Caught Up (12 page)

“S
o what's good, yo?” The voice blares into my ear over Busta's “Thank You” playing loudly out of the three large speakers situated around the basement. I'm at a house party in East Orange with Sasha. Somewhere I shouldn't be, of course. But the energy is live. The music is all that. And there's a pack of thug cuties here. Once again, I lied. Told my mom that I was staying the night at Hope's. That I'd be home tomorrow around one or two. Luckily for me, she believed me.

I keep my gaze low and avoid making eye contact with most of the kids here, mostly because the boys who are ogling me are making me uncomfortable. And the first time I do look up and scan the room, I'm being greeted with girls eyeballing me nastily.

“I see you all over here by yaself,” he says, looking me up and down, slowly dragging the pink-colored tip of his tongue over his dark brown lips. I remember him from the last party Sasha brought me to. He was one of the guys standing out on the porch smoking a blunt. He's a brown-skinned guy with slanted, bloodshot eyes. Probably from drinking and smoking. He's about six feet with a muscular build. He's wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans. True Religions, I think.

I sweep my eyes around the party and notice guys grinding up on girls. And girls doing strip club moves on the dance floor. A few are pressed up in corners making out. Or smoking weed.

Without thought, I bob my head from side to side.

“You wanna dance?” he asks, taking me in with his gaze. I look up at him, then glance around the space. The floor is packed with hoochie-type girls grinding their booties up on crotches, twerking and bouncing real hard to a Jay-Z song now playing.

I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

It's so packed that bodies are practically pressing into each other just to walk by. And there's a thick fog of smoke hovering in the air. I feel myself getting light-headed from all of the marijuana smoke.

He leans into my ear. “Oh, a'ight.” He grins, then licks his lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

I shrug. “I don't know. Like you're trying to figure me out or something.”

He laughs. “Oh, nah-nah. You lookin' mad sexy, though.”

“Thank you,” I say over the music, trying to avoid the narrowed eyes glaring at me from across the room. There are like four girls standing over on the other side of the dance floor giving me nasty looks. I don't even know any of them. But because they don't like Sasha—for whatever reasons—they don't like me. So whatever problems she has with girls I've inherited. Guilty by association.

Speaking of Sasha, she disappeared up the stairs with some boy with dreads, leaving me holding up the wall, like the lone wallflower that I am.

I glance at my watch.

Ohmygod, I can't believe she's been missing in action for almost half an hour
.

“Yo, you too pretty to be standing here looking like a bored statue,” he says, reaching for my hand. “Let me holla at you for a minute.”

I pull my hand back.

He laughs. “Oh, word? It's like dat? I ain't gonna bite, ma; not unless you want me to. I just wanna get away from all'a dis loud music; feel me?”

I nod. “Yeah, it is kind of loud.”

He gestures his head toward the stairs. “Let's go upstairs for a sec.”

I glance over at the group of girls across the room. One of them grabs her crotch, then flips me off with her middle finger. I cringe. Another girl takes her finger and slides it across her throat. The threat clear: “I'm going to slice your throat.”

I swallow.

He looks over at the group of girls. “Yo, don't pay them birds no mind. They hatin', that's all.”

“But why?” I ask innocently.

He scrunches his face. “
Why?
You fresh meat, babe. E'ery dude in here wanna get at you. And them haters know it.”

I blink. Then glance over toward the staircase when I see a guy and a girl coming down the stairs. I hope to see Sasha. But I'm disappointed when it's not her.

“Yo, you can stand here if you want, but Sasha's upstairs doin' her, so you might as well do you.”

“I was told to never walk off with strangers,” I joke.

“I'm not a stranger, baby.”

“Uh, um, if I don't know your name you are.”

He smirks. “Yo, I dig you. It's Shaheed. But my peoples call me Sha.”

“Nice to meet you, Shaheed,” I say, trying to flirt without seeming flirty. I mean, I don't want to give off any mixed messages. I only want to have some fun.

It's a party for Christ's sake.

And Sasha is nowhere to be seen.

What else am I supposed to do? Stand here and look lost and silly?

I don't think so.

Shaheed lightly grabs me by the elbow and leads the way. I follow him through the throng of partygoers, then up the dark stairs. There's a slit of light coming from under a door. The bathroom, I think.

We walk past another door which is slightly open, a slice of light creeping out from beneath it. Save from the slivers of light and the glow of a nightlight stuck in a wall outlet, the whole upstairs is dimly lit.

We walk a short ways down the hall. I count six doors, including the two I assume are the bathroom and a bedroom, in my head. Music is playing up here as well, so it's hard to hear anything being said behind any of the doors.

Shaheed turns the knob to the third door on the left, pushing it open. It's a bedroom. There's a twin bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and a big flat-screen television mounted up on the wall across from the bed. A nightlight is plugged into an outlet near the door.

I step inside and Shaheed shuts the door behind us. My eyes have to adjust to the darkness. I blink several times.

“So, I'm sayin' . . . what's good? When you gonna let me show you my long stroke?”

I raise a brow. “Your
long stroke?
What, you swim? I used to belong to the swim team at my school.”

He laughs. “Yeah. I swim a'ight. Up in dem guts.”

I blink, caught off guard. “What did you say?”

“Nah, I'm sayin'. I gotta long stroke, but it ain't for da pool, feel me.”

“Wait. You want to have
sex
with me?”

He grins. “You already know what it is, ma. Yeah I wanna hit dat.” He steps in, pulling me into him. He reeks of weed and alcohol. He licks his lips. “I ain't even gonna front, yo. I've been eyein' you all night, ma. From da moment you stepped through da door I started schemin' on dat phatty, yo. I'm tryna see what's really good wit' all'a dat.”

He grabs at the front of his jeans. “You got my ish on rock, yo.”

He is groping me in the dark, pressing himself into me.

I wrestle my way out of his grasp. Tell him to please keep his hands to himself. That I'm not easy like that.

He laughs. “C'mon, yo. Don't front. You ripe 'n' ready for da D, yo. I can smell it. You stay comin' around lookin' all good, like you want mofos tryna get at you. Don't think I haven't peeped you eyein' me.”

I shake my head. “That's not true. I mean. Yeah, I've glanced at you the few times I've seen you. But that doesn't mean I like you.”

He frowns. “Oh, so you sayin' you ain't feelin' me? Is that it?”

“Yes. I mean. No.”

“Which is it? You feelin' me or you not?”

“I-I-I don't even know you,” I say wearily.

“So you a tease then, huh? You one'a dem hoes who likes to go 'round teasin' mofos, huh? Get all up in a mofo's head 'n' play mind games. Is that it?”

“N-n-no,” I stammer, trying to back away from him.

“That's not what I was doing. I swear to you. I thought you were just being nice when you asked me to come up here. I really thought you wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, I wanted to talk you outta dem panties. That's it.”

“But I don't like you like that.”

“Yeah, but I'm tryna change all'a dat. But you wanna front.”

He leans in and tries to kiss me on the lips. I jerk my head back just as his lips hit the side of my neck. I can see the drool sliding out of the corners of his mouth as his lusty gaze drinks my body in.

“Ma, you mad sexy. You got my head goin' 'n' I ain't even hit dat yet. I bet you mad juicy, too.”

I shake my head. “No. I'm not juicy. I mean, I'm not trying to let you hit that, I mean, this.”

“Yo, let me be da judge of dat. Let me feel it.” I blink as he grabs me and pulls me into him, sliding his big hand over the curve of my hip, then onto my butt.

I push his hand off of me. Tell him no thanks. But he's not trying to hear it.

“Nah, baby. You in my space. I'm tryna get it in. So don't front. You know what time it is.”

“This is all wrong,” I say, stepping back.

“Nah, shorty, this is all right.” He licks his already wet lips with the tip of his tongue. “And I'ma 'bout to make you feel right in a minute if you stop frontin' 'n' get wit' da program.”

“I don't want to have sex with you,” I stutter, hoping he'll see the pleading in my eyes.

“Please,” I stammer. “I just want to go find my friend, then leave.”

He grunts. “Who, Sasha? Yo, dat broad's somewhere gettin' twisted 'n' her back blown out.”

I don't really know what he means by ‘she's getting twisted.' But I knew what he meant about her back.

“Yo, ya girl ain't 'bout to bounce no time soon, real spit. She's 'bout to take dat ride on da express train. So you might as well relax, ma. I ain't gonna hurt you.”

Express train?

“Yo, don't act like you don't know what time it is.” He starts making train sounds. “
Choo-choo
. All aboard,” he says, deepening his voice. “Come get up on dis hard stick.”

I gasp.
Ohmygod! Sasha is somewhere letting a bunch of guys take turns on her
. I feel queasy now. I tell him I can't do this. That I didn't know this is what he wanted.

“Then what you come up here for if you ain't know what time it was, huh, trick?”

“I-I-I thought you wanted to talk,” I say, fighting back an avalanche of tears.

He snorts. “
Talk?
Is you effen retarded, yo. I brought you up here to beat that box up. I ain't tryna talk. I'm tryna stroke.”

He grabs me again.

“Please, stop!” I plead, trying to break free from his grip. However, to no avail. He's much stronger than me. He keeps pawing at me. “Get off me! I don't want to have sex with you.”

My pleas fall on deaf ears as he tries to force himself on me. I start screaming at the top of my lungs, hoping somewhere will hear me over the loud music.

They don't.

Shaheed's hand is up my skirt now and he's trying to pull at my underwear. I press my thighs together. My heart is jumping in my chest a mile a minute. I'm kicking myself for wearing this short skirt.

Shaheed's all over me. And I can't take it anymore. I scream as loud as I can.

“Yo, shut da eff up, you effen trick-tease!”

He slams me down on the bed. I am screaming and kicking. Scared to death. As he tries to climb on top of me, I knee him in the groin, hard, then hit him in his face, causing him to double over in pain.

I run for the door, swinging it open, banging on all the doors, screaming out for Sasha until one finally opens. It's the second one to the left.

A tall, thin guy with long box braids and a bunch of tattoos covering his chest and arms opens the door—
butt
-
naked
. He doesn't even have the decency to cover himself.

“Is Sasha in here? Sasha?!”

I glance around the large bedroom and notice there are four other guys in the room. Naked.

“Yo, Slim,” a voice calls out, “you tryna get next?”

“Yeah, man, hol'up. We got company.”

I croak out a scream as I look over and see Sasha on her knees in the middle of the bed with some guy humping her like a mad man. I back out of the room and flee toward the stairs like there's a fire. I have to get out of here, now. I run smack into Sasha's friend, Malik, as he's coming up the stairs.

“Yo, wat's gud, ma?”

My lips quiver.

He frowns. “Yo, ma, you a'ight?”

I collapse in his arms and burst into tears.

“Y
o, run dat ish by me again,” Malik says, staring deep into my eyes. His intense gaze makes me uncomfortable. But not in a frightening, creepy kind of way. When I fell into his arms as he was coming up the stairs, he saw how distraught I was and wrapped an arm around me, and walked me outside for some air. We're standing next to his parked truck and he's intently listening as I repeat what almost happened to me upstairs. He narrows his eyes. “Dat muhfuggah did
what?”

The edge in his tone is so sharp it slices into the air around me. His voice is deep and hypnotizing. I fight to keep from closing my eyes and falling under his spell. Slowly, I am melting under his heated gaze. I am so nervous. But, for some strange reason, I feel safe with him.

Crazy, right?

“H-h-he tried to
rape
me,” I repeat, wiping my tears with the handful of napkins he'd grabbed from inside the party before walking me out to his Range Rover.

“What dis niqqa look like, yo?”

I tell him. He frowns. “Hol'up. What you say his name was?”

“S-s-shaheed.”

He scowls as he repeats his name. “
Shaheed?
Oh word? Dat's how he doin' it. A'ight. He must really wanna start his summer off wit' a black eye 'n' broken nose.” I watch him slide his hand into his front pocket and pull out his cell. “Yo, where you at, son? You here? Oh, a'ight. Cool-cool. Word. Yeah, I'm out front hollerin' at my peoples . . .”

I stare at him through tear-filled eyes, swiping tears as they fall. I feel so humiliated. Maybe if I had had a few drinks, like before, and was too inebriated to know what was going on around me, it wouldn't feel so bad.

Malik opens the driver's side door, then reaches inside and pulls out some more napkins, handing them to me. He takes the balled up ones I've used to blow my nose and wipe my eyes from me. I thank him with a faint smile.

“. . . Nah, nah . . . I just got here. Man, eff dem dumb hoes, yo. I ain't checkin' for none'a dat right now. I need you to get at dat cat Shaheed for me. He somewhere up in there. He tried to do some foul ish to my peoples 'n' I ain't feelin' dat, feel me? Yeah, yeah. Get at him. Say wat? Break his shit, yo. That's wat.”

I blink.

I swallow, glance over at a black Acura that is parallel parking across the street. The girl behind the wheel is struggling to get the car into the tight space. Someone hops out of the front passenger side and starts trying to direct her.

“Ohmygod, Meeka, whoever gave you ya license needs to be drop-kicked in the throat.”

“Eat me,” the driver snaps back. “All I asked is for you to make sure I don't hit that stupid car in back of me. Ain't nobody ask you for no extras.”

“Well, if you knew how to park I wouldn't haveta be out here tryna play traffic cop. I'd already be inside the party gettin' my drop 'n' pop on.”

I eye her as she does a booty shake right in the middle of the street. Her hips shake wildly as the rear passenger window rolls down and another girl sticks her head out the window cheering her on. “Don't stop! Get it! Get it! Do dat ole nasty ish, Kee-Kee. Air dat ole stank coochie out.”

The girl and the driver burst into laughter, causing her to back into the parked car behind her. The future stripper gives her friends the finger. Tells them to kiss her butt. Well, her a-double-s.

I blow my nose, feeling less shaken. I pull out my cell and check my messages. I have two missed calls from Hope. And a text message from Blaze saying:
WATZ GUD
? H
AD U ON DA BRAIN JUS WANTED TO C HOW U DOIN. HIT ME BACK

“Party or no party,” I hear Malik say into his phone, bringing my attention back to him. “He tried to violate my peoples, yo. Handle him. And if da mofo leaps, you already know wat it is.” The call ends and he slides his phone back down into his pocket.

“It's handled, yo.”

I blink, once, twice. “It's
handled
. . . how?”

He furrows his brow. “Don't worry 'bout dat. All you need'a know is, dat clown ain't gonna ever step outa pocket wit' you again. Word is bond, yo.”

“What are you going to do to him?”

His jaw clenches. “I already tol' you don't worry 'bout dat, yo. You let me deal wit' dat, a'ight?” I nod. “Cool. Now who you out here wit', anyway? I know you ain't out here solo.”

I shake my head. Tell him I came with Sasha. “But somehow she went missing with some guy,” I add, purposefully leaving out the fact that I'd seen her upstairs having an orgy.

“Sasha?” He frowns, shaking his head. “See. Dat's dat bullshit, for real for real. How y'all get here?”

“She drove,” I say, glancing over at the girls getting out of the Acura. They're all wearing short hairdos and extra-short skirts with extra-high heels that they can barely walk in.

All that just to get noticed
. Mmmph. I shake my head, glancing down at my own attire.
Like I have room to talk.

“She ain't even hit me up to let me know you was gonna be here.” I knit my brows together. “Oh, you ain't know I was checkin' for you? Sasha ain't tell you?”

I shake my head. “No. Why would she need to do that? I don't even know you.”

“Not yet you don't. But you 'bout to real soon.” I give him a confused look. “Yo, c'mon, ma. Don't front. You really ain't know?”

I shake my head. “No, not really.” “Well, I am.” He tells me how he's had his eye on me since he first spotted me at work. That he asked Sasha who I was, but she acted like she didn't want him to know at first. But he kept pressing her.

“Oh,” I say.

“Yeah. But it's all good. I got at you now. So relax, baby. In a minute, I'ma 'bout to be da best thing that's ever happened to you.”

I frown.

He starts laughing. “Relax, yo. I'm only effen wit' you. But I'm 'bout you gettin' to know me. How you feel 'bout dat?”

I shrug. Honestly, I don't know what to feel. My brain is still fogged from what almost happened earlier, and from what I witnessed upstairs. But I'll admit I'm relieved that I ran into him when I did. I don't know what I would have done, being way out here.

“Well, check it. We ain't gonna talk 'bout none'a dat right now. I gotta make sure you get home be—”

“Yo, wat's poppin', Money?” a light-skinned guy with slanted eyes and cornrows says, walking over and giving Malik a pound. He glances over at me and nods. “What's good, ma?”

“Nothing,” I say, trying not to stare at him. He's really, really tall. Like at least six four, six five. And he's really, really cute.

“Ain't nuthin', yo,” Malik says to him. “Just out here kickin' it wit' my peoples.”

“Oh, a'ight, a'ight.” He glances back over at me. “I see you, son. She mad sexy, fam.”

I catch Malik, grinning. “True indeed, yo. But, dig. I'ma holla at you in a bit, a'ight?”

“Yo, true, true. Fo' sho'. I'ma 'bout to go inside 'n' see wat it lookin' like.” They give each other one of those brotherly hugs with the handshake thingy they all do. I think they call it
dap
, or something like that.

Malik stands in front of me, leaning up against the door of his truck. He keeps staring at me; his eyes roaming all over me. And I am feeling hot under his gaze. I shift my weight from one heeled foot to the other.

Nervously, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Then fidget with the hem of my skirt. All I can think about is getting home and taking a hot shower to scrub Shaheed's grimy hands off of me.

“Yo, you got some pretty legs,” Malik says, finally slicing through the awkward silence between us. “I see why you got these fools out here buggin'.”

“It's not intentional,” I say defensively. The way he says that makes me feel like I need to defend the way I'm dressed. And I shouldn't have to.

“Nah, I ain't sayin' it is. You old enough to dress however you wanna. All I'm sayin' is, li'l boys can't always handle a sexy woman showin' ‘em a lotta skin; especially some dumb mofo wit' a few drinks or dat other ish in his system.”

“I'm not grown,” I say. “I'm only sixteen.”

“Is dat right?” he smirks, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Sixteen, huh? Well, check it. You might be
only
sixteen. But you got a body like a grown woman. See. If you had a man in ya life you wouldn't have to worry about no punk busta tryna violate you.”

I tilt my head. “And who says I don't have a boyfriend?”

“See. Who said anything 'bout a
boy
friend. I said a
man
. Big difference. Li'l girls have
boy
friends. Baby, you need a real man to keep you safe, ya heard? Like I said, these li'l boyz ain't ready for you, ma.”

“
Heyyy,
Maaaaalik,” a voice coos in back of me. I glance over my shoulder and see a mocha-brown girl wearing a platinum blonde weave—or maybe it's a wig, I don't know—and a white fishnet bodysuit with a white thong.

“Yo, what's good, Melody?” Malik says, looking over my head to speak to her.

“Nothin' much, boo. Please tell me it's not busted up in there.” Fishnet is now standing a few inches away from us. I quickly take in her outfit, glancing down at her feet. She has on a pair of seven-inch platform heels. I say hello and she doesn't bother to speak back or even look my way.

“I don't know. I've been out here chillin'.”

“Oh, all right. Well, let me get up in here to see what—or who—I can turn out tonight.”

Malik laughs. “Go do you, baby. I already know how you do it.”

As soon as Fishnet walks off, here come two more girls, walking over to Malik. They are both dark chocolate with extremely long, glittery lash extensions. One is wearing a short white dress with a scoop neck and cut-out-back with black heels. The other is wearing the same exact outfit; except her dress is black and she's wearing white heels. Both of their dresses barely cover their butts.

“Heyyy, Malik,” they both say in unison.

He grins. “Yo, wat it do?”

“You wat it do, boo,” White Dress says, flashing her bright white smile.

“Oh, word? Dat's wasssup.”

“Boy, when you gonna call me?” Black Dress asks, batting her eyes at him.

They both glance over at me, looking me up and down. Then bring their attention back to Malik like I'm invisible.

“Oh, my bad. Kia 'n' Mia, dis my peoples, Kennedy. Kennedy dis Kia 'n' Mia.”

I open my mouth to ask them if they are twins, even though they don't look alike, but I am immediately stunned into silence when people from the party come running out of the front door. Girls are screaming and scattering around frantically as someone gets thrown out the door and onto the sidewalk. Then pounced on by five guys, punching and stomping him.

I blink.

It takes a few seconds for it to register in my brain, for me to realize who it is being beaten almost to death.

My eyes pop open in horror.

It's that boy Shaheed.