Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang (25 page)

“Yo, you really gonna put me out wit’ this hard-ass dick?”

“Yup.”

He shakes his head. “Yo, that’s fucked up; word up.”

“I’m sure you gotta ’nother line’a hoes you can hit up to feed da dick to.”

He walks up on me. “Yeah, aiight, if you say so. But, you already know what it is. You know I ain’t tryna fuck wit’ no one else so why you trippin’ ’n shit.” I ig his ass. Tell ‘’im to hurry up ’n step. He snatches me up; manhandles me. And the shit makes my pussy pop. “Yo, you really gonna do this.” He grinds himself into me. “You feel all this hard-ass dick?”

I ain’t gonna front. I wanna drop down low and finish this muhfucka off.
Bitch, stick to da script…put da nigga out.
I push ’im back wit’ my hand, then step outta his way.

I pop my hips toward the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs. And don’t take too long puttin’ ya shit on, either.”

He laughs, shakin’ his head. “Yo, I don’t believe this shit.”

“Believe it,” I say, walkin’ outta the room and down the stairs.

Five minutes later, he comes down fully dressed. I can see how a weak bitch could get caught up in the matrix and get strung the fuck out on this chocolate muhfucka. The nigga ain’t lie. He got good dick, good tongue, and a buncha good damn game.

He steps up in my space, smirkin’. “Yo, you got that off, ma. Real fucked up. But, it’s all good. I got you, though. I’ma be back thru.”

I grin. “Yeah, if you say so.”

He pulls me back into ’im. And I let ’im. “I know you think I ain’t shit. But I told you, a muhfucka’s ready to change.” He grabs me by the ass, squeezes. “I want you, Kat; real talk. All I’m askin’ is for you to give a muhfucka a chance. Damn.”

“Muhfucka, you don’t want
me
. You wanna have me wrapped ’round ya finga, sweatin’ ya ass, that’s all.”

The way the nigga’s gazin’ at me is makin’ a bitch’s knees wobble. “Nah, you wrong, baby.”

“I’m not ya baby. I keep tellin’ you that.”

“Yo, check this shit out,” he unzips his jeans, fishin’ out his dick. “You see this dick”—he shakes it in front’a me—“it’s yours. I’m yours. Yeah, I’ve fucked mad bitches, aiight. I told you this. And, yeah I can fuck ’em anytime I want, and I got ’em sweatin’ a muhfucka for this dick. You know that shit, too. And you already know I gotta buncha bitches who hit a nigga up wit’ that paper. All that shit’s been established already. So what? I ain’t feelin’ ’em like that. I done put da shit out there for you; straight up. No secrets. No bullshit. And that’s what it is.”

I shrug. “So what you tellin’ me for?”

He stares at me. Shakes his head. “Do you even have’ta ask? Yo, have you heard anything I said?”

I eye ’im. “Nigga, I don’t wanna play games wit’ you. I’m really not that kinda bitch. So before you put me through it, we need’a peace this.”

“Yo, I ain’t peacin’ shit, ma. I told you what it is. And I ain’t playin’ no games, either. A muhfucka’s diggin’ you. And I wanna see where this shit takes us.”

I fold my arms. “
This
ain’t takin’
us
nowhere.”

He smiles, then leans in and kisses me. Against my better judgment, I let the muhfucka slide his tongue in my mouth and run his hand up under my teddy. I part my thighs and let the nigga finga my pussy. And a bitch lets out a moan.
Damn, this nasty muhfucka!

He pulls his fingas out, then sucks on ’em. “All bullshit out da window, Kat. You gonna be mine; ya heard?”

“Get out,” I tell ’im, openin’ the door.

“I’ma call you tonight. Make sure you pick up.”

I slam the door in his face. And hear ’im laughin’ to his car.
Cocky muhfucka!

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Tossin’ ’n turnin’…buncha shit spinnin’ on da brain…stirrin’ up emotions…long gone ’n forgotten…gotta bitch’s heart burnin’…tryna ig da pain…pissed…been dismissed…knowin’ there ain’t gonna be no apologies…’cause da neglectful bitch ain’t returnin’…

A
bitch couldn’t sleep last night. I stayed tossin’ ’n turnin’ all fuckin’ night. I wasn’t beat to get lifted, and I didn’t wanna toss’a bottle back. I needed to be sober; needed to have my mind clear. So I laid on my back, starin’ up at the ceilin’, tryna remember if I ever saw Juanita smile; if I had any recollection of her kissin’ me or wrappin’ ’er arms ’round me. I stared up into space, tryna count. Count the number of niggas Juanita had in ’n outta ’er life; the number of times she’d shut her bedroom door and lock herself in; the number of times I heard ’er headboard slappin’ up against the wall or ’er balled up in a corner or curled up on ’er bed bawlin’ her eyes out. It was all too much to remember ’n count; it required too much thought for a bitch. So I focused on sumthin’ that didn’t require much thought; sumthin’ where countin’ wasn’t a difficult task. How many times did the bitch tell me she loved me? I closed my eyes. Searched my damn brain, then opened my eyes. None.

So why I’m sittin’ up at this hospital at two in the muthafuckin’ mornin’ beats the hell outta me. But I am. The nigga DeAndre is on duty, so he let me come thru. I’m sittin’ here lookin’ at Juanita, shakin’ my head. I don’t know this woman. Never have. Even if the bitch didn’t wanna be a mother, I wish she woulda been the kinda chick who woulda at least had my back. A bitch I coulda vibed wit’. I’d wanna know what made the bitch tick. I’d wanna know what made ’er so damn needy; why she felt like she needed a man. I’d really wanna know why this bitch was so damn dick hungry ’n stupid.

“You are such a stupid bitch,” I say, rollin’ my eyes at ’er. “I’m so fuckin’ mad at you for not knowin’ how’ta be a gotdamn mother. Shit, ho, a big sista woulda worked. But, you couldn’t even be that. Mmmph…I always thought you were jealous of me. I still think that shit. I think you hated da fact that I was e’erything you wanted to be. Truth is I think you secretly hated me. But you wasn’t no real bitch, so you woulda neva admitted to da shit. Still, I know you did. ’Cause on some real shit, I hated me, too. I hated myself for bein’ so fuckin’ stupid thinkin’ you would eva be a mother to me. I hated myself for thinkin’ shit woulda gotten betta between us; that you would one day wake da fuck up and finally see…
me
.”

I stand up, and look ’er ova as if I’m gonna see sumthin’ different from da last time I stared at ’er. But I don’t. She’s still dead; still pregnant. Still a bitch who I’ll neva know. And I’m still wonderin’ why the fuck I’m really here.

I stare at ’er stomach.
It’s a baby, Kat!

I pull back the sheets.
It’s a fuckin’ baby, bitch!

Sumthin’ comes ova me, and I place my hand on ’er stomach. I keep it there for a few minutes, then quickly snatch it off when I think I feel sumthin’ move. I wait a few seconds, then place my
hand back on ’er stomach. This time I rub it. It’s the first time I’ve eva touched ’er, that I can recall. I try to remember the last time—hell, the first time—
she
touched me. I can’t. There are no memories of bein’ touched by this woman. No hugs. No kisses on the forehead or cheek. Not one muthafuckin’ lovin’ gesture. I feel myself gettin’ angry lookin’ at ’er ass and feel like bangin’ the bitch in ’er stomach. I fold my arms, glarin’ at ’er.

“That little guy inside of your mother is a fighter.” I snap my neck ’round to see who’s standin’ in the doorway. It’s DeAndre. He walks in the room and stands beside me. His arm brushes against me. “The longer he stays inside of the womb, the stronger he gets and the greater his chances are for survival.”

Nigga, you think I care?
I move ova. “How do you know it’s a boy?”

“From the last ultrasound.”

I keep my eyes locked on ’er stomach. “Hmmm.”

“He’s going to need a lot of love and support when he gets into this world.”

Good luck
, I think, shiftin’ my weight from one foot to the other.

“Children are such an amazing gift.”
Why da fuck is this nigga tellin’ me this shit?
I peel my eyes from Juanita and turn to look at ’im. “I have three of my own.”

“And you’re tellin’ me this because?”

He shrugs. “I felt like sharing.”

“That’s nice,” I say, turnin’ my attention back to Juanita.

“She hurt you.” He says knowin’ly; maybe the shit’s accusin’ly. Still, hearin’ it come from outta his tit sucka makes the hair on the back of my neck raise.

I don’t look at ’im. I stare straight ahead. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s in your eyes. The way you look at her. It’s in your tone.
The way you speak about her. Your energy is filled with hate toward her.”

I turn to look at ’im. “So what’a you, sum kinda psychic witch doctor?”

He laughs. “No. But I am a man who knows hurt and pain and disappointment when I see it. I can spot it and feel it a mile away. Besides, we’ve all had our share.”

“So is this where you offer me a buncha self-help tips? ’Cause if so, I’m not interested.”

“No, but I would like to offer you some advice if I can.”

“You can’t. Not interested in that, either. So do me a favor. Let it go.”

He smiles, puttin’ his hands up in the air in mock surrender. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Oh, trust. I’m not upset; just not interested.” I glance at my watch. It’s already three in the mornin’. The thought of drivin’ back to Jersey gives me a headache. I decide I’ma wake Chanel’s ass up and stay the night at ’er spot. I shift my attention back to Juanita. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish havin’ my private moment wit’ my mother before I leave.”

He smiles. “Miss Rivera, you’re a very beautiful woman, but this hate you have in you is eating away at your soul. Let it go.”

I take a deep breath. Slowly turn my head in his direction. “Oh, trust. I will.” I turn my head back to Juanita. “As soon as I pull da plug.”

T
WO DAYS LATER
, I
PULL OUT THE
K
AT LINE TO SEE IF THERE ARE
any updates, but before I can turn it on, my otha cell starts ringin’. It’s another 347 area code. I sigh.
This crazy bitch!

“Bitch, why da fuck is you still callin’ me? Didn’t I stomp ya ass once already?”

“Bitch, this ain’t Rosa. It’s Patrice. And you ain’t shit for how you been movin’ ho.” Sounds like she’s cryin’, but I don’t pay it no mind.

“Ohhhhhkay, thanks for ya kind words. Now why is you callin’ me?”

“Bitch, not that you give’a fuck, but I thought you should know Rosa was killed last night.”

Good. One less bitch I gotta deal wit’,
I think sittin’ on the edge of my bed.
I was wonderin’ when Cash was gonna put that work in for me and put that bitch down.
My mouth starts to water wit’ anticipation wantin’ to know all the details of how she got put down. The freaky bitch in me wants to slip ’er hands down in ’er panties in play in my pussy as Patrice gives me the details. “What happened to ’er?”

“She was on ’er way home. They think somebody tried to rob ’er, but when she didn’t have shit, they shot ’er in da head.”

“Did she suffer?”

“No, police found ’er dead at the scene.”

That’s it?! That’s all you gotta say? I wanna know if there was blood and brain splattered e’erywhere. Was the bitch sprawled out on the concrete? Were ’er eyes rolled up in ’er head?

I keep my morbid thoughts to myself. “Anything else?”

“No,” she pauses, soundin’ like she’s snifflin’ ’n gettin’ all emotional ’n shit.

“Poor thing,” I say, all nonchalant. “Well, thanks for that news bulletin. Now if you’ll ’scuse me, I have more pressin’ things to deal wit’.”

She screams into the phone. “Bitch! I’ve lost two fuckin’ sistas back to back. Ya moms and aunt, and that’s all you have’ta say. ‘Thanks for da news bulletin’? Bitch, are you fuckin’ serious? They are ya blood!”

“Sweetie, be clear. Those are your losses; not mine. So I ain’t
sheddin’ no tears, and I ain’t passin’ out no sympathy cards. So if that’s what da fuck you lookin’ for you betta call Hallmark.”

“Bitch, ain’t nobody call ya ass for no muthafuckin’ sympathy. I don’t even know why da fuck I called ya fucked-up ass, anyway.”

“And neither do I. But I tell you what. You might wanna hol’ off on buryin’ ’er ’til after I pull da plug on Juanita. This way you can dump both trash bags down in da same ditch. No sense in havin’ to go through all that shit twice.”

I disconnect the call, then check my messages on the Kat line. There are two.

“Yo, I wanna ’nother pair of them panties, ma. I swear, Kat, I wanna beat that ass up one good time wit’ this dick.” I shake my head, laughin’.
Nigga, puhleeze. You’ll get a bullet to da head ’fore I eva let you stretch these walls.
I delete the message, then listen to the next one.

“Yo, that clean up job you needed is done. It was swift and straight to da point. You should have no further problems.” Swift and straight to the point is code for a sharp shooter poppin’ ’er dome ’n droppin’ ’er in one shot.
Good,
I think, tossin’ the phone ova on the bed, grinnin’.
That’s what da bitch gets. Bitch shoulda stayed in ’er lane and left me da fuck alone. One down, and one more to go. You can run, but you can’t hide nigga. The Kat Trap is comin’ for ya.

“Yeah, muhfucka, you betta hope da police find you before I do,” I say out loud, walkin’ into my closet to pull out a dildo and one’a my vibratin’ butt plugs. A bitch wanna celebrate Rosa gettin’ bodied wit’ two holes stuffed. Knowin’ she’s on ice got my pussy steamin’.

I step outta the closet wit’ my gadgets in hand, makin’ my way into the bathroom. I squeeze my ass, alternately slappin’ my ass cheeks, makin’ ’em pop ’n bounce wit’ each smack. I am so fuckin’ horny. I bend at the knees, squat down low, then lean ova the
sink. I slap my ass harder; got the shit stingin’, causin’ my pussy to snap open and shut. It needs to be feed and stretched and worked over by sumthin’ long, black and thick.

I slide my right hand between my thighs ’n massage the front of my pussy, lightly brushin’ my clit. “Bitch got dropped…skull got popped…ooooh, yes, slumped that ho…”

I work myself into a frenzy, turnin’ on the vibratin’ butt plug, then slidin’ it into my ass. I keep playin’ wit’ my clit. The vibrations in my asshole gotta bitch’s pussy creamin’. I shift gears. My murderous thoughts go to the nigga, Jawan.