By now, I’m sure everyone knew, because don’t nothing stay a secret in the projects for long—nothing. But fuck ’em, I thought. I didn’t need ’em. And Camille—fuck her too, trying to be up in my business and running things like she the muthafucking government, and thinking her shit don’t stink.
But I was concerned about Roscoe; he hasn’t called me collect in over a week. So I figure word got back to him about James and myself. But why should he be pissed off at me? I wasn’t the one who made the promises and then broke them by getting himself locked up. I should be the one fuming. I was alone, I was horny, and fucked up as it sounds, James was there for me. I thought Jade probably didn’t know how to hold his sexy ass down at nights, so the nigga had to creep.
I wrote Roscoe a few letters but never got a return. Thanksgiving Day, I spent in the crib getting high. James came by later on in the day and put the dick down on me. I remember him being upset when he walked through my door, but he never said anything to me. He just literally tore my clothes off, threw me down on the bed facedown, and rammed his big, hard, phat dick into my shit—froggy-style doggy-style.
I got high again and chilled for the remainder of the day. Fuck a turkey—my meal was the pipe. I tried to keep it a secret, but nosy-ass Camille had to go sneaking through my shit. I told the bitch that I had this shit under control. I was doing it just to free my mind from Roscoe and everything else. I wasn’t hooked. I knew I could stop smoking crack if I wanted to. I was alone with James most of the time, so Camille and Jade had no idea that I got high. No one knew. And if I did leave my crib, it was hours after I finished getting high. Camille didn’t know how stressed I was, she got her life, and she coming to my place playin’ mother hen and shit.
I knew I had everything in order. I’m too cute to start slipping.
It was one in the afternoon on a Saturday, and James promised that he would be at my place by noon. I sat in my crib, getting frustrated and bored. I called his cell phone a few times, but no answer—just straight voice mail. I wasn’t going to wait a second longer. So I went out to look for him.
I quickly got dressed in some tight jeans, a pair of stilettos, and my butter-soft leather and walked out my door. I hate when niggas don’t keep their promises. It pisses me off.
I strutted out my building and was reluctantly greeted by two known hoodlums. “Hey, Shy. What’s good, love?” one greeted. He gently tugged at my jacket, staring at me like I owed him a favor.
“What you want, nigga?” I spat, looking at him like Why you touching me?
“I wanna holla at you fo’ a minute, ma,” he said, dressed in a black hoodie, baggy jeans, and construction Timbs.
His friend stood off on the sideline, watching me. “You seen James?” I asked.
“Yeah, he in front of the store,” he informed. “But come here.”
“Damn, nigga, what you want?” I barked.
“I wanna talk.”
“Later. I got somewhere to go,” I spat.
“I’m sayin’ . . . this shit ain’t gonna take but a minute. You get high now, right?” he asked.
“Why is it your business?”
“Because I’m tryin’ to look out for you, love. . . . I got that fo’ you, if you wanna cop,” he explained, gripping my jacket again and trying to pull me back into the lobby.
“Nigga, get the fuck off me!” I jerked my arm free from his soft grip. “I don’t know what you think this is, but you need to step the fuck off, yo! Before I let Roscoe know you tryin’ get at me.”
His eyes flared up as anger appeared, and through clenched teeth he let known, “Bitch, Roscoe don’t run things around here no more! You better talk to your boy! You in a different world, bitch! Start getting wit’ the fuckin’ program, and maybe I’ll look out fo’ you.”
Him and his boy laughed and then proceeded into the lobby. I didn’t have a clue to what he was talking about. But my main concern was catching up to James and copping a few rocks for free from him as usual. And I also wanted some dick too. The nigga promised to come by the crib, and he doesn’t show.
I walked off down the block, and there was James standing in front of a black Escalade, paying attention to his niggas and his money. By now, I knew people around the way knew we were fucking, so I didn’t bother to keep it a secret anymore. At this point, I didn’t care who saw. James made me feel good. Good enough I risked friendship and my man for that feeling.
I strutted up to him being in all smiles and shit. He had a wad of cash gripped in one hand and passed a burning L to his man next to him.
“James,” I called out.
He turned to look at me, and I noticed an attitude appear on his face. “What you want, Shy?” he asked, looking at me with the irate look.
“Why the attitude?” I asked, trying to be humble.
“Because I’m busy. Yo, what you need?”
“I need you to come over, and I also need that thang,” I stated. He knew what I was talking about.
He snickered, “Yo, Shy, slow your ass down. You’ve been hittin’ my shit fo’ free fo’ too long now. I’m gonna start chargin’ you fo’ it.”
“Charge?” I responded, getting upset. “Fuck you mean charge? I’m sayin’ you promised me you’ll come by and bless me wit’ a lil’ sumthin’. Why you actin’ up in front of your niggas?”
“You hear this bitch!” James mocked. “Shy, ain’t shit free in this world. You gotta pay fo’ my shit just like everyone else. You ain’t wifey. You got the bomb pussy, but it ain’t platinum.”
“What?”
“Bitch, you heard me. You got cash? Twenty dollars, love,” he proclaimed.
“Nigga, you serious? I had you stayin’ up in my crib and fuckin’ me, and you dissin’ me like this!”
“Shy, stop wastin’ my fuckin’ time. You either pay up or fuckin’ bounce, you dumb bitch. I ain’t got time to be fuckin’ around wit’ you right now,” he said.
His niggas starting laughing while I stood there looking stupid. Then I heard one of ’em say, “Damn, James—you got Roscoe’s bitch strung out like that! Oh, shit!”
James laughed and gave his man dap. “Nigga, you know how I do. Bitches be on my dick like that.”
I felt so stupid. All I could do was look at him. He played me. He fucked me, got me high, and now the nigga was playing me. I cheated on Roscoe for his dumb ass, and now my business was all out in the streets, and now these niggas were looking at me like I was some bird-bitch. I remember niggas respected me when Roscoe was home. They all wanted to holla, but knew Roscoe would bash their fucking heads in if they attempted. But now, they looked at me like some plain druggie bitch.
I suddenly became belligerent toward him and shouted, “Nigga, fuck you! I’m gonna tell Roscoe, and he gonna get someone to fuck your ass up. . . . Watch, bitch!”
“Fuck Roscoe, bitch! That nigga ain’t runnin’ shop out here no more. Fuck that nigga. This my shit—what he gonna do? Fuck him and you! Cunt bitch!” he shouted as he stepped up in my face and towered over me with rage and his fist clenched.
I tried to hold my ground, being in heels and shit. But there wasn’t shit I could do.
“Step the fuck off, Shy,” James said.
A few tears began trickling down my face. I was hurt. I felt I had nothing. I betrayed my man for this asshole and lost friendship because I fucked this asshole.
I didn’t even expect it, or see it coming. But James cursed me when I turned around to leave, and he kicked me dead in my ass, knocking me down to the floor and scraping my leather.
They all laughed as I kissed the concrete.
“Yo, that’s fucked up, James. How you gonna do that to shorty,” one of his friends said, but laughing as he said it.
“That’s where she belongs—on her knees, right, Shy? You good on your knees, bitch,” James spat.
“Fuck you!” I cried out.
“Been there, done that,” he quipped back.
I picked myself up and left in a hurry. I still heard them laughing at me from a distance. I scurried back to my building, with the most anguished look on my face. I was hurt. My reputation, ruined. At that point, I felt like killing myself.