Читать книгу Booty Call *69 - Erick S. Gray - Страница 8

3

SHANA

I lay naked on Tyrone’s bed as he gets dressed. He’s letting me stay the night in his apartment. It’s two o’ clock in the morning, and he just got a page from one of his workers. Now he’s heading out the door to take care of some business. This is the sixth time we’ve been together intimately. The dick is just too irresistible and too fucking good for me to say no to. For hours we were going at it non-stop, until he received that page. It’s business first, then sex. I’m catching feelings for him, and I know he feels the same way about me. I sometimes think about Jakim and what we had. I still love him, which is why being with Tyrone is so hard for me.

I know Tyrone is feeling guilty, too. He keeps telling me to tell Jakim about us. “Y’all not together, so tell him what the deal is between us,” he’s constantly saying. But I refuse, thinking that maybe one day Jakim and I can rekindle our relationship. I know someday we could probably get married and have kids. He just might be the marrying type.

Tyrone is a straight-up street thug, a roughneck brother who did a few years on Riker’s Island for a gun charge, drugs and assault. Yet and still, there’s something about him that just drives me crazy.

I watch Tyrone walk out the door. He leaves me a hundred dollars and tells me to order something if I get hungry. I go in the bathroom and throw on a robe. I return to the bedroom, flip on the television and relax. I’m kind of upset that he didn’t complete his business with me, but I blow it off; I know he’s coming back soon to finish fucking me. When he doesn’t, I drift off to sleep, horny and frustrated.

I return home the next afternoon to find Jakim parked in front of my crib, awaiting my arrival. It’s a good thing I took the bus home.

“Shana, what up?” he hollers through the car window.

“Nothing. What up with you?”

“I’m sayin’, though, I came through twice last night looking for you and you weren’t even home. You fucking some other niggah?”

“That’s none of your fucking business. I’m gonna fuck who I wanna fuck. I ain’t your property! I don’t see your name anywhere on me!” I yell.

“Why you always gotta catch an attitude with me when I ask you a question?”

“Because you be asking stupid questions.”

He just stares at me. I don’t want to argue with him today. I start to wonder if he waited out here for me all night. He’s either really stupid or he’s really in love with me.

“Let me take you out to get something to eat,” he says.

“I already ate.”

“So, let’s go for a ride.”

“I’m too tired.”

“Damn, so what the fuck do you wanna do?”

“Right now? Get the fuck away from you,” I rudely respond. I walk away from him, storm into the house and slam the door behind me. Seeing him right now is not an option for me. I peep out the window. He’s still standing there, sulking and looking miserable. I remember back in the day when we were together, if I would have played him like this, he would’ve cursed me out and tried to slap the shit out of me; it would have been seen as totally disrespecting him. Now he’s acting like a straight-up pussy. Damn, is his heart really that broken from our break-up? He’s the one who felt we should be separated for a while because he wanted to fuck with other bitches.

My moms comes into the living room. “Jakim came by for you last night,” she says.

“I know.”

She sees me staring at him through the window. She gives me an unpleasant look and goes back to her business. Then my Aunt Tina comes out in her robe. “Jakim came looking for you last night.”

“I know!” I spit.

“Well, damn…you need to give the niggah some pussy. You can’t be letting your man starve out there. He’ll go eat somewhere else,” she warns.

“He’s not my man; he’s my ex—get it straight!”

“You get it straight, bitch! You keep teasing his head like that and he’ll bite you and go find comfort somewhere else,” she continues.

What the fuck does she know? Aunt Tina can’t hold down a man her damn self. And she can’t keep her legs closed long enough to be in my business. She got dumped three times this year.

I walk to my room, peel off my clothing and then go and take a long, hot shower. Tyrone calls me before nightfall. He wants to see me. Damn, I just came from his crib. He apologizes for skipping out on me earlier. He says he had to take care of some business. I tell him that I’ll see him tomorrow. I’m tired and not leaving this house any time soon. I need some rest. He’s pretty upset. He wants to finish what we started earlier. It’s tempting, but I tell him no and that’s that.

Sasha gives me a call around ten. She tells me that she just found out about a party tonight, and she wants me to come along so she won’t have to roll alone with Cell and his friend. I tell her no. I don’t go out with muthafuckas I’ve never seen or met before. Next thing you know, you’re going out with a big, black, nasty, toothless muthafucka who thinks he’s all that and wants to stay trying to get up in your drawers. She begs and pleads, and says that his friend is real cute. But if a bitch is that desperate, she’ll say anything about the next guy just to have you tagging along.

Cell is the same bouncer who helped us get in the club a few weeks back after Sasha offered him that favor later on. And she did grant it, she tells me. They went out to his truck in the parking lot, and she sucked him off real good. She said for a big dude, his dick didn’t match the rest of his body. He was feeling her so much afterwards, that he passed her his home and cell-phone numbers and begged her to call. She gave him her number as well, and she actually did call him.

“Why?” I ask.

“That niggah might have a small dick, but his tongue is wicked!” That’s her. I personally like for a man to come with the full package.

After listening to her beg, plead and say that she’ll owe me, I give in. She says she’ll be at my crib in an hour. She’s lucky she’s my girl.

I go over to my closet and look for something to wear—a closet full of clothes, and I can’t decide what to put on tonight. I throw on my animal print mini skirt, black stockings, a black, low-cut, keyhole-neck top with flare sleeves and my ankle strapped black pumps. As usual, I’m careful to apply just the right make-up and the right amount of perfume; you never know whether or not you’ll meet a cutie at the club. I look at myself in the mirror. I’m looking too fine.

About an hour later, I hear a horn blowing outside. It has to be Sasha. I walk to the door, open it and see her standing outside. A white Escalade is parked in front of my house. I see two silhouettes in the truck. “You ready?” she asks.

“I see you came early this time,” I say looking at her outfit. She’s wearing a very tight, blue, strapless stretch Ottoman dress and blue pumps.

I pull her into the house, and the first thing I say is, “Got-damn, girl. Where did you get that stink, tight, hoochie mama dress? You look like a fucking tramp.”

“Yeah, but Cell thinks it’s cool. G-i-r-r-l, he got money. He took me out to his crib in Long Island. That muthafucka got a four-bedroom house with a swimming pool in the back.”

“You fucked him already, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, he got a little piece of it.”

“Damn….”

Before I’m able to say anything else, she hits me with, “You can’t say shit, Shana. I’m not the one fucking my ex’s best friend. You wrong, bitch!”

“I’m wrong? I’m looking out for you tonight. Don’t forget that,” I add. “I don’t know why….”

“His friend was asking about you. He wants to meet you and shit.”

“What? I don’t even know his friend…Sasha you run your mouth too fucking much,” I tell her.

“I ain’t said shit about you to him; Cell was bragging his mouth off about you. Then he put me on the spot, asking me to hook his friend up with you.”

“Is he cute?” I ask with much concern.

“He’s cool,” she says, sounding not so assuring.

“Ill! I got a fucking pit bull waiting for me outside, right?”

“No! Go chat with him…homeboy pushin’ a Lexus,” she adds.

I want to turn away from this so-called, double-blind date Sasha’s planned. I know he’s ugly just from the tone of her voice when she described him to me; she didn’t sound so excited about the guy. But I’m a woman of my word, and I promised to come with her.

We walk out together toward the truck. I desperately try to see inside the window, to get a better glance at my doomed blind date. “Promise to be nice to him, Shana,” Sasha pleads. But that’s a promise I know I can’t keep; if he doesn’t attract me, why be nice? I believe in getting shit out the way fast, let a brotha know the situation between him and me: I’m not interested! Plain and simple.

As we get closer to the truck, Cell steps out from the driver’s side and walks up to the both of us. Ee-ill…he looks different from the other night. I didn’t realize that he was so ugly up close in good light. His face looks fat and swollen, and his lips protrude more than I thought they did—especially the bottom one. He has a weak fade and his gear is totally off balance; he’s wearing black slacks, alligator shoes and a tight, bright yellow, muscle shirt. Muscle shirts are not sexy!

His arms are large, but so is his gut. And to think, Sasha actually gave him some head and fucked him. “How you doing?” he asks. His voice is loud and raspy, and he sounds retarded. He stares at me, making me feel uncomfortable.

A few seconds later, his friend steps out from the back seat of the truck. He looks even worse. His eyes are big like a fucking bug’s, and he has an unattractive, scruffy goatee. His lips are chapped and his hair is braided in tiny twists, which make his head look deformed and weird. He has a shiny, gold tooth in the right corner of his mouth and a thick, gold rope chain hangs from around his neck. They’re so played out. He also has the nerve to be wearing a bright orange shirt with the collar flipped up, like he’s Elvis, and a pair of cream-colored khaki pants. I want to throw up!

He introduces himself as Jimmy, and he extends his hand. I stand there and just look at him. I’m not shaking his hand. I don’t want to touch him. I look over at Sasha. She knows the deal. I want to strangle her for hooking me up with some horrendous looking shit like him. I don’t want to be seen anywhere in public with him.

“What the fuck is that?” I whisper in her ear after pulling her to the side.

“Jimmy…”

“I’m not going out. Shit, I don’t even wanna be seen with him. That niggah is so ugly I’m about to throw up,” I warn.

“C’mon, Shana, just chill. You ain’t gotta fuck him; just keep him company. He’s a nice guy.”

Now, she knows better. As much as we be hanging out together and dissing ugly muthafuckas like him…is her mind warped? Cell and his friend look like something out of Swamp Thing.

She pleads and begs, but I refuse to give in. Fuck a promise. He makes me shiver every time I turn around and look at him…he’s just so ugly. Cell and Jimmy stand next to the truck, talking and waiting. Sasha goes as far as offering me fifty dollars. Then she offers me a hundred. I agree to the hundred, and she slips it to me on the low. I take a deep breath, exhale and walk back over to the truck.

“Y’all ready?” Cell asks.

“Yeah, we’re cool,” Sasha says.

Jimmy—Mr. Too Ugly—tries to be a gentleman and opens the passenger door for me. I give him a nasty look and let myself in through the other door. Cell looks back at me and then over at Sasha. Jimmy enters the truck last and manages to smile at me. I sit as close to the door as I can.

Cell suggests that we go out to this nightclub in Brooklyn called The Jackpot. It’s becoming one of the more popular night spots. He has friends there that will let us all in for free—no long lines, no waiting. I outright refuse to go; the Jackpot is a well-known spot. Everybody goes there, and I do mean everybody. Unfortunately, my refusal is overruled by a three-to-one vote.

Mr. Too Ugly is trying to make conversation. He keeps glancing over at me and smiling. “You go to school?” he asks. His voice and speech are so ugly. I ignore him and just stare out the window. Sasha looks back at me, and I give her a counterfeit smile, while thinking, yeah bitch, you’re gonna get yours. “You got a man?” Mr. Too Ugly is still smiling and trying to be friendly. I go on ignoring him, asking Cell to turn up the radio a little. As I continue staring out the window, I can feel his eyes trying to undress me. It gives me goose bumps, just thinking about him seeing me naked. “You’re so beautiful.”

I don’t respond. He tries to put his hand on my knee. I turn and glare at him like he’s crazy, and I quickly smack it away. “Don’t touch me,” I say in a harsh tone.

Sasha and Cell are chillin’ up front, while I’m in the back seat trying to tame a wild animal.

“You don’t speak?” he asks.

“Only if interested,” I spit back.

I’ve already said six words too many to him. Why me? Mr. Too Ugly starts making conversation with his boy up front. I guess he’s beginning to get the picture. I cross my legs and try to isolate myself from everyone in the truck as much as I can. As soon as we get to the club, I’m ditching Sasha, Cell and The Creature From the Black Lagoon.

We pull up in front of the club. There are so many people outside it looks like the Grammys. I’m so embarrassed. I can’t be seen with him—not in this fucking lifetime. Cell parks the car and everyone gets out except me.

“C’mon, Shana,” Sasha says.

Cell and Jimmy look at me, and I catch a serious attitude.

“What’s up with your girl?” Cell asks Sasha.

“Shana, what’s the matter? You coming or what?”

“What the fuck do you mean, what’s the matter? You know what the deal is, bitch,” I protest.

Sasha’s face tightens and her eyes become slits. Cell and Jimmy look at each other and then glance back at me. “I think y’all two ladies need to sort this out in private. Jimmy and I will be standing at the corner,” Cell says. They walk slowly toward the corner, and Sasha’s focus is now totally on me.

“Get the fuck out the car, bitch!” she snaps.

“I know you not about to trip!” I bark.

“No, I’m not gonna trip, but why the fuck you gotta be embarrassing me like this? All I’m asking is for you to just keep him company. You act like I want you to give him the world, bitch. You can keep your stingy pussy to yourself.”

I don’t say anything back to Sasha; I just stare at her and slowly step out of the truck. She looks at me and walks away. I follow her. Cell and Jimmy are at the corner waiting for us. When we get to the corner, Sasha walks off with Cell and Jimmy remains standing there. He’s still smiling, and it’s getting on my damn nerves. I want to smack that fucking disgusting grin off his face. I guess he’s expecting to walk side-by-side with me into the club. But I just hurry by him and catch up with Cell and Sasha. We get in with no problem. I turn slightly around, and there’s Mr. Too Ugly, already breathing down the back of my neck. I move away.

The Jackpot is jam-packed. And of course, the deejay just so happens to be playing It’s A Groove Thang by Zhane. This was my jam back in the day. I start dancing and grooving, and then I feel this figure pushing up behind me, grinding against me. I turn around, and I see Mr. Too Ugly again. I quickly stop dancing and walk away; he done fucked up my flow now. He follows me and asks, “Can I buy you a drink?”

“No!” I shout. I continue to try my best to get the fuck away from him. I can’t be seen with him up in here; there are too many cuties around. He tries to follow me, but I evade him by sneaking into the women’s bathroom. I’m getting frustrated. I can’t get my party on with this ugly muthafucka following me around all night. And shit, no matter how nasty and rude I am to him, he still doesn’t get the picture. Maybe he really is slow or retarded.

I lay low in the bathroom for about five minutes before heading back out to the party. I’m just not feeling it anymore. I know that once that ugly muthafucka sees me, he’s going to start hounding me again. And if he does, I’ve decided that I’m gonna curse him out so dirty and nasty and embarrass him in front of everyone in the club. I bet he’ll finally get the hint then. He doesn’t know who he’s fucking with…but the club is so crowded I might not run into him again.

I go to the bar and order myself a drink. Maybe I should’ve let him buy me one; at least he would have been good for something. But it wouldn’t have been worth it; he would have probably thought that I was starting to like him.

The deejay is definitely doing his thing—one nice jam after another. Right now he’s playing Cream by Wu Tang Clan. Them my niggahs right there. The cutest and illest one—to me—is my niggah, Method Man.

I feel somebody’s hand grab my arm from behind. I think it’s Mr. Too Ugly, so I turn around and prepare to smack him, but I see a light-skinned cutie with baby brown eyes and braids instead.

“How you doing, love?” he asks.

“Fine.” He’s more flamboyant than rough, but he’s still cute. We make our way to the dance floor, where he pulls me in front of him and starts grinding up on me. I can feel his dick getting hard in his slacks. It’s poking me repeatedly in the butt, and it’s starting to get annoying. I continue to dance with him, but when he squats down and tries to feel my crotch through my skirt, I proceed to put him in check. I grab his nuts tightly and make a fist, squeezing the living shit out of them.

“Niggah, don’t you ever disrespect my wonderful body like that ever again! You don’t fucking know me to be trying to feel me up. I should rip your fucking balls off right now!”

A few people are laughing and pointing, and others just watch. Homeboy’s eyes start to tear up as I continue to squeeze his nuts. I finally let them go and he falls to his knees, clutching his hands between his legs. Every male in the club gets the message: I’m nothing to play with.

I return to the bar and order a Long Island Ice Tea. A few men gape at me as I sip my drink. I know they want to approach me, but after that little incident on the dance floor, they’re probably feeling hesitant. It’s cool. I’m not in the mood for any more negative male attention anyway; after dealing with Mr. Too Ugly and Mr. Touchy Feely, my need for male company has disappeared.

I continue to drink and chill at the bar. I see Sasha with Cell on the dance floor. She’s feeling all over him. There’s no shame in her game. The bartender’s smiling at me as he serves me my fourth free drink. Still, I’m not interested; he’s too beefy for me. I like a brotha who’s slim and cut up with a nice, long dick, smooth skin, good hair and a nice butt. He also has to have a good job—or at least some kind of income and a little integrity to go with it. The man has got to respect himself, and he definitely has to respect me. He must know that I’m not a sex toy, somewhere to stick his dick. If a good man treats me with respect and dignity, then I’ll treat him like he’s my world. I’ll do anything in my power to satisfy him and take care of him, as long as he is willing to do the same for me. My pussy would always be open and willing to receive him.

I look at the time. It’s a quarter to eleven and I’m getting restless and bored, even though I’m still receiving free drinks. The club is getting overcrowded, and the cuties are becoming less interesting to me. I don’t want to be touched or approached by anyone. I’m feeling a little tipsy, and I’m not in the mood for stupidity. The deejay throws on Doo Doo Brown by Luke, a former 2 Live Crew member, and the whole club goes crazy. Everyone starts rubbing and grinding on each other. There’s sweating and bumping, and girls are hiking up their skirts. I can’t front; every time I hear this jam, I want to get my grind on and feel up on a niggah, too—especially a really cute one.

Some niggah abruptly grabs me by the arm, indicating for me to follow him into the crowd. I tell him no; you just don’t be pulling on me like I’m some fuckin’ rope. I give him a nasty glare. He gets the hint. Now I’m feeling another niggah close up behind me, pushing his pelvis into me. Damn, his dick is already hard. I turn around. It’s Mr. Too Ugly! Oh, my god! No, he didn’t. I’m so angry that I shove his ugly ass, pushing him into another girl, who falls into some guy. Mr. Too Ugly looks embarrassed, but I really don’t give a fuck at all how he feels at this point. You just don’t be pushing your nasty self up against me like that. He’s brazen; I give him that.

Bitches start to stare. I stare back. I’ll scratch out every last one of these bitch’s eyes up in this club. I make my way back to the ladies bathroom. Sasha comes in behind me, pulling down her stink hoochie dress.

“What’s the matter, Shana?” she asks me, like she doesn’t already know.

“Nothing!” I tell her while fixing my hair. I have no words for her for the rest of the night.

Other bitches start coming into the bathroom, whispering amongst each other and staring hard at me. I know they’re saying dirty things. “If y’all bitches got anything nasty to say about me, come say it to my fucking face! I’ll bring it to any one of y’all fake bitches up in here!” I shout.

They all just look, but none of them has the courage to say anything. I throw up my middle finger and go on with my business. Sasha scowls at me and gives me attitude. She walks out to go back and tend to her dilly ass man. If she wants to act up, she can get it, too.

After checking myself in the mirror, I leave the bathroom. My temper and attitude is on high volume. I look hard at every niggah and bitch who pass my way. It’s definitely time for me to leave, but Cell is my only ride. And I’m not trying to hitchhike with some perverted, no-pussy- gettin’ niggah, who thinks just because I’m riding in his car he has the right to put his hands all over me.

I approach Sasha at around two a.m. She’s dancing and hugging up on Cell, and I pull her to the side, away from him. “I’m ready to go,” I tell her.

“Don’t be pulling on me,” she spits. We’ve both gotten on each other’s nerves tonight. I can see in her face that she wants to fuck me up for having been such a bitch. But she knows better. “I’ll see if Cell’s ready, bitch!” she says harshly. Fuck her, too.

Mr. Too Ugly appears. He’s so embarrassed that he can’t even look at me. I laugh and walk away from him. I go back to the bar, and the bartender slips me another free drink, but this time he also gives me his number written on a napkin. I give him a little smile, and then I crumble it up and drop it to the floor when he turns away.

We finally prepare to leave the club at two-thirty. On the way out, Cell stops and gives everyone he knows dap and chats for a few seconds here and there. He must think he’s the fucking man because he was able to get us in here for free. I have to laugh. We all pile in his truck and leave. Mr. Too Ugly finally got the hint; he doesn’t say a word to me. He doesn’t even look at me. Unable to take it anymore, I look over at him and ask, “Why are you so ugly?” He still doesn’t give me eye contact. Sasha knows she wants to laugh, but she never looks back at me.

“Yo, why you trying to play my man out like that?” Cell asks defending his friend.

“Ain’t nobody trying to play your man out. He played himself out thinking he could get with me,” I reply. It’s on now. I’m about to rank on the both of them. They ruined my night, so now I’m about to ruin theirs. “Look at your man. He would never see my pussy, no matter how hard he tried,” I say laughing.

“You think you’re all that! You ain’t nothing but a stuck-up, stink-ass bitch!” Cell says.

“Niggah, don’t get jealous because you’re not sniffing it, too. I don’t even know why Sasha is with your ugly ass.”

“Shana, chill,” Sasha pleads.

“Bitch, you need to chill—or wake up! I’ve seen you date much better looking guys than him. That niggah look like a fucking spider monkey! He tryin’ to be sexy in that tight, banana-looking muscle shirt. How you gonna wear a muscle shirt with a gut big as yours?” I say to Cell.

“Fuck you, bitch!” he shouts.

“Yeah, you wish…don’t get mad when you know I speak the truth.”

Cell quickly makes a short stop at the light; he almost ran it arguing with me. I jerk forward. So does everyone else in the truck. Mr. Too Ugly just sits there in silence. Shit, not only is he ugly, but he lets me dis him in front of his man. If you’re gonna be ugly, at least have heart, be a man and stand up for yourself. I knew he was pussy.

“Yo, Sasha, I’m about to throw that fake bitch out of my car,” Cell warns.

“Fake bitch! Niggah, you need not talk, with your tight little dick,” I say, throwing up my small pinky and wiggling it high for him to see.

“What?” he says stunned.

“All that gut and a penis lost somewhere under it,” I add to the insult.

“Fuck y’all bitches!” he says looking directly at Sasha.

I look over at Mr. Too Ugly and see him crying and staring out the window. This niggah is pitiful.

“Take me home, you fat, small-dick, no-pussy-gettin’, stink-ass niggah!” I say to him. Sasha tries to put her two cents in, but Cell curses her out. That leads to an argument. Jimmy remains quiet in the corner.

The ride home is full of insults. Sasha and I are arguing with each other, too, now. The shit gets so crazy, and this punk niggah kicks me out of his truck and tells my ass to walk home. Sasha doesn’t even stand up for a sista; she continues to sit there in the front seat and lets the niggah put me out of his truck. But I don’t stress it. Fuck that bitch!

Two days later, Sasha and I have it out in front of my crib. She comes banging on my door in the early afternoon talking nonsense. She has the nerve to say I disrespected her. I disrespected her? I’m pissed. She’s the one who disrespected me. And she knows my standards. She knows the type of guys I prefer and fuck, so how the fuck she gonna get mad after hooking me up with some wildebeest? Every day we make fun of niggahs like Jimmy, trashing ‘em and dissin’ ‘em...and she had the nerve to bring one to my front door, talkin’ ‘bout he’s cool. Then she says I embarrassed her in front of Cell. Bitch! Who is Cell supposed to be first of all? He’s nobody—just some fool whose dick she sucked to get into a club.

Next thing I know, she’s up on me screaming and yelling, arms flailing like she wants to take a swing at me. Then I get up in her face, and that sets the beef off right there. I punch the bitch in her face and grip her firmly by her hair as we wrestle each other to the ground. I continue punching her in the face, and then we scratch and tear at each other. It seems like the whole neighborhood has come out, crowding around us to watch. “Yo, ain’t they best friends?” I hear someone in the crowd ask.

I’m wearing a pair of Sean John jeans and a blue Gap T-shirt. My Nikes are laced up tight, and my hair is swept up in a ponytail; so it’s hard for her to get at it. But her hair is loose, hanging down past her shoulders. I yank it, snapping the bitch’s neck back. Her nose starts to bleed, and I pin her to the ground and hit her some more.

“Stupid bitch!” I scream out. Sasha’s smaller, and I’m stronger, wilder and faster than she is. Nobody attempts to break up the fight until blood is drawn; somebody comes up and grabs me from behind, pulling me off of Sasha. A few niggahs cop a feel on me as we’re broken apart, but I think nothing of it. Now a few people are holding each of us as we threaten and curse at one other.

“You gonna get yours, bitch!” Sasha repeatedly shouts.

“Fuck you!” I reply.

“Get the fuck off me!” she yells. “I’m gonna kill that stupid bitch!” People continue to hold us back, keeping us from tearing into one another. I struggle fiercely, trying to free myself.

“Take her home!” I hear a woman shout. I see a man carrying her off my lawn and into the streets. He drags her down my block as she continues to curse and holler at me. Her car is still parked in front of my house. I hope she leaves it there; I guarantee that her shit will be demolished by tomorrow morning. But, oh well…someone got a hold of her keys and they drive her car down the block to where she’s being dragged away to.

“Stupid bitch!” I scream out one last time before going into my house mad and heated, slamming my door shut.

I look in the mirror and notice that the bitch scratched me over my right eye. Then I look out my window and see a crowd still standing out front, excited over what just happened. Some are even playing out how it all went down. I close my blinds and go to my room. Damn, she was my homegirl, one of my best friends. Now we’re against each other over some silliness.

Nighttime comes, and I cry myself to sleep.