asked with concern in her voice. I, too, was concerned, but I was too preoccupied with pain to
question it.

  “Yes,” Dr. Shaw confirmed. “Her blood pressure has been high since she arrived. At this point, I don’t want to risk a vaginal delivery. We need to get this baby out now.”

  My mother’s eyes darted towards me. “You need to call Coop.”

  “No, Ma—”

  “True!” she barked, interrupting me. “He needs to be here. This is his child just as much as he is yours.”

  “Mama, please,” I said through labored breaths. “He doesn’t want to be here. Just please…” I couldn’t utter another syllable. My tears spoke for me.

  I was tired…so tired.

  ANGEL

  I fought to keep myself from breaking down in uncontrollable sobs as I marched towards the waiting room. Through the glass, I could see Russell entertaining Joy at a desk full of coloring books and crayons. Hearing my heels clicking against the tile, he looked up. As soon as he saw my face, he stood with concern in his eyes. He said something to Joy that I couldn’t hear. She nodded with a smile and went back to coloring as Russell met me in the doorway of the waiting room. As soon as he was in reach, I collapsed in his arms, sobbing.

  “Babe, what’s wrong?”

  I couldn’t speak through the pain. It hurt like nothing I had ever felt before. When I buried Darnell, I felt like nothing could ever top that pain …until I was told that I would have to bury my daughter.

  “Angel, baby, talk to me,” Russell urged as he rubbed my back.

  But I couldn’t say a word. The tears were arresting me, taking my body into captivity. I buried the sobs into Russell’s chest to keep Joy from hearing my fear and pain as I clung to him.

  “Angel, you’re scaring me. Is everything okay?”

  I finally found my words. “No,” I cried.

  I could feel Russell’s heartbeat intensify. “What happened?”