Читать книгу All The Wrong Places - G.I.F.T.D - Страница 7

Harlots

Boon rushed out of Yo’s house in a rage. He had always possessed the ability to think clearly under pressure. He ran up the stairs, as if something or someone had been chasing him. But why? He hadn’t done anything wrong. All he did was go to get some bud, and then caught his very recent ex-girlfriend with a nigga who was supposed to be his homie. Boon got back to his loft, knowing that he had deserved none of the shit that was happening to him. He went to his room and sat on his bed.

“Fuckin’ bitch! Triflin’-ass bitch!” he screamed.

As Boon reached for the last of a blunt he had lying in the ashtray on his nightstand, he tried making himself believe he did not care about Mela anyway. It had only been six months; and besides, she didn’t give a fuck about him. The self-convincing didn’t work. Boon lit the blunt and took a long pull on it. That ho looked me dead in my face, he thought, as he exhaled a big cloud of weed smoke from his lungs.

Boon stared off into space, as the pornography from Johan’s room played in his head. He saw her making faces that she normally made with him. She’d never talked dirty for Boon the way she was doing for Yo.

“I just don’t fuckin’ get it,” Boon said, as he sat the blunt roach in the ashtray to let it burn out.

He got up to grab a beer from the fridge and tripped over his footlocker that was open on the floor.

“Fuck!” he yelled, grabbing his toe on the way to the kitchen.

He got even more pissed when he got to the living room and saw the candles nearly burned out and the bottle of Merlot sweating on the coffee table.

“All this Romeo shit for a Jezebel,” he chuckled, as he grabbed a Red Stripe out of the fridge.

When he looked at the beer, he thought about Yo.

“That bitch-ass nigga! Smilin’ in my face, chillin’ in my shit, and drinkin’ with me. And gon’ fuck my bitch!” Boon was getting in his feelings again.

She ain’t my bitch no more though, he thought. I wonder if that’s who the fuck he was on the phone wit’ earlier. He blew out the candles and went back to his bedroom.

Boon woke up with all of his clothes on - even his shoes. He jumped up, as if he was running late for something, even though he was not due back at work or class for two more days. He was used to Mela waking him up to go have breakfast. He slowly came to his senses and the realization that he and Mela were no more. Boon got up to shower and brush the horrid taste from his mouth. Just as he did the night before, he tripped over his footlocker.

“You want me to look in there, huh?” he said aloud, as he stared at his throbbing foot.

He sat the footlocker on the bed and went to the bathroom to clean himself up. He planned to see why his feet seemed so interested in that damn metal box, after his shower.

Boon felt a bit fresher after his shower, even with last night’s transgressions still fresh on his mind. He wrapped a towel around himself and went to sit on his bed. Right there, he poured the contents of the footlocker out. He heard his stomach growl and realized that, in the midst of the madness, he had skipped dinner.

He was thinking of ordering some hot wings and fries. “Where the hell is my phone?” he wondered, aloud. He found it in the living room on the coffee table, next to the bottle of warm Merlot. Boon grabbed his phone and twisted his lips, as he looked at the bottle. Bitch, he thought, walking back to his room.

His cell was dead, so he put it on the charger. He grabbed a pair of silk, Michael Kors boxers out of his drawer, along with a plain T-shirt, and put them on. Then, he slid on some True Religion blue jeans. Before he could find a sweatshirt to put on, he heard his phone buzz and sing a brief melody to notify him that it had powered on. Before he could get close enough to grab it, he heard Meek Mill’s “Ooh Kill ‘Em” start and stop, at least five times. It meant he had a few unread texts. When he did pick the phone up, he saw that he actually had six, unread texts, two missed calls, and one voice message.

Missed calls first, he thought, uncertain as to why he was nervous. The first one was from Johan at 11:40 p.m. The other missed call was from none other than Mela. Bitch. The call registered at exactly 12:21 a.m. Voicemail next.

“Boon, it’s Yo. I see I missed ya calls earlier. I was…a little busy, my nigga. I still got that li’l package for you. Hit me up when you get this.” Boon couldn’t erase that shit fast enough.

Now for the texts. Message number one was from a co-worker named Damian Little.

Damian: Marshall wants files from the Woodard case on Wednesday.

Boon had already taken care of them. He only needed to turn them in. The next three messages were from Boon’s oldest brother, Donovan. All of Donovan’s messages were to remind Boon of their mom’s surprise party in Las Vegas next weekend. Every year since Boon graduated college, he and his siblings threw their mom a surprise party somewhere different. Boon chose Vegas this year. The last two messages were from Mela.

Mela: I saw u see me and I’m ashamed. As a woman and as your ex. Plz forgive me and let me make it up 2 u

It had Boon rather taken aback and uncertain as to how he should react.

Mela: I still have my key, Boon. Will you be there at 9 p.m. sharp? Plz say u still want me…

Boon was confused, but didn’t respond to Mela or Yo’s messages. Instead, he texted Damian, “done”, as it pertained to the Woodard case files and then texted Donovan.

Boon: Cool. see u guys at Mom’s Friday.

He stuffed the contents from the footlocker back in it, locked it, and slid it back under his bed. He was hungry, horny, and heavy with confusion. A couple jalapeño dogs, a large Coke, and some chili fries should do the trick, he thought, as he rushed to put on a sweatshirt, coat, scarf, and skully. Chicago was colder than a hooker’s heart in winter. He grabbed his phone and keys and headed down to his car.

Boon pulled out of the covered parking garage, after warming up his 2013 Dodge Challenger. It was fire engine red, with a deep cherry red interior, 24-inch Forges, and three 12’s in the trunk. He put on his Rich Homie Quan CD and went to search for those hot dogs. Boon looked in his rearview and saw himself in the mirror. “Boy, you know you can do better than these ratchet-ass hoes,” he said to his reflection, as he slid through traffic. Finally, he found a hot dog stand that didn’t have an outrageous waiting line and pulled up. There were only four people in front of him, and one of them had ordered and was already paying for their food.

“I’d rather be with you, yeaa…” his phone began to ring, and of course, it was Mela. He sent her to voicemail.

“What you know about that, young blood?” asked the Sherman Helmsley look-alike in front of Boon.

“Plenty. I wish I didn’t right now, though.” Really, I think it’s time for a new city, he thought, as it was his turn to step up and order. “Lemme get three jalapeño and chili dogs, large fries, and large Coke.” Boon could really eat about four or five dogs right now, but he didn’t want the gas behind it.

“Nice car. When can I ride wit’ you?” asked the pretty girl who took his order.

“Lemme think about it,” he replied.

Minutes later, his food was ready and he stepped up to get it. “$8.65, sir,” the pretty cashier said.

Boon handed her a 20. “Keep the change.” He headed for the car.

“You thought about it yet?” the cashier asked, as he fumbled with the car keys.

“I’m good. You woulda been on some mo’ shit if I didn’t have this car,” he said, as he got in and headed home. Mela had called at least three more times, since he had ordered his food. I’ma change that ringtone when I get home.

Boon successfully changed Mela’s ringtone to Future’s “These Bitches Ain’t Shit”, ate all of his food and had his brother, Drakus, bring him an ounce of Kush from K-Town, on the West Side of Chicago. Boon studied for an hour after he’d eaten, smoked a blunt, and was watching Friday After Next in his bedroom until he fell asleep. For the umpteenth time, he dreamt of his high school sweetheart, Curelle Dorsey, whom everybody called CiCi. In his dreams, Boon always romanced and flattered CiCi, but he never had sex with her in them or in reality.

In this particular dream though, CiCi had kissed Boon from his lips to his length. It felt all too real. “Ooh shit,” he felt a moan escape him. CiCi was full-fledge bobbing now, and it was waking Boon from his sleep; it was that good. However, he wasn’t sleep anymore, but the feeling didn’t stop. “Oh fuck…” he groaned, as he looked down to find the source of the great warmth damn near swallowing his penis.

“Mmm,” Mela moaned, as she relentlessly sucked Boon’s manhood.

“Oh shit, girl. Oh, I’m ‘bout to…oh fuuuck!” Mela kept sucking, as Boon’s juice spewed into her mouth. Boon’s whole body jerked, as she did the one thing she swore she would never do—swallow. Boon was fighting fatigue, but would soon lose and fall fast asleep.

“Ooh… kill ‘em, Ooh… kill ‘em!” Meek Mill rapped and made Boon jump up from his sleep. He knew he had been awakened this morning once before, but he’d gone back to sleep. But for how long? He grabbed his phone to read the incoming text.

Mela: I deserved the new ringtone. Bt u gonna miss me more than I’ma miss u. Bet that.

Man, this ho deranged. He started to text back and chump the bitch off, but instead, he hit her with something different.

Boon: Yeah, but until then, lemme get my key tho’

Boon was glad to have dreamed about CiCi, but damn, Mela could suck a watermelon through a water hose. He got up off the bed and grabbed his footlocker from under it. Now, finally, he’d go through the box.

He dumped the box’s contents on his bed and sat the box on the floor. There were five, different Ziploc bags; one for each girlfriend past. He separated them in sequential order, starting with Mela’s duck-ass, and working his way backwards. He didn’t want to think about that slut right now, so he moved her pictures and memories to the side.

The first picture was of Tatiyana “Taz” Lopes. She was by far the most beautiful, as well as the vainest of his exes. She was Puerto Rican and black, 5’3, 135 pounds, high yellow, and had green eyes. Boon was looking at a picture of him and her kissing at Mardi Gras 2011 in New Orleans. Tatiyana got her nickname, Taz, from being crazy and fighting a lot throughout middle and high school. Tatiyana left Boon, three months before graduation, to be with a star, NFL cornerback named Todd Cambridge. She told Boon, “When your money get as long as his, hit me up.” All I got was some pussy, Boon thought. He tossed her Ziploc aside.

The next bag he came to had ultrasound pictures in it, and instantly made Boon irate. “This ho!” he gritted.

The contents of that bag belonged to Zora “Zo” Tucker from Hartford, Connecticut. Zora was the only white girl Boon had dated exclusively, but she looked like Carmen Electra, and everybody wanted her. She had full lips and big, perky breasts. The crazy part was that she had a black girl’s ass. She and Boon spent a great deal of time together, but Boon played basketball and spent a great deal of time away from Chicago. Zora and Boon were expecting a son to be born in August of 2010. Donovan and Drakus talked Boon into getting a DNA test on the baby boy, because they truthfully didn’t like the idea of their brother being in a relationship with a white girl. When baby Daniel’s DNA test proved Boon was not the father, he left the hospital, disgusted, and never saw Zo again. Boon looked at his son’s ultrasound picture and anger flooded his face.

Next up, was the bag he kept for the memories of “Gia”; Ms. Giovanni Frazier. Gia was from Raleigh, North Carolina. He met her at a frat party, during his freshman year at DePaul. His roommate’s girlfriend and Gia were roommates. She was timid and not used to being away from home. She liked Boon and his sense of humor. Boon liked her body, her tattoos, and that she would go all the way when you closed the door. She often went back to visit her family in North Carolina; and during one of those visits, she was on the phone with Boon when her ex-boyfriend, Shyne, came over.

“Boon, I’ma call you back in a minute,” she said, but somehow didn’t hang up the phone. Boon stayed on the line and heard the whole, 24-minute, sex session they had. By the time she got back, Boon had sexed two of her sorority sisters and Gia transferred to UNC-Asheville the next semester.

Ebony “Lil” Charles was the smallest of Boon’s exes. She was only 4’11, but was stacked. Big ass, big titties, and she could dance like no other. She was from Cabrini Green, just Northwest of Downtown Chicago. Boon rushed into the relationship with Lil, because the girlfriend he’d left wouldn’t have sex. Lil definitely put out; in fact, it was the reason Boon left her. He caught her at a party, getting a train run on her by at least six of the players on Simeon’s football team. Boon was the laughingstock of his senior class.

That brought him to the last bag, reserved for “CiCi”, Boon’s favorite girl. Boon had tried to be her boyfriend since 7th grade and she had turned him down until 10th grade. In 10th and 11th grade, they were voted as Simeon High School’s “cutest couple”. They were prom King and Queen their junior year, and they both were scholars.

Curelle was 5’7 and weighed about 170 pounds. She was dark-skinned and thick. All the guys were jealous of Boon because they wanted CiCi. She told Boon he would be her first, but not until graduation day. Boon didn’t make it; he broke her heart by breaking up with her to be with Lil, all because Lil would sex him when he wanted it. He and CiCi were still great friends, but she said she couldn’t trust him with her love anymore. “And now, every bitch I want, want every nigga but me,” Boon said aloud. Bunch of harlots.