Chapter Two
Sable
My bags were packed, my boarding pass, ticket, and identification card were secured, and I’d smoked all of the paraphernalia left in my stash. The only thing left to do was to lock up on my way out. As I looked around the bedroom we’ve shared many nights together, part of me wanted to unpack and give love another try. Before Mike Mike, my life had been living by a hustle, talking to this nigga and the next. I never saw him as being my man. I guess all we’d been through as kids made it one way. But thank God he saw it another and had rescued me from myself. Now, because of his weight and clout in the streets, I was living lavishly by hood standards. Looking around at the plasma television, showroom Art Van cherrywood furniture, and the photographs capturing our once-happy moments, it was evident, I had to admit, that I’d miss my man.
Damn, here the fuck he comes. The disruptive, half-raised Negro was rocking the neighborhood with his sounds blasting, headed to my doorstep. I got to the window in just enough time to see Mike Mike’s cocaine-white Infiniti truck burn rubber up the street and jump the curb, skidding across our front lawn. This man was crazy, no doubt. I stood frozen, staring discreetly out the blinds, careful not to rattle them and blow my cover. When he opened the door to climb out, I flew toward my bags. Heart racing, I dragged them quickly into the second bedroom. My timing couldn’t have been much worse, and playing the reminiscing game had me caught up, once again, with this alcoholic pill head.
Hearing his keys rattling at the doorway, I could almost smell the liquor in his system creep through the keyhole. Tossing my cell in my purse, I darted back up the hallway like a track star going for gold. Even though I couldn’t stop him from coming inside, no matter how hard I prayed, I still wasn’t going to meet Mike Mike and his guaranteed bullshit at the front door like some devoted puppy dog. From experience, I ran into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned the shower water on full blast. With my luck, he’d come in frisky, seeing me wet and naked. With my back planted against the flimsy white door, I slid my body down toward the floor as hot steam filled the air. My heart raced, and my adrenalin pumped as I waited for what was gonna happen after what came next. Hopefully, he wouldn’t find my luggage or his missing stash, because if so, my demise was inevitable.
Every time Mike Mike drank and popped pills, he’d become belligerent, turned up, and ready to beat my ass. He would argue with me over petty shit and start drama for no reason. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been yoked up, smacked down, and talked about by his ass. Either the dishes weren’t washed clean enough, dinner wasn’t seasoned as good as his punk-ass momma would’ve seasoned it, or he couldn’t see his reflection in the toilet bowl water while he stood to take a piss. I had been a fool for getting caught up loving the good times with Mike Mike when I should have been focusing on the more consistent moments like this.
“Yo, Sable, where you at, girl?” he shouted into the otherwise quiet house as if he had no home training.
As the hot water started to steam the room, I downed the last of my Moscato, setting the wineglass on the sink. Undressing, I eased my body under the hot flow of the water. Instantly, it felt so good, so relaxing, and it temporarily took control of my anxiety. I tried hard to drown out Mike Mike’s voice, but he was yelling . . . screaming at the top of his lungs. I was hoping the neighbors had called the police. Matter-of-fact, I wanted to call them myself. At least that would guarantee me a night free from him laying hands on me.
“Sable, get your scary ass out here. Hey, I need some face time, girl. I know you better be here. Where the hell you be’s at?”
Damn, did he know about the getaway? Have I been busted? Through the sounds of the pounding water, I could hear glass shattering across the marble floors. I assumed it was the vase and flowers he’d just given me as an apology for last week’s one-sided battle royal.
“Sable, don’t make me find you,” he bellowed, sending chills down my spine.
This is the drama you only see in movies. Why me? was all I could think as I put my head underneath the water, whispering a prayer for safety. I knew the routine. I knew things were about to get way worse before they got better. I wish it could go back to the old Sable and Mike Mike—when the gifts flowed in, no strings attached, and he’d flaunt me around town like a trophy. He was selling me a dream, getting me joked up, thinking I was “the one.”
“Hey, bitch, come out here and stop playing. I need you, girl, right damn now.”
My momma barely raised me, but what I did pick up on was not to run to trouble. If he wanted it with me, he was going to have to go through it to get me. I wasn’t about to run downstairs and meet his fist in the process.
“Are you in here?” Damn, my time has run out. “Sable,” he shook at the doorknob, causing it to rattle. “Why is a door locked in my house?—I told you about that bullshit. Now, open this motherfucker. Bring your ass out here,” Mike Mike shouted like he meant every word.
“Calm down before the neighbors call the police, Mike Mike. You see how you swerved up on the front yard and shit.” I stuck my head out of the shower, trying to reason with him.
“Okay, bitch, I’m done playing.”
“Mike Mike, wait. What the fuck?”
This lunatic was kicking the bathroom door in. I snatched back the shower curtain in just enough time to see the wooden frame splitting. My jaw dropped as splinters flew, scattering onto the damp floor. “I don’t care about no neighbors, you nothing-ass bitch. I’m about my respect.”
“Mike Mike, please, stop. Oh my God, stop!” Naked and wet, I grabbed a towel running toward the door. Desperately trying to open it and prevent him from fully kicking it down, I was too late. The frame was cracked, and the bottom hinge was bent. I had made matters worse by staying here. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of his life forever.
“Awe, now, look what you made me do,” he taunted, pushing the door, or what was left of it, open, walking inside the still-steamy bathroom. “Now, again, why is a door locked in my house?” Giving me fever, he stood breathing heavily with big beads of sweat dripping down his forehead.
“To keep from fighting with you,” I sarcastically mumbled loud enough for him to hear. “But I guess that shit didn’t work, did it?” I reached over, turning the shower water off, hesitant to turn my back—and for a good reason. With malice, he yanked my hair from the rear, twisted it around his hand, and slung me down onto the cold, wet, and slippery porcelain floor.
“Aaah, shit,” I let out a high-pitched scream at the top of my lungs. It felt like he tore my scalp from my head. As I reached my hands up in an attempt to hold on to what little bit of hair I thought I had left, he forced my body to arch up automatically. My back was in excruciating pain as the splinters that littered the floor pricked my skin. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak. The small room was spinning.
“Again, I ask you, why is your sneaky ass up in my house with the doors locked? I warned you, now, didn’t I?” His breath reeked with a cross between weed and liquor. “You make me do this shit to you, ho. I can’t trust you. Who else up in here—up in my fucking house? Who, trick? Who?—And don’t lie.”
I opened my mouth to beg him to stop, but no words came out. While he cruelly slammed my head against the side of the vanity, there was nothing else I could do but cry and take it. I knew not to fight back. It’d only make matters worse. The slight buzz I was feeling from the wine had left my body and was replaced by feelings of hatred, anger, and fear. There was no way I could shield myself from whatever was coming next. I never could. I just braced myself for what was sure to follow. By this time, he was standing over my naked, shivering-in-fear body, rubbing at the bulge in his pants.
“I’m sorry. Please, Mike Mike,” I pleaded with him through sobs. “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry,” I cried, finally finding the courage to speak.
“You think I’m stupid, huh?” His response was quick and direct. “Is that what in the fuck you think?”
“No,” I fired back just as quickly. “I was only taking a shower. I swear that was it.”
“Shut up, Sable. I ain’t stupid. You sneaky just like that bottle-guzzling mother of yours.” His insults cut like a knife. “Now, what was you doing while I was gone that you needed to take a shower? Who you done fucked up in my damn house, you tramp?” His anger increased with each passing slurred word. “I’m about to go kill them right before I off you.”
“Whoa, wait, Mike Mike. Stop. I’ve been here talking to Jazz, drinking wine. Stop tripping, please,” I begged, holding both hands up, trying to slow down his attack. I started to scoot back, looking up at him with tears covering my face. “I’m sorry. Please let me up.”
He didn’t say anything. He was silent, giving me a strange look. Amazingly with the Almighty Spirit taking over me, I was able to slide up the wall and stand. My body was shaking from fear and excruciating pain as he stared me up and down while still nursing a hard-on. I wept harder, hoping he’d have compassion on me. I prayed he’d let me go, but, of course, my prayers went unanswered. My agonizing grief seemed to have the opposite effect on Mike Mike. He was getting turned on by me being at his mercy.
“That crying and whining don’t mean nothing to me, Sable. If I catch your punk ass cheating, I’m gonna kill you, no questions asked. You can believe that.”
The way we rocked in and around his house, those words were bond to me. Once I got to Miami, he could trust or swear on his life that I’d never be back.
“I don’t like no sneaky shit, Sable. You already know how I get down.”
“I know,” I whispered, wiping my face, smearing tears and snot.
“Spread your legs,” he suddenly commanded, grabbing himself again.
I knew this was coming. He walked over toward me with an evil expression plastered on his face. With deliberate force, he plunged two fingers deep inside my dryness. I wasn’t sexually turned on at all. “Stop.” I pulled back as the tears welled up again. I was far from being turned on from his strong-arm tactics, his harsh words of criticism and accusations, not to mention, I had no idea where his filthy fingers had been earlier that night.
“Oh, was you wet for him before I got home?”
“There wasn’t a ‘him,’ Mike Mike. Stop . . .”
He backed up from me, unbuckling his pants. It was time to get boogie, and I wanted to scream out. His dick fell out of his pants hard, thick, and ready for attention. “The thought of getting this pipe don’t get that pussy wet?” he asked, rubbing it longer. He was definitely off a pill. My mind couldn’t make my coochie react. Relentless to get his rocks off, he barked out more demands. “Okay, then, you useless slut, get on your knees.”
Terrified to say no, I dropped down. Opening wide, I allowed him to glide in and out of my mouth. Strangely, my body automatically reacted as I started to get wet finally. As he picked up on my willingness, he began to drill harder, holding my head still by my now-matted hair. “This mouth is mine too, you dirty come dumpster, ain’t it?” He eased his manhood out, staring at me for confirmation.
Wasting no time, in one motion, he grabbed me by my throat, lifting me off the ground. I was shocked and stunned and brought back to the reality of him being a drunken monster. My feet dangled from the ground as his ashy-worked hands choked my throat. I wasn’t no fool, so I played along with him, but my eyes bulged with fear. Pulling at his braids and tugging his ears, which always turned him on, I prayed for it to begin so that it could be over.