Page 68 of Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

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.

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