now, ya times up. My girl’s on the other line, so I’m out.”
“Damn, ma. It’s like that?”
“Yup, bitches before niggas.”
He laughs. “Sounds like we got sumthin’ else in common.”
“Nigga, peace out.” I say as he continues laughin’. I click over, then snap, “Bitch, what the fuck you keep callin’ me for?”
CHAPTER SIX
Lonely bitch…dick stuntin’…sac garglin’…lettin’ no-good nigga’s run all up in ’er back…gotta bitch wildin’ out like she’s stuck on crack…got ’er chasin’ fake muhfuckas who ain’t tryna get caught…got da dumb trick countin’ all da bitches she fought…forgettin’ da tears she done shed…too scared to open ’er eyes…’til one day da bitch ends up stretched out dead…
“Kat, girl, I just got off the phone wit’ Tamia—”
I frown. Now she knows damn well I don’t get down wit’ that bitch anymore. Once I peeped how triflin’ her dirty-ass was, it was a wrap. I don’t wanna be associated wit’a bitch like her. Especially one who was stuntin’ like she was a top-of-the-line bitch, then come to find out that fake-ass trick was rentin’ all her handbags and shoppin’ in consignment shops. Bitch, please! I don’t rock wit’ fraudulent bitches, and I damn sure ain’t gonna get it in wit’ no ho poppin’ Valtrex, okay? That bitch is toxic waste! “Umm, sweetie,” I snap, cuttin’ her off, “why the fuck you callin’ me ’bout her ass? You know I don’t wanna hear shit ’bout ya convo wit’ her.”
“Kat, this is serious. You need to come home, now .”
“Come home for what?”
“Ya moms in the hospital. Patrice tracked down Tamia tryna get ya numbers to call you.”
“And?”
“She gave me Patrice’s number to give to you.”
“Burn it. I’m not callin’ ’er.”
“Kat, Tamia said ya moms’s in I-C-U. It’s not lookin’ good.”
I blink. Does this ho really think I give a fuck ’bout Juanita bein’ up in somebody’s damn I-C-U ? Nope, I sure don’t. And I’m damn sure not about to let myself get dragged into any of that woman’s fuckin’ man drama. I already know what it is. If her ass is in the hospital, then it’s behind a nigga and his dick. When she doesn’t have her legs tossed up over a sorry-ass muhfucka’s shoulders, bein’ pressed down on a hospital mattress is the only other time her ass is layin’ flat on her back. So what else is new?
“That’s nice,” I say.
“Kat,” she says, sighin’, “all jokes aside. They don’t think she’s gonna make it.”
“Well, then, I guess she’ll finally make it to hell.”
She gasps. “Ohmiiiiigod, Kat. Now you bein’ real messy. Don’t you even care ’bout what happened to her?”
“Am I supposed to?”
“Well, why wouldn’t you? No matter what, she’s still ya moms.”
“By whose standards, Sweetie? Definitely not by mine. You put a nigga before ya own child, you pull a knife out on me and get all slick ’n greasy at the mouth in front of a muhfucka, then you ain’t shit to me. So please. Don’t go there wit’ me. Not today.”
“Kat, that’s fucked up.”
“Yep, and so is her life. So what I care? It is what it is. You make ya bed, you lie in it. Bitches need to stop stayin’ stuck on stupid, playin’ helpless-ass victims all da damn time. There comes a time when a bitch gotta say enough is enough, and pick her dumb ass up, dust shit off and do sumthin’ other than what da fuck she’s doin’.”
“Kat, it ain’t always that easy,” she says defensively.
“Mmmph. And I ain’t sayin’ it is. But what I am sayin’ is a sick bitch needs to get herself some help and stop havin’ muthafuckin’ pity parties. You keep doin’ stupid shit, fuckin’ wit’ sorry-ass niggas, then what da fuck you expect you gonna get? A buncha shit, period! At some point these dizzy-ass chicks gotta stop blamin’ a muhfucka for her demise ’n misery, and start takin’ a look at herself. I’m done. So, movin’
“Damn, ma. It’s like that?”
“Yup, bitches before niggas.”
He laughs. “Sounds like we got sumthin’ else in common.”
“Nigga, peace out.” I say as he continues laughin’. I click over, then snap, “Bitch, what the fuck you keep callin’ me for?”
CHAPTER SIX
Lonely bitch…dick stuntin’…sac garglin’…lettin’ no-good nigga’s run all up in ’er back…gotta bitch wildin’ out like she’s stuck on crack…got ’er chasin’ fake muhfuckas who ain’t tryna get caught…got da dumb trick countin’ all da bitches she fought…forgettin’ da tears she done shed…too scared to open ’er eyes…’til one day da bitch ends up stretched out dead…
“Kat, girl, I just got off the phone wit’ Tamia—”
I frown. Now she knows damn well I don’t get down wit’ that bitch anymore. Once I peeped how triflin’ her dirty-ass was, it was a wrap. I don’t wanna be associated wit’a bitch like her. Especially one who was stuntin’ like she was a top-of-the-line bitch, then come to find out that fake-ass trick was rentin’ all her handbags and shoppin’ in consignment shops. Bitch, please! I don’t rock wit’ fraudulent bitches, and I damn sure ain’t gonna get it in wit’ no ho poppin’ Valtrex, okay? That bitch is toxic waste! “Umm, sweetie,” I snap, cuttin’ her off, “why the fuck you callin’ me ’bout her ass? You know I don’t wanna hear shit ’bout ya convo wit’ her.”
“Kat, this is serious. You need to come home, now .”
“Come home for what?”
“Ya moms in the hospital. Patrice tracked down Tamia tryna get ya numbers to call you.”
“And?”
“She gave me Patrice’s number to give to you.”
“Burn it. I’m not callin’ ’er.”
“Kat, Tamia said ya moms’s in I-C-U. It’s not lookin’ good.”
I blink. Does this ho really think I give a fuck ’bout Juanita bein’ up in somebody’s damn I-C-U ? Nope, I sure don’t. And I’m damn sure not about to let myself get dragged into any of that woman’s fuckin’ man drama. I already know what it is. If her ass is in the hospital, then it’s behind a nigga and his dick. When she doesn’t have her legs tossed up over a sorry-ass muhfucka’s shoulders, bein’ pressed down on a hospital mattress is the only other time her ass is layin’ flat on her back. So what else is new?
“That’s nice,” I say.
“Kat,” she says, sighin’, “all jokes aside. They don’t think she’s gonna make it.”
“Well, then, I guess she’ll finally make it to hell.”
She gasps. “Ohmiiiiigod, Kat. Now you bein’ real messy. Don’t you even care ’bout what happened to her?”
“Am I supposed to?”
“Well, why wouldn’t you? No matter what, she’s still ya moms.”
“By whose standards, Sweetie? Definitely not by mine. You put a nigga before ya own child, you pull a knife out on me and get all slick ’n greasy at the mouth in front of a muhfucka, then you ain’t shit to me. So please. Don’t go there wit’ me. Not today.”
“Kat, that’s fucked up.”
“Yep, and so is her life. So what I care? It is what it is. You make ya bed, you lie in it. Bitches need to stop stayin’ stuck on stupid, playin’ helpless-ass victims all da damn time. There comes a time when a bitch gotta say enough is enough, and pick her dumb ass up, dust shit off and do sumthin’ other than what da fuck she’s doin’.”
“Kat, it ain’t always that easy,” she says defensively.
“Mmmph. And I ain’t sayin’ it is. But what I am sayin’ is a sick bitch needs to get herself some help and stop havin’ muthafuckin’ pity parties. You keep doin’ stupid shit, fuckin’ wit’ sorry-ass niggas, then what da fuck you expect you gonna get? A buncha shit, period! At some point these dizzy-ass chicks gotta stop blamin’ a muhfucka for her demise ’n misery, and start takin’ a look at herself. I’m done. So, movin’
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