Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang Page 22

  “That’s not true, cuz,” Arturo says. “I care.”

  “No doubt,” Javier adds.

  “Well, that’s how I’ve always felt.”

  Arturo takes me by the hand. “You need’a come through so we can chill. We fam, Kat. Wit’ my moms and ya moms gone. We all we got, feel me?”

  I nod. “I hear you. I’ll think ’bout it.” We spend a few more minutes talkin’ and catchin’ up and exchangin’ phone numbers. I stay up ’til it’s almost time for the funeral to begin, then give ’im both hugs. I dip out, neva lookin’ back.

  LATER IN THE AFTERNOON, I’M SPEEDIN’ DOWN THE GARDEN State, headin’ southbound to the shore. Outside of drivin’ to Atlantic City to put in gun work, this is the first time a bitch has driven down this way durin’ the day to chill. It’s my first time goin’ to Allstar’s spot. And on some real shit, I’m surprised the nigga actually wanted me to come. And I’m more surprised that a bitch is in ’er whip goin’.

  It’s mad nice out. I got the windows down and the beats knockin’. Drake’s “Light Up” is playin’ as I fire up a blunt. By the time I pull up in Alex’s condo development, I’m lit the fuck up, feelin’ mad sexy ’n real ’xtra.

  I park my whip, then flip down the visor to make sure shits on point. Hair ’n face still in place. You’a sexy bitch, I think, grinnin’ at my reflection. I step out of my car, peepin’ the area. The nigga’s spot is surrounded by all kinda restaurants, boutiques and clubs. I see the ocean ’cross the street and find myself walkin’ ova toward it to get a closer look. Beaches here have neva impressed, or interested me, so why I’m leanin’ on the rail starin’ at the water is beyond me. I take in a deep breath. Hold back my head and enjoy the ocean’s breeze. I have a lotta shit on my mind. A bitch needs change. But I don’t know if a baby is what’s gonna get it. And I don’t know if this nigga is the kinda change I need, or want, eitha. I can’t front. He’s been on my mind heavy. The last couple’a weeks we been kickin’ it almost e’ery damn day. And a lotta the time we ain’t even fuckin’. He be on some “let me hold you”-type shit. And I be wit’ it. I don’t know what’s really good wit’ this nigga, and I ain’t really tryna spend too much time tryna figure it out. I already know what it is for me. I’ma keep it real cute, and keep doin’ the nigga ’til he fucks up, then its bubble-wrap for his ass. Still, a bitch gotta wonder if I’m gettin’ in too deep wit’ his ass.

  My cell rings, disruptin’ my moment. I pull it outta my bag. It’s NUT. It’s time to change up his nickname. I decide to start change it to Allstar. “Hey,” I say, turnin’ to head toward his place.

  “Where you at, yo? I thought you woulda been here by now.”

  “I’m outside,” I tell ’im crossin’ the street, “on my way up to ya buildin’.” I peep this salon-tanned white muhfucka gettin’ out’a black Maserati and anotha steppin’ outta a Bentley, headin’ to the Gold’s Gym on the corner. I see a slew of otha high-end whips in parkin’ spaces as well, grinnin’. These muhfuckas out here gotta be paid out da ass, pushin’ them big boyz.

  “Cool-cool. You aiight?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” I tell ’im I’m impressed wit’ his neighborhood. That it reminds me of a quaint village filled wit’ a bunch’a rich muhfuckas.

  He laughs. “That’s ’cause it is.”

  When I get up to the eleventh floor, he’s already standin’ in the hallway waitin’ on me. He’s grinnin’ from ear to ear. And I can’t help but to smile back at ’im. He’s in a pair of dark-blue True Religions and a wife beater, showin’ off his chiseled arms and lookin’ sexy as fuck. I swear I don’t wanna catch feelin’s for this nigga, but e’erytime I’m ’round ’im it gets harder and harder to keep that from happenin’.

  He pulls me into his arms the minute I walk up on ’im. He kisses me wit’ them sexy-ass lips and my pussy starts juicin’. “Damn, you lookin’ good,” he says, shuttin’ the door behind me. I step outta my heels. “Let me show you ’round.”

  I glance ’round his spot, impressed. The nigga’s shit is piped in buttery-soft Italian leather. My feet sink into the plush carpet. I peep the fifty-two-inch Sony Bravia flat-screen up on the wall wit’ its surround sound. His spot is nicely decorated in all earth tone colors. I shake my head at all’a his man toys: the Xbox, PS3, and Wii games and tons of games for each. I follow ’im into the master bedroom. He has a huge mahogany king-size sleigh bed, and matchin’ nightstands. There’s an oil paintin’ of a naked woman’s profile wit’ a big juicy ass and titties hangin’ on the wall ova his bed.

  “Nice. I’m really impressed,” I tell ’im, walkin’ back out into the livin’ room. He shows me the kitchen, which is piped out wit’ granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.

  He laughs. “What, you thought I was livin’ foul or sumthin’?”

  “Truthfully, I didn’t know what to think. So is this ya crib or some chick’s you done scammed?”

  He frowns. “Nah, ma. I ain’t scam shit. E’erything up in this muhfucka is all me. Yeah, I been gifted up ’n shit, but don’t get it fucked up. I ain’t no bum-ass nigga, baby.”

  I smirk. “That’s good to know.”

  “That ain’t all you ’bout to know,’ he says, scoopin’ me up into his big arms.

  “Oh yeah; what else am I gonna know?”

  He licks his lips and eyes me all sexy-like, then slips his tongue in my mouth. His hands land on my ass, then squeeze it. He grinds himself into me. “Take them clothes off and let me show.”

  TWO HOURS LATER, WE’RE IN THE LIVIN’ ROOM LOUNGIN’ ON THE sofa. Alex’s lyin’ ’cross my lap, sparkin’ a blunt. He’s in his boxer briefs, bare-chested. And I’m wearin’ one’a his button ups wit’ nuthin’ else underneath. The nigga slayed my pussy like no otha, but I ain’t gonna play myself short eitha—a bitch fucked the nigga down, lovely. Had ’im moanin’ like a bitch e’ery time I lifted up on his dick and rode the head, milkin’ that shit wit’ my pussy muscles.

  “Yo, you really got a nigga goin’ through it, Kat,” he says, takin’ two puffs on the blunt, then handin’ it to me. “Real talk; I’m really feelin’ you, ma. You know that, right?”

  I hold the blunt wit’ one hand and rub his head wit’ the otha, lettin’ my fingas move ova the pattern of his waves. I nod, blowin’ smoke outta the side of my lips. “That’s what ya mouth says.”

  He looks up at me. “Yo, that’s what it is.” I hand ’im back the blunt. “I ain’t tryna get all fucked up in this shit, yo.”

  I lay my head back on the sofa, thinkin’ ’bout Juanita and all the otha bitches who lost their damn minds and souls to a nigga. Bitches who couldn’t think straight wit’out a nigga in they lives. I don’t care how good the nigga’s dick and tongue game is, I can’t eva let that shit happen to me. “Me either,” I say, shakin’ the shit outta my head. ’Cause muhfucka it ain’t gonna pretty if I do.

  He lifts up off’a me, takin’ anotha pull from the blunt. He hands it to me, but I tell ’im I’m good. For the last few days a bitch ain’t really been beat to burn it up like normal. Shit, I ain’t even really tossin’ back the drinks like I used to eitha.

  He looks at me. “I’m a hunnid wit’ you ’cross the board. No games.”

  “Okay. And I’m real wit’ you.”

  “Aiight, then we cool. Don’t play me, Kat.”

  “Nigga, don’t you play me.”

  He leans ova and tries to kiss me. I yank my head back. “Oh what, now I can’t get no lips?”

  “Nope,” I say, smirkin’.

  “Yeah right.” He hovers ova me, presses me back on the sofa. “Stop, playin’, girl, give me some’a that tongue.”

  I stick my tongue out, then pull it back into my mouth. “You want it, nigga. You gotta take it.” He pulls me into him, kisses my lips. I press my lips tight to keep ’im from slippin’ his tongue in. “You gonna have’ta come betta than that.”

  “Oh, aiight. I see how you doin’ it. I got you.” He starts nibblin’ on my neck, unbuttons th
e buttons on the shirt I’m wearin’, then takes my left nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirls ’round it while he reaches ova and lightly pinches my right nipple. I fight to keep myself from moanin’. Oh, gaawd, this muhfucka is gonna have’a bitch all fucked up, I think, closin’ my eyes. Keep it cute, ho. He looks up at me. “Can I get some’a that tongue, ma?”

  I grunt. Moan. Shake my head from side to side. “No.”

  He starts kissin’ down the middle of my chest to my stomach, then dips his tongue into my belly button. Wit’out thinkin’, a bitch spreads open ’er legs anticipatin’ the next spot his tongue makes. The nigga got me in heat. Got my pussy lips stickin’. He grabs me by the waist, pulls my legs up ova his shoulders, then wraps his arms ’round the back of me and lifts me up, standin’ up. He lifts my hips up in the air and begins suckin’ ’n lickin’ on my clit. “Oooooooh…aaaaaaah…” Ohhhhmiiigaawd, this nigga’s tongue is deadly. I grab the back of his head, fuck his face. “Ohhhhh, yes, muhfucka…make my pussy skeet, nigga…” I let go of his head and lay backward, lettin’ the nigga have his way wit’ my pussy. His dick stabs me in my back. I twist my body so I can get at it, then start strokin’ it ova his boxers. I’m not sure how or when, ’cause the muhfucka has a bitch in a zone, but the next thing I know the nigga turns me around wit’ his mouth still mounted on my kat-box and I’m face-to-face wit’ his dick. He alternates from lickin’ my asshole to the back of my pussy. I pull his boxers down ova his waist, takin’ his dick in my hands. I lick the precum leakin’ from its tip, then start suckin’ on it—slow and sexy at first, then fast and nasty. I take my hands off the dick, grab the back of his thighs and give the nigga all throat and neck action. He’s moanin’. I’m moanin’. Then, a few minutes later, we are both nuttin’, gulpin’ and slurpin’ each otha’s nut.

  The nigga lets me down, then collapses back onto the sofa. “Fuck,” he says, lickin’ the rest of my cream from ’round his lips. “You da truth, baby—word up.” I grin, lickin’ my lips as well. I drop down in front of ’im and finish milkin’ the rest of his nut out.

  When I’m done, I climb up on top of ’im and look ’im in the eyes. “Now you can have some tongue,” I tell ’im, slippin’ it deep into his mouth. Our tongues twirl and flick up against the othas. We kiss and stare into each otha’s eyes. I’m feedin’ the nigga a taste of his nut and he’s feedin’ me a taste of mine. I grind down on his dick, let my pussy coat it wit’ juice. And, for the first time in a long time, I wanna feel this nigga bust his dick up in me raw.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Where there is life…there is death…pullin’ in da final breath…one life traded for anotha…mixed emotions slicin’a bitch like a knife…da birth of a tiny lil’ brotha…gotta ho rethinkin’ some things…should a bitch play ’er position…be his sista, or play his motha?…

  Three weeks later, on Saturday, June 26, 2010 at 6:36 p.m., after bein’ pumped up wit’ a buncha steroids to help the baby inside’a ’er lungs develop, the plug is finally pulled on my mother. And the truth is, I feel nuthin’; just like I knew I would. Watchin’ ’er life support machine bein’ shut off is like liftin’ a switch and turnin’ on bright lights to a dark, lonely past.

  I am in the labor ’n delivery room, relieved that this is my last time lookin’ at ’er. I’ve been comin’ back ’n forth up to this hospital practically e’ery damn night, starin’ at Juanita. Cursin’ ’er out, sayin’ a buncha shit I kept bottled up for what I knew would be the last time, knowin’ she couldn’t hear shit I had’a say. But, I realize she didn’t need to. I needed it for me. And like I’ve said, there will be no tears, not ova ’er. And a bitch ain’t livin’ wit’ no regrets.

  Patrice, Elise ’n my grandmother are here—lookin’ through the glass window, bawlin’ they eyes out. This is the first time I’m ’round all’a these hoes and we ain’t goin’ at it. Still, the tension is thick as shit, but we keep the drama at bay—for now.

  I keep my back to them bitches. We are all consumed wit’ tears. Theirs are for the loss of another daughter ’n sister. Mine for seein’ this tiny lil’ baby brought into this world by C-section, then laid on my mother’s shoulder for a brief moment. Neither aware of the otha’s presence. Then havin’ the doctor hand the baby to me. I am nervous at first, takin’ it. It is the first time I’ve held a baby—a tiny life; a baby boy brought into this world at twenty-six weeks, weighing’ only 3 lbs. 8 oz. A bitch bursts into tears, so fuckin’ distraught knowin’ I woulda killed ’im.

  Chanel is here wit’ me—my real family. Masked and suited up, she is cryin’ wit’ me. She’s the only bitch who knows and understands me. “Ohmiiiigod, Kat, look at ’im. He is soooo tiny.”

  I don’t speak. I can’t. There are no fuckin’ words in me. E’erything ’round me is one big blurry mess from tears. And when the nurse finally takes ’im from me, I feel myself ’bout to collapse. I am shocked at myself. Surprised that I am feelin’ the way I do—overwhelmed. That I have all’a these emotions wrapped up in me. That I am a snotty-nosed mess behind all’a this. He will be placed in an incubator, and be under ultraviolet light. I watch ’em place a lil’ mask ova his eyes. Watch ’em place a trach tube down into his lil’ lungs, then connect it to a machine so he can breathe. I watch ’em stick a catheter into his umbilical cord so they can pump ’im wit’ fluids and drugs. He is pinched ’n pricked ’n probed and it tears a bitch’s heart to see this. I’m exhausted and emotionally drained. But I can’t stop cryin’. The doctor is sayin’ shit to me, but I ain’t hearin’ it all.

  “…He will be in the NICU…the next few weeks are the most critical…”

  I tell ’em I gotta leave. Tell ’em I can’t deal wit’ this right now. Tell ’em I’ll be back later. Chanel follows behind me, wrappin’ ’er arm ’round me. She swipes tears from ’er own face wit’ ’er other hand.

  “I’m here for you, girl.”

  “I know you are,” I tell ’er, squeezin’ ’round ’er waist.

  “Kat, you can’t let them take ’im; you gotta step up and take that lil’ baby. He’s so precious and tiny. Ohmiiiigod, you gotta, girl.” I don’t say shit; just break down, sobbin’. She hugs me, rubbin’ my back. “It’s gonna be aiiiight. I know you scared, girl. But I got ya back. We can do this. It’s whateva, ho. You know how we do. You hear me?”

  I nod. Hold onto ’er tighter, catchin’ Elise lookin’ ova in our direction. She says sumthin’ to Patrice ’n my grandmother, then walks ova toward us. “This bitch,” I mumble.

  Chanel whispers in my ear, “Be nice, Kat. Keep it cute.”

  Elise reaches out to console me, but I pull away. I don’t want the bitch touchin’ me. And I ain’t beat to hear what comes outta ’er cunt muncha. I look ova to the left of me and peep Patrice huggin’ my grandmother. The poor thing is all broken up. And so she should be.

  “Kat, we’re family. Whateva shit you think we’ve done to you, right now we gotta let that shit go. We gotta work it through. I know you’re hurt. We’re all hurt. But this shit, this bullshit-ass feud, has gotta stop. I lost two sistas, back to back. And now there’s a baby that’s gonna need all of us.”

  I blink. Finally look the ho in the face.

  “I know you’re angry at ya moms, but she loved you. And she did the best she could wit’ what she had.”

  “Please. Get. Away from me.”

  The bitch keeps standin’ here. “I know you’re hurtin’ that the two of you couldn’t rebuild ya relationship, but—”

  I tilt my head. I catch Chanel’s eye. She raises ’er brow. Gives me a “girl-don’t-do-it look.” Ohmiiiiigod…this dizzy bitch thinks these tears are ’cause I’m grievin’.

  “But nuthin’. Me and Juanita neva had a relationship, so there wasn’t one to try ’n repair. Get ya facts straight.”

  She clenches ’er teeth. “You know what, Kat, I’m really tryna be civil wit’ ya ass. But, you really pushin’ it. I know you goin’ through a buncha shit so I’m givin’ you a pass.”

&n
bsp; Chanel starts pullin’ me by the arm. “C’mon, girl, keep this shit cute; let’s go.”

  For once, I think before I speak. I don’t call ’er a buncha bitches and low-budget hoes like I want. “Elise, be clear. You ain’t givin’ me a pass to shit. So hop, lil’ froggy, and get dropped. ’Cause you can get it just like ya crackhead sista did; trust.”

  “Elise, c’mon, girl,” Patrice calls out. “Don’t get into no situations wit’ that crazy-ass chick, not tonight. We need’a get Momma outta here. Don’t worry; she got it comin’ to ’er.”

  I snap my neck in ’er direction. “And who’s gonna bring it to me? You? ’Cause I know you ain’t crazy enough to think that this”—I flick my thumb over at Elise—“this chick is gonna serve it.”

  Elise turns ’er attention back to me. “Bitch, don’t sleep. As soon as we bury my sista, I’ma see you.”

  I eye the bitch. “Oh, really. Well, let me tell you this. You betta keep a ’xtra hole dug ’cause da day you raise up on me will be da day ya mammy will be tossin’ ya ass in it next to ya dead-ass sistas.”

  She raises a hand to swing off but I catch it, pushin’ ’er back into the window. “Biiiitch!” she yells, causin’ a bigga scene than necessary. Fuck tryna keep it cute. A bitch is ready bring it to this ho’s head.

  “Stop it! Both of you,” my grandmother snaps. “I will not have this. Elise, leave that hateful devil child alone.”

  I raise my hands up and pointin’ at ’er like their guns. “Granny, boom,” I say, makin’ poppin’ gestures at the air as if I’ma shoot ’er the fuck up.

  She stops in ’er tracks. “Elise, let’s go,” she says. “Esta puta es loco.”

  I force myself to laugh. “Yeah, I’ma crazy bitch. And whaaaat? Stay da fuck away from me. All’a you.”

  I’m surprised Patrice isn’t tryna set it off. I guess the bitch is too distraught to bring it. Elise says some extra shit still tryna make it pop ’bout not lettin’ me get away wit’ disrespectin’ ’er mother. My grandmother yanks ’er by arm, and the bitch still keeps poppin’ shit.