Читать книгу Kismet 3 - Raynesha Pittman - Страница 9

Chapter Two

Never Saw It Coming

We made it home before the sun ducked off and let the moon do its thing in the sky. It wasn’t quite sunset yet, but the redness of the day was beginning to turn burgundy, and it would only get darker. It couldn’t have been a better time of day to start pleasing season. I had enough daylight left to get home and unwind with some foreplay before breaking Savannah’s back in. I was ready to consummate my renewed relationship. I left all the bullshit that happened at the hotel back at the hotel. I wasn’t going to bring that shit home with me.

When Savannah jumped in her car, and I got in mines, that Royce and Trisha shit was over with. I didn’t know how Savannah felt about it, but I was done with it. While she drove home thinking about the money she lost, my mind was on my passenger. I wasn’t in my ride alone. I was accompanied by freaky thoughts that made my dick harder than steel. He was ready to tear through my boxers and bust out of my pants to get inside of Savannah. I tried not to listen to him, but he was begging me to free him and stroke him now. I was seconds away from turning into one of them perverted niggas you hear about on the news. I thought about just stroking him enough to calm his overly hyped ass down, but that would only make things worse. We were out in public. I couldn’t just pull him out and stroke him like the shit was normal. I was sitting in traffic on a busy Saturday evening with cars to the left and right of me. I wouldn’t fall for his foolishness. Instead, I grabbed his hardheaded ass through my pants and mumbled, “Look, nigga, you gotta wait.”

We had no choice but to wait because we both wanted to feel Savannah’s warmth wrapped around us. I didn’t like stroking my own shit, and he wasn’t that fond of my touch. I only did it when it was necessary, and now wasn’t one of them times. I was ten minutes away from the house; then we’d get some pussy.

Savannah didn’t know it yet, but she was in trouble—in a good way. I was ready to give her all of me after all this time of just giving her enough of me. She didn’t deserve the piping I’m capable of giving her until now. If she thought she couldn’t handle what I’d been giving her in the past, there was nothing she could do to prepare for what she’s got coming. I pushed my foot on the gas and cut over to the far right lane so I could be parallel to Savannah’s car at the red light. When she looked my way, I rolled my window down, and she did the same.

“Stop driving like a granny and hit the gas, baby. I got something to give you when we get home.” As the words came out of my mouth, the pounding in my pants got worse.

“What’cha got for me, Dre?”

Her question made her right eyebrow lift, and her eyes slant. Damn, my baby is sexy. I could’ve eaten her ass up at the light, but it quickly changed from red to green. If she hadn’t hit the gas at the change of the signal, she would have heard me say, “This dick.” I had to rub my pants before following her lead.

When she pulled in our driveway, I pulled in and parked right behind her, blocking her car in. She wouldn’t be going anywhere anyway, at least not anytime soon. She got out of her car and smiled at me. I’m sure she didn’t mean for it to be a sexy smile, but that’s the way my dick convinced my brain to perceive it. I jumped out of mine, raced up the walkway behind her, and attacked Savannah before she could get her key out of the door.

“What are you doing, Dre?” Savannah said, laughing as I came up behind her and started nibbling on her neck.

“What does it feel like I’m doing?” I pressed the zipper area of my pants against her butt so she could feel my words, then said, “I told you I had something for you,” as I laid combinations of licks and small bites on the back of her neck.

“It feels like you trying to start some shit; that’s what it feels like.” She moved her neck out of my mouth’s reach, then continued, “I’ve had a long day, Dre. Can I get a rain check?”

Instantly, the throbbing in my pants stopped because I knew she was right, but my hardness hadn’t gotten that memo. The head on my shoulders understood why sex would be the last thought on Savannah’s mind, but not the head in my pants. He wanted to thank her for putting us first, and sending her to ecstasy was the best form of repayment. For the first time in years, both of my heads worked together to come up with a plan of attack. I left Savannah where she stood in the living room and drew a hot bubble bath. I threw in some of that lavender salt she liked to use when she wanted to relax and lit a few candles that she kept stationery in the bathroom. When the bath was drawn, I went back to get her. She was now barefoot, curled up on the couch, flipping through a magazine.

“Come on, let me help you relax some.”

I reached out for her hands. She hesitated, then grabbed my hands and stood on her feet. I had her undress and get in the tub. Then I connected her MP3 player to the speakers in the house and played her “’90s R&B jams” playlist. The first track on the list was “Butter Love” by Next. She sang along to the tune while I sat on the rim of the tub and rolled the perfect blunt in record time. I hit it twice and passed it to her, then headed to the kitchen to pour her a glass of wine. When I made it back, Savannah’s eyes were already sitting low. I swapped the blunt for her glass and puffed away on it. I wasn’t an R&B type of guy, but I did know the hits, and Savannah seemed to have everyone playing back to back. By the time Aaron Hall and Guy were halfway finished with singing “Piece of My Love,” I was on my knees, sleeves rolled to my elbows, washing Savannah’s body with her rag. I started at her neck, then made my way slowly down to her breasts. I encircled each one with the rag, making sure to lift them to clean the crease that hid under them. I lingered around her nipples and softly touched them both with the outside of my index finger. Her nipples responded to me by standing erect.

“Dre...”

I shushed her before she continued and motioned for her to listen to the music flowing through the speakers. I didn’t know the song or the identity of the singer, but the beat was soft, and the words went perfectly with the mood I was in. I wanted to make love, and that’s what the male singer kept reciting. I rushed my way down her stomach, then released the rag to squeeze my hand in between her legs. She tightened her thighs to prevent me from entering. I didn’t like being rejected, but I accepted it and moved my hand down her leg to her foot. From right foot to the left, I messaged her feet until I noticed she had closed her eyes. I crawled back up her leg with my index and middle finger and tried to get between her thighs again. This time, they opened. I rubbed her clit for a little over a minute, then used my fingers to clean her opening and about three inches inside of her.

She purred my name and said, “I’m ready for you to get me out of this tub.”

I grabbed her black beach-sized towel off the toilet, then picked her up and carried her to our bed. Once her body was dried and oiled, it was on. I was hungry, and it was time to feast. I made a meal out of her without resting my tongue until my hunger was satisfied. I made sure that every drop of her juices was caught in my mouth. The bed wouldn’t get a taste. Since her legs were already on my shoulders, all I had to do was bend them back a little farther to slide in, and that’s exactly what I did.

I dug deep with my first few strokes. Then I moved in and out of her like I was playing a violin, slow yet meaningful. Savannah had her eyes closed and was moaning softly. That meant I was hitting her wrong. I intended to make love to her, but I was doing it as if I were apologizing or making up for my wrongdoings. I hadn’t done shit to her. I picked up my pace, and her eyes flew open. Then I beat it. For over an hour, I hit her like a drum being pounded with the palm of a hand.

“Dre!” Savannah screamed out breathlessly, still looking me in the eyes. “Did you pop a pill?”

I hadn’t popped a pill, and she ain’t never known me to pop one either. I was putting in overtime because I wanted to show my gratitude for her putting me first and to remind her whose pussy it was. I couldn’t tell her she was being rewarded, so I blew off her questioning and quieted her up by covering her mouth with my hand and whispering, “Shut up.”

She tried to move to make the beating easier on herself, but I didn’t let her. “Bring yo’ ass back over here. I ain’t done.”

I didn’t want to hear her voice unless it was in moans and screams. So, what if this was her award ceremony? I hadn’t forgotten that her creeping is what caused the shit in the first place. I flipped her over onto her stomach and pushed her legs up under her body until her thighs rested underneath her breasts. Changing the position was the only sympathy I was willing to show her. Now her butt was in the air like two mountains, and I planned on beating them down until they became hills. I know she was wondering what caused the change from sensual to a beast, but I knew the beast in me was what Savannah really liked. With my left hand, I snatched up both of her wrists like a handcuff and said, “Go ahead and bite that pillow, baby. Daddy gon’ give you what you want.”

She did as she was told with no questions asked, and I kept my word by forcefully inserting myself in and out of her like a Q-tip in an ear, twisting every time I got ready to pull out of her. I never completely removed myself from her warmth. I just pulled out far enough to cause her anxiety over my next deep dive. As she moaned her painful pleasures into the pillow, including my name, the urge to dig deeper came over me. I was in full beast mode and wanted to know how much she could really take without all of that fake moaning shit women trained themselves to do. She could save all of that “you’re too deep shit” for another sucker. Savannah was far from virginity days, and I wasn’t going to let her put on an act. Some women get in the bed and put on an Academy Award–winning show. Most of the shit they say and do in bed is rehearsed. It’s Hollywood acting at its best. They’ve either practiced with the niggas before you, or they’ve summed up what to expect from you in the first few minutes of sex. Then they act accordingly. I wasn’t about to let Savannah pull that shit on me.

Women have gotten too good at faking it. They can have a dick in them but be mentally fucking themselves. I call it mind over matter because it doesn’t matter what you are working with as long as she can use her mind to imagine it’s something better. She’ll have you thinking you’re putting in work, and the whole time, she’s counting down for you to nut and get the fuck off of her.

Bitches used to have me feeling like I was King Dick before I caught on to them. Every time I heard them moan, “It’s too big, Daddy,” “You’re in my guts, Dre!” or whatever other sounds they wanted to make to let me know I was causing damage, they had me feeling like a boss. I almost put a caution sign on my boxers. Then I realized the timing was off. I’d be about to stroke, and she’d be moaning and screaming before I even reached midstroke. Get the fuck out of here with that shit. I don’t need an ego boost. I need a good nut. Since then, I’m in and out of it like a drive-through. If she enjoys me, cool. If not, fuck it. She just better hope that she gets hers before I get mine.

I didn’t have to worry about all that acting with Savannah, though. I knew she loved my plumbing by what she didn’t say in bed, but today, she decided to be as loud as she could. I thought it was acting for a minute, but I was wrong. I had tapped into something Savannah just couldn’t handle. The deeper I went, the less she used the pillow. What once sounded like a bunch of undecipherable, smothered words now sounded like, “Aww, shit, Dre. You’re in too deep.”

Savannah voicing her limits didn’t mean shit to me. I was ready to make new limits with her. The more she complained, the deeper I went. If I were really causing her pain, I wasn’t about to stop. She deserved to feel some type of pain from me after all the shit she’d been doing. I was beginning to enjoy her yells even more. Savannah attempted to free herself from me again by crawling away, but I was stuck to her. When she climbed up the headboard, I was right there with her, constantly stroking. She was stupid if she thought I was going to stop. My stroke took no breaks even as our location moved, nor did my yearning to go deeper fade away.

“Where are you going, baby? You know you can’t run from me. Take this dick. It’s yours.”

I whispered my words in her ear again, and like a chain reaction, Savannah’s third orgasm came, leaving fluids dripping down her legs and her knees ready to buckle. Savannah had nowhere else to run. She was standing up in the bed on those unstable legs of hers with the upper half of her body pressed against the wall, and the other half jammed between me and the headboard. I continued putting in work until her legs gave way, and she fell back down to her knees. Then I prepared myself for the main event.

I let the liquid build in my mouth, then released it in a steady flow down her backside trail. She had never permitted me to enter her by her exit, but then again, I had never asked. I wasn’t into anal sex. I’m a real man. I only wanted to penetrate parts that I didn’t have, which was a pussy. I love looking at round asses, but their use in sex was only for slapping, spreading, and a place to shoot my business if I was in there raw. Penetration of it has never been a want of mine, but I could tell it was a want of Savannah’s. Her exit sat open, and I could tell by the area around it that it had been touched before. Fuck it. It hadn’t just been touched—somebody had busted it wide open. Since we were starting all over, I decided to make sure I was giving her everything she needed so cheating would be the last thought on her mind.

I didn’t know how to approach it besides what I saw in pornos, but Savannah had no problem with walking me through it. It was like all the pain she was feeling vanished as she grabbed the hand I had parked on her ass. She put my hand to her mouth and sucked on my middle and index fingers up to the knuckles. It had only been a few hours since I busted them, and even though it was now early Sunday morning, we hadn’t been out of the bed since we made it home Saturday evening. I planned to break Savannah’s back for at least forty-eight hours. Taking time away to work on my fingers wasn’t an option. The comforting feel of her soft lips on my busted knuckles healed my wounds temporarily.

Savannah then instructed me in a voice I ain’t never heard her speak in. She said, “Dre, you know where I want you to put them. Enter me slowly and then twist your fingers once you get in there.”

It was a mixture of Savannah’s “in the middle of an orgasm voice” and her “Hit me from the back, Dre” demanding tone. Her words alone almost caused me to top off, but the curiosity of what would follow kept me leveled. I did as I was told, and she kept demanding new things of me. The shit was turning me on like Savannah hadn’t done before. She was a seductress, and I was left seduced. She was bringing out the dog in me, and I was ready to mark my territory. Every time I’d ever touched Savannah, it’d been to make love or caress her body differently than them other niggas had. This was the first time I was ready to fuck Savannah like she was my bitch. I had the pink slip to her, and no one ever again in life would test-drive her. All of her demands, wants, needs, and all the other shit she was talking about got thrown out the window, and she was now a guest on Dre’s Show. She was going to get it like I wanted to give it to her, and that was that. All of her longing for different feels from different niggas was over. It was time I left her with no choice but to be loyal.

I rested all my weight on my forearm in her back until her body collapsed under me. I traced the arch of her back with my tongue as I reached both of my hands under her to grip her breasts. Her nipples felt like small boulders in my hands, but when twisted, they felt like rolling marbles. Savannah didn’t know what I was about to do, but she knew she was going to like it. The shaking in her legs told me that. I no-handed my way back inside of her and got a few more strokes in. Then I went for it. I dipped in her exit and pulled right back out of it. Instantly, I knew that anal shit wasn’t for me. Maybe I wasn’t high enough, or I should have been drunk. One thing I know for sure is that I’m leaving anal sex to them unsure or those triple-X-rated niggas and stick to head and pussy alone. The virginlike tightness of it was too much for me to stomach, and I refused to allow myself to enjoy it. I can’t picture myself craving some ass. That doesn’t even sound straight.

“Why did you stop?” She sounded pissed, and I knew the freaky bitch would, but I can’t get on that level with her. She’ll have to settle for some fingers from time to time.

“That ain’t what I want,” I said.

“But it’s what I want.”

“Naw, you ain’t had enough of this dick to know what you want yet,” I said, getting up.

I didn’t let my dislike for mining her body for coal ruin the mood. Instead, I relocated our session back to the bathroom where her MP3 player was still spitting out the hits. I hopped in the shower and told Savannah to join me. I cleaned my pipe off for some natural sex, Adam and Eve style, not that Mike and Steve shit that I had just experienced. After three pullouts to prevent my eruption, I let it go.

“Oh shit...”

It was the first time since we made Sade that I went off inside of her. My knees felt like they would snap if I didn’t sit down soon. I jumped out of the shower, water still running, body soaking wet, and lay across the foot of the bed to try to recover. Savannah wrapped us up in her towel, then straddled my limpness like a horse’s back, and we fell straight to sleep.

We didn’t wake up until Sunday night, dehydrated and hungry. I could feel it from the time I opened my eyes that something about that night just wasn’t right. It felt like I had something important to do, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I tried to ease my mind by smoking a blunt but didn’t have a cigar to roll one in. I sliced my finger with the knife cutting up vegetables for Savannah’s omelet that she later confessed she never wanted. I really should have gone to the hospital and gotten a stitch or two, but I used whatever I could find in the first aid kit.

After all of that, I got a text from my mama saying she signed Andre Jr. up to play football this year. He finally met the age requirements, and I’m on the other side of the map in Seattle, about to miss my son’s first game tonight. I didn’t think it could get any worse, but like a never-ending nightmare... It did. I got a voicemail from my boy Ryan back in Nashville, “I don’t know why you’re unreachable at the moment, but I need you to call me back ASAP. You don’t have time to put this call off. Call me back. You know who it is.”

The last time Ryan sent a message for me like this was on a night like this one. I’ll never forget it because it was the same day I met Savannah. I was on my way to bring her some weed to her spot in Bellevue, Tennessee. I was less than ten miles away from her apartment when I finally got the text message I was dreading to receive. It was Ryan informing me that a warrant had been issued for my arrest. I knew the day was coming when I’d have to turn myself in and lie down for a while or go on the run. I had been preparing for it, but preparations were useless. How do you prepare yourself to face time in prison? There’s some shit in life you just can’t prepare for, and ten years in prison was one of them.

Before I could stomach that my time on these streets was numbered, my boy Ryan had sent one more text that read, Yo’ baby mama gave you up. Get low, my nigga.

He didn’t just tell me I was headed to prison any more, but that my bitch was helping to put me there. That made the whole scenario different. I would have dealt with facing all that time a little better if I was going because I got caught dirty-handed. It would be my fault for slipping. But knowing I had been voluntarily snitched on by somebody I loved—somebody that I one time planned on spending forever with and the woman I’m supposed to honor for the rest of my life for carrying my child—had me feeling sick. The thought of my bitch working as an informant, telling the cops everything she could about me for free, nauseated me. I had to pull over on the side of the road in case I needed to vomit.

I had told her too much and made her the protector of my secrets. My baby mama, Tasha, had enough information on me to have me buried behind bars. One minute we were together, strong in our relationship, and then we hated each other and went against each other the next. I thought Tasha was in it for the long run, but nothing lasts forever. I should have known she’d turn on me, and in the back of my head, I always did.

Tasha showed she couldn’t be loyal every time we broke up. She’d have a new nigga in less than a week, and my son would become my mama’s responsibility until the new guy broke her heart or cut her off. She was ready to drop her title with me and replace it with somebody else’s before we could cool down enough to try to figure our shit out.

She had started being questioned by the police three weeks before I got that text message. So, I had a three-week notice, thanks to Ryan. I knew he was right about her deciding to work with the police by the words she said. For three weeks, Tasha would say shit like, “I wish you were back in jail so that I can have my man back” or some stupid shit like, “The only way I can trust you to be where you say you’re at, Dre, is when you’re in jail.” She meant it when she said it. I could see the realness that lay painfully in her eyes.

I had an exit plan on getting out of the dope game, but I never thought I’d be forced to execute it. The part I don’t understand is what the fuck I did to have her change up on me. I wasn’t the perfect nigga, but I was close. When I wasn’t practicing medicine via the streets, I had my ass home with her and my son. It was me who did all the cooking and cleaning while her ass sat on her throne of designer name bags and clothes, pretending to be something she was not. Tasha grew up with me in Jo Johnson projects. She didn’t come from money, but she had no problem adjusting to it. I watched her taste go from five dollars Old Navy holiday tees to different designers’ seasonal collections. There was a time when Tasha’s gelled down ponytail was all she needed. Now, she can’t step out without hair touching her ass.

I got that bitch out of New Balances and put her in Off Broadway heels, and look how she repaid me. My boy Mike told me he had seen her in the club a few months before that happened. She was with some nigga, smiling and grinning in his face like she was single, and I let it go. I told myself not to react off the words of others. If she were living funky, I’d smell it.

Breaking up with me would have been a lot easier, but that would have been too normal for Tasha. In all honesty, she was crazy. My mama said I made her that way, but I refuse to take the blame for it. I only did what she allowed me to do, and the cheating in our relationship went both ways. I started it, but Tasha made sure to finish it. Her mental health should have been under suspicion before I got with her. She was crazy, and that’s the truth. She found a way to cut off my visitation with my son while we lived under the same roof. How her crazy ass pulled that off I’ll never understand.

“I put this shit on everything I love... Until you treat me better, you’ll never see your son again. I bet my life on that,” she screamed and then threw our son’s bottle at me.

“Shut that shit up. You ain’t going nowhere with my son. He’s staying right here in this house with his daddy, and so are you.”

“I never said we were leaving this raggedy motherfucka, Dre. I said you won’t see your son again.”

She told me I couldn’t see our son and did everything she could to keep me away from him when he was lying in the bedroom next to mines. I don’t know how she pulled it off, but whenever I was home, he was asleep, and if I decided to stay in the house for the day, he’d always get shipped off somewhere before I told her of my decision to stay indoors.

“You gotta move around to somebody else with the dumb shit. I can’t see my son, but I’m supposed to keep giving you money and the dick? That ain’t gon’ work.”

So, I cut her ass off and started fucking the streets. I watched my money triple in three weeks of not coming home. I’m sure she thought I was with another bitch, but that wasn’t the case. I turned an eight-hour shift of grinding into a seventy-two-hour one. Money was stacking, but my son was suffering. He spent more time with my mama than he spent with his mother or me. There are just some things I’m caveman about, and one is a mother takes care of her kids, and they see granny on the weekends. Tasha had Andre Jr. with my mama Tuesday through Sunday and only had him Sunday night to Tuesday morning. Tasha ain’t working, trying to work, or nothing like that, but she ain’t got time for my son? Fuck that. I slowed down to take care of mines, and when Tasha saw that, she was ready to stay at home and be a parent too, which was cool, but I still cut her off. After the shit she pulled, my dick wasn’t going to get hard for her. I’m not trying to be cold about it, but ain’t nothing sexy about a woman who doesn’t take care of her kids. And to top it off, it was my son. She was really cut off. I couldn’t have sex with her if I wanted to. It wouldn’t get hard, and I wasn’t about to force it to.

Hearing Ryan on my voicemail now wasn’t a welcoming thing, and I knew I had to call him back ASAP, but Savannah’s needs came first again.

Trisha had left Savannah a voicemail saying, “I love you, but fuck you.” She was thanking Savannah for not stopping the money transfer and wanted her to know that first thing Monday morning, she’d have her cash in hand. She told Savannah she could get with Royce to get her notebook and movies of revenge back, and she wished her all the best in life. Before the length of the voicemail cut her off, she managed to get out one last sentence.

“Oh, Savannah, you need to watch Dre.”

That bitch Trisha was cold for that one. She gave her daughter a warning about me like I wasn’t to be trusted. After all the shit Savannah had done to me, I felt like I deserved to plot against her. I was protecting Savannah, and Trisha knew it, but she turned me into enemy number one. I played it off like I didn’t hear the message because Savannah had started dialing, and I knew she was calling the bank. When she verified she was broke by the pending transfer, she began stressing away. I hated to see her all upset over it, but she left me no choice. My heart was black when it came to it. If she wasn’t cheating and living sloppy, her mama wouldn’t have been able to blackmail her. I even went as far as to fuck with her about it.

“What’s wrong, baby? You keep pacing.”

Savannah quickly said, “Nothing, daddy, just thinking about work.”

“What about work, baby? You look like you’re stressed out.”

“Um, just wondering how this shit is going to play out with Stephanie being back at the home office. That’s all.”

I knew she couldn’t tell me the truth because it would convict her of sleeping with Royce. I kept asking her the same question to remind her of what caused all this in the first place. That little thing was too hot in between her legs and had caused her to go broke. I wanted that fact to marinate in her head the next time she thought about cheating or using sex to get revenge.

I’m not completely heartless, so I jumped in my Hummer and ran to the store to get some cigars. I wanted to get her mind off of it for a while, and weed had the most promising results. When I made it back home, we smoked, then hopped right back in the bed. I was drained, so we only went one round, which knocked us both out. If it hadn’t been vibrating under my back, I wouldn’t have known my cell phone was ringing. I checked the caller ID and it read International. It was Peaches calling. I slid out of bed to get away from Savannah and went to Sade’s room before I answered.

“What?” I yelled into the phone but not loud enough to wake Savannah. “It’s 4:47 in the morning here, Peaches. What the hell you want now?”

Peaches tried to pretend like she was shocked that she had forgotten about the time difference, but I could hear the lack of care in her voice as she continued the call. “Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Grumpy. I was calling to find out how my daughter was behaving. Is she the tamed animal you wanted her to be yet?” Peaches asked in between chuckles.

I wasn’t in the mood to play with her. I was sleepy, and my body was tired. “What do you want, Peaches?”

She heard the irritation in my voice but didn’t let up. Bullshit was still active in her voice. “I wanted to talk to my son-in-law and make sure everything was all right, Dre. How is Savannah doing? Is she holding up well?” Her laughter started back up, and the school-girlish sound coming out of her mouth had me ready to hang up in her face.

“I’m gone. I ain’t got time for your dumb shit.”

As I started removing the phone from my ear, I heard her yell, “Don’t you hang up on me, bastard! Did you really think this was over?” I eased the phone back over my ear and listened. Her voice went from sixth-grade school yard to fairy-tale evil villain in a matter of seconds. “Dre, did you really think that I would let you plot against my child, and there be no repercussion? Tsk-tsk-tsk. So smart yet so stupid, aren’t you, Dre?”

What the fuck is this bitch talking about now? I thought as my text message alert went off in my ear. I was too caught up in her words to check it. She had so much anger in her voice that I wouldn’t be surprised if she were foaming at the corners of her mouth. I helped Peaches get Savannah’s money. Hell nah, I wasn’t expecting any repercussions or for her to have any animosity toward me.

“You see, Dre, men like you and Savannah’s daddy fuck up a good thing by trying to tame it. You spend all that time and energy trying to change the unchangeable. You love us for what we are in the beginning; then after you label us as yours, you want to start changing shit.” Peaches took a deep breath and made a noise that sounded like a growl, then continued. “You simpleminded bitch in loose jeans with a dick, you didn’t break Savannah down far enough to break her cravings for other men. All you did was give her a reason to chase dick with a bigger dollar sign that’s willing to share their wealth with her, asshole.”

“Fuck you, Peaches. You don’t know shit, bitch!” I shouted out at her, feeling at a loss for better words at the moment.

“No, Dre. It’s fuck you, bitch, for thinking I was going to sit back and let you fuck over my daughter like her father did me. Don’t drop the soap.”

As her last words rang in my ears to the part of my brain that turns sounds into words, my doorbell rang, followed by three knocks on the door. I hung up the phone because there was nothing left to listen to but hysterical laughter from Peaches. As I walked over to the door, I checked my text message, and it read: 1 new message from Ryan. I didn’t bother looking out the window or checking the surveillance cameras. I knew by Peaches’s last words who it was. I clicked on Ryan’s text message and unlocked the door at the same time. I was able to read: You violated, somebody gave you up to your PO before I was tackled down to the floor.

Once they saw the gun at my side, which was really my cell phone holder, I was beaten until I blacked out. The last thing I remembered seeing was Savannah’s bare feet running my way. Can’t believe I’m going back to jail over a bitch again....