CHAPTER 2
“C’mon and get a piece of this late-night lover ,
You know, the one that swing dick like no other (shit)
I know, I got a lot of things I need to explain
But baby you know the name and love is about pain.”
–Ja Rule “Always On Time”
2004
Tryna make a dollar out of fifteen cents.# # #
I heard that once in some rap song but it suited just how I felt about my clothing situation. I stayed trying to stretch four decent pair of jeans and some shirts that was steady crawling up my arms with every wash.
Fail. Matter of fact…big motherfuckin’ fail.
Sighing, I reached in my small and narrow closet to grab a pair of jeans and a Baby Phat tee that looked as second and third-hand as it was. I wanted more. I needed more. Still, I never grumbled or complained to my grandmother and legal guardian, Mama Bit. My Mama left. My Daddy never made an appearance and left behind nothing but the tell-tell signs of being the seed of some faceless white man all and up through the gold tips of my hair and the honey color of my eyes. Mama Bit raised me and did the best she could. I learned a long time ago not to fuck with the hand that feeds you…especially when Disappearing Mama and Invisible Daddy didn’t give two shits.
Closing my closet door, I turned and if I reached out I could touch the wall of my room. It was that small. Just enough room for that closet, a twin bed, and a window. A thick flowered curtain instead of a door. No nightstand with a lamp. No dresser to fold and put away my clothes. No frilly, girly decorations. But it was clean and neat and all mine for nearly all of the sixteen years of my life… so I loved that motherfucka.
The apartment was above greasy ass Leroy’s Down Home Diner, and was lacking a whole lotta shit. The buildings was built back when Newark was predominantly white. The 1900s or some shit. Humph, it looked like it too.
People talk about the projects ain’t shit but you ain’t seen a real shithole until you run up in some old ass building with a landlord who could care the fuck less.
A little mouse ‘bout black as the streets raced from under my bed but I didn’t even trip. No matter how clean we kept our crib, living over a diner in a run down building meant plenty houseguests who ain’t had shit on the rent.
I was running late so I rushed into my underclothes and outfit before I plopped down on the bed. The beds springs sung like a church choir at the sudden weight–even though I was barely a hundred pounds–and most of that was in my hips, butt and thighs.
Mama Bit said my Mama had that same won’t-bring-you-nothing-but-trouble-and-a-wet-behind kind-of shape. Not that any little boy could get anywhere close to me to wet my ass. Mama Bit kept me in check and under watch.
I snatched on my one pair of decent sneakers–a low-end pair of Reeboks that was all black to make sure it matched all my clothes. Poor Folks Fashion Tricks 101.
Mama Bit was already downstairs working as a cook in the diner and I knew she had her eyes on the clock listening for my feet on the stairs. She didn’t have to wait much longer as I left the apartment and used my key to lock the door. The scent of the diner food was strong as hell as I raced down the stairs and out the door to the street.
There was no one roaming on the streets but a few people on they way to work and fiends searching for one of those all-night dope boys to sell ‘em a bag.
I took a deep breath of that winter air as I turned and look through the smudged glass window of the restaurant. Sure ‘nough Mama Bit was already looking dead at me from her spot by that hot ass grill. I waved and kept it moving before she could wave me inside. My ass was skipping out on a lecture. There was always a lecture. Always some life lesson. Always warnings. Always.
I loved Mama Bit, but I wasn’t even in the mood for none of that ish today. Nada.
My stomach was straight growling when I was halfway down the block to the bus stop, and my ass was regretting not stopping in to eat.
My steps paused when I neared the bus stop. Normally there was a bunch of people waiting on the corner for the bus. I knew I had missed a bus. But that wasn‘t my main problem. Only three teenaged girls stood there and I had to fight the urge to go to the diner and fake being sick to Mama Bit.
“Here comes that light bright bitch. Ugh she makes me sick.”
I heard them bully bitches talking shit about me before I got to the bus stop on the corner of 16th Ave and Eighteenth Street. Every damn day these hoes gave me a hard time–and it got worse when there was no adults around. Every motherfuckin’ day. I ain’t even know these chicks name but I recognized them from around the hood. They were older than me. Bigger than me.
The fat chick squeezed into a bright pink and gold Baby Phat outfit. The tall trick with the funny colored eyes, long nose, and a outfit that I knew cost more than everything in my closet. And the other thick one with gold rings on all her fingers.
I just thanked God they didn‘t go to my high school.
Like always, I tried to ignore them even as my heart was beating like a motherfucka in my chest. I stood a ways down from the bus stop and pretended to look at something–anything–but these bully bitches.
“Look at them run down shoes. Them shits look gray she done wash ‘em so much.”
They all laughed.
“If I see that faded as shirt one more fucking time,” another one said, sounding just as mean and angry at me as always.
“Think she cute, old half-white ass. Fucking mutt.”
I bit my lip to keep from crying.
I squeezed my hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
I just wanted them to leave me alone.
“I oughta box that bitch in her face. I can’t stand her bony, light bulb bright ass.”
I felt ashamed because I was afraid of them.
I just wished I could disappear…
“With them fucking no name jeans. She better start tricking like her hoe ass Mama –”
I turned around and glared at them bully bitches. My chest heaved.
“Oooh, she mad, y’all. She mad.”
The chubby one walked over to me, looking like some pudgy face Porky Pig in a wig. “And? What you gone do?” she asked, reaching up to nudge my face with her finger.
The other two walked up and the three of them surrounded me. Yelling shit in my face and pushing my ass around in the middle of them like a ball, all I could think “What the fuck did I do to deserve this?“
“Goldie, you sure you don’t want to hit this?”
My eyes focused and the red light we were sitting at became clearer. It’s funny how the past can fuck you up right in your present. But you had to look back sometimes to get a clearer view of just where the fuck you was going. That same hurt caused an ache in my chest that I tried to bury deep.
Ever since them chicks damn near jumped my ass at that bus stop, I stopped catching the number 1 bus and instead walked three blocks over and caught the number 25 downtown to my connecting number 13. Punk ass move? Yeah, but who wanted to get jumped? To prove what?
I hated that I let them jealous bitches handle me any kind of way.
“Goldie?”
I turned and looked at Yummy, her eyes squinted against the thick silvery haze of the smoke wafting up from the blunt she held.
The scent of kush was heavy as hell in my car. “Yummy, you know I don’t smoke in my car,” I told her as I lowered the windows letting the cold air in and some of the weed scent out.
Yummy sucked her teeth. “Girl, Dyme didn’t want you smoking in the car…and I know you ain’t stressing that shit right ‘bout now?”
I cut my honey colored eyes over at her before I took the blunt she offered, careful not to let the lit end burn the acrylic tips of my nails as I took a big toke and let it fill my lungs. I needed to chill the fuck out. I needed to forget a childhood I couldn’t change. My shit was nowhere near as bad as others kids: molestation, rape, physical and verbal abuse, but it was enough to leave me wide open for any man to come through and give me motherfuckin’ esteem.
The light shifted from red to green and I handed Yummy the blunt before accelerating forward. She turned on the radio and the sounds of some banger filled the car. Really I needed to be alone to think about what I did, why I did it, and what was coming after it.
I ain’t hadn’t the easiest life. I try not to complain about it, try to keep it moving…still I can’t forget it. Ever. It’s the foundation of the house I’ve become.
Shit like what I been through sticks with you and affects everything you fucking do and the way you view everyone you meet.
Poverty.
Humiliation.
Shame.
People hating me and hating on me because my Daddy was a white man. For some fucked up reason it made girls before and after them bully bitches take so much fucking pleasure in pointing out shit like my freckles or my Wal-Mart jeans, my no name sneakers, the huge braids my Granny put in my head until I was old enough to do my own shit or the thick white stockings she made me wear with my skirts. To keep from being picked on I would keep my ass quiet as hell…just hoping, wishing, praying for one school day where I didn’t get teased and shit. Just one day where motherfuckas didn’t make me sit in the mirror and wonder why me. Just one day.
Humph. Picture that shit. Never happened.
And maybe that’s why the first time I laid eyes on Dyme, his smile fucked me all up on the inside…
# # #
2004
Nina Sky’s Move Your Body was playing on somebody’s car radio as I walked up Broad and Market. I was singing along as I turned down a side street and slowed down at a small clothing store. There was a headless silver dummy with a bad ass pink Apple Bottom velour tracksuit like the ones all the girls be wearing. Like the ones I wanted so bad. I could just picture that fly motherfucka on my back.
“That would look good on you.”
My body got stiff from the deep voice. My eyes focused in the glass and I saw past my own image to this tall ass dude behind me.
“I ain’t got shit for you to stick me up for,” I told him, sounding nervous as hell this nigga was ‘bout to run my pockets.
He laughed and shit.
My eyes glanced up and the down the street. I was grateful as hell that plenty of folks was out and about.
“I’m not no stick-up kid. I’m a grown ass man that owns this store,” he said. “Shee-it. How I know you not ‘bout to boost that outfit?”
I shifted my eyes up to look at him in the glass. He smiled, his eyes on my reflection. Watching me close and shit. He’s fine. Hella fine.
Tall. Caramel skin. Dark hair. Goatee. Deep ass dimples.
He smelled real good and looked even better in this butter soft leather coat, with a crisp button up shirt, and dark jeans.
I turned and moved to walk past him. “Excuse me.”
He stepped in my path. “I could hook you up with a good price on that suit.”
It was my turn to laugh. “I was just window shopping because I ain’t even got the duckets to buy the dream,” I said, tilting my head back to look up at him.
His eyes touched my body. From the side ponytail of my blondish brown hair to the tips of my sneakers. He ain’t miss shit in between. Not the fit of my t-shirt or the snugness of my jeans. Nothing. “A female like you should have a man to buy her all her dreams.”
I looked away from him, even while my heart was beating so fuckin’ loud I thought my ass was about to pass out. Nigga had game. There was no denying that. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I answered, knowing I should walk away.
Knowing the way this man was looking at me was wrong.
“Fine ass thick thing like you don’t have a boyfriend?” he asked, sticking a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.
I shook my head no.
“A little boy wouldn’t know what to do with all of that anyway.”
I didn’t say shit but my inside turned straight to mush.
“Stay right here,” he said, moving past me to walk into the store.
I kicked some pebbles in the street, looking down at my feet. A verse from Mya’s song floated in my head: “Should I stay? Should I go? I don’t know.”
I didn’t get a chance to decide.
“Here you go,” he said, handing me a brown paper shopping bag.
I frowned even as I took the bag. Mama Bits telling me: “Give it back, Kaeyla. Give it right back, right now” echoed, but I ignored it.
“You look about a size 7. Right?” he asked, shoving his hands into the pocket of his coat.
I nodded as I opened the shopping bag and looked down into it. There was the outfit I spotted in the window, a matching long sleeve tee and the cutest gold flats. True baller move. Damn it he was really trying to do the man thing.
“Yo, Dyme, you got a phone call,” another man called from the store.
“Give it back, Kaeyla. Give it right back, right now.”
“I gotta get this but I’ll see you around…Goldie.” He tugged at my ponytail before he turned and walked back inside the store.
“My name‘s not Goldie,” I called behind him, but the bell over the door jiggled as it closed.
I clutched the bag tighter like he was gone walk back out and snatch that shit from me. No way. Not when I was already planning to wear that shit to school tomorrow. With one last look at the store, I turned and walked back up towards Broad Street feeling like I had won the lottery.
I never had nothing so nice to wear in my life.
Never.
As I neared the corner, passing by a couple of preaching Black Israelites with a portable microphone and speaker, I dug my hand into the bag just wanting to touch it. I pulled out a business card that was snuggled in the folds of the clothes.
On the front was the name of the store, Urban Fashions, and his name, Damion “Dyme” Gunners. On the back: a handwritten phone number and the note: “Come by the store tomorrow and let me see you in it.”
My heart pounded.
“Give it back, Kaeyla. Give it right back, right now.”
I knew what taking them clothes meant.
I knew what calling the number meant.
I knew what coming by the store meant.
A hella fine man who owned his own clothing store? Stupid wasn’t written nowhere on me.
Hell yeah I was gonna rock that hell out of that outfit.
I was going to call him.
Right after school, I was going to stroll my ass right on back to that store.
“Sorry, Mama Bit,” I whispered aloud.
Fuck the dumb shit. For real.
# # #
I felt like an entirely new chick in my outfit. I did my hair different. I walked different. I felt different.
And I liked it. I couldn’t wait to get through school and get my ass downtown to that store. I was so ready to see Dyme and to see his reaction to his gift on me. I was so excited on the bus ride downtown like I was going to see Mary J live in concert or some shit. Hell, I been excited since last night.
In my bedroom I laid under the covers on my little bed and held the card Dyme gave me. I had used the tip of my finger to trace over the words he wrote. I raised the card to my nose and inhaled, hoping to catch a whiff of his scent. Just holding it in my hands made my whole body tingle. Made my heart pump faster. Made me feel happier. I couldn’t stop smiling like a damn fool.
I wished I could call him last night but the only phone we had was in Mama Bit’s bedroom and I wasn’t even tryin’ to get caught on the phone with a grown ass man. Mama Bit woulda tore my ass up and called the police on him. No joke. Major drama.
“Maybe he’ll give me more clothes,” I whispered to myself as the crowded bus came to a stop and I made my way to the front of the bus to get off, careful not to scuff my new flats.
I had just walked up Broad Street and was about to turn the corner down the side street to Dyme’s store.
“Kaeyla!”
I stopped. With the heavy bustle of people and loud buses and cars blaring their radios I could just barely make out calling my name.
“Hey, Goldie!”
I looked up the street at Dyme standing next to a parked dark green Ford Expedition. He closed the car door and came walking up the street looking hella fine in all black. My heart felt like it was in my damn throat as I hitched my bookbag higher up on my shoulder and made my way to him. I waited for him in front of the store, noticing it was locked with a CLOSED sign hanging on the door.
He eyed me from head to toe as he stepped up on the sidewalk. “I knew that outfit would look good on you,” he said, taking me all in.
The way he was eyeing me again I knew he meant that shit. I smiled and tilted my head to the side, trying not to show that my stomach was flip-flopping like crazy. This nigga had me gone. “Thank you,” I said, feeling good as hell.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out his keys, turning to unlock the door to the shop. “Come on in.”
“My grandmama told me not to go places with strangers,” I said, my Newark accent real heavy while I flirted. Hard. “I don’t know you…yet.”
He laughed and nodded his head, wiping his hand over his mouth. “True…true. So can I get to know you, Goldie?”
My eyes locked with his. “Why? Why me?” I asked, surprised that I felt so bold.
He frowned like he was all confused by my question and then he said, “Why not you?”
I dropped my head and licked the gloss from my lips as I twirled my side ponytail around my finger.
“Come on. I got a surprise for you,” he said, before walking inside and holding the door open for me to walk in behind him.
And I stepped right the fuck on in. I knew it was risky. I knew I was taking a chance with this stranger. I knew that I knew better. But I got in. “How can you have a surprise for me? You ain’t know I was coming back.”
He side-eyed me. “I knew,” he said, all cocky and shit as he locked the door to the store.
Click.
That shit made me nervous as hell but I didn’t get a chance for what-ifs.
He took my bookbag from my shoulder and then slid his large hand in mine to pull me behind him towards the back of the store. I shivered and felt all warm between my thighs from his touch. My nipples got so hard that they ached. I had crushes on boys before but the way Dyme was making me feel was all new to me. All new and all good.
In his office he dropped my bookbag and let my hand go. He nodded his head towards the clothes laid out on the leather sofa against the wall. All colors. All patterns. All materials. All designers.
Dyme smiled. “Try them on,” he said, reaching for the vibrating cell phone in his belt.
All mine?
My eyes got big as shit as I walked over to the sofa.I counted ten full outfits. Oh, a bitch was about to be laid for sure.
“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit,” I kept saying.
I turned around and Dyme was standing right behind me. I had to tilt my head back to look up at him. His hands came down on my shoulders, rubbing them.
“You like ‘em?” he asked, bending down.
I nodded, all nervous and shit.
“You like me?” he asked, his head coming down closer to mine.
I nodded again, feeling breathless like I was drowning or some shit.
“Good,” he whispered against my mouth, just before his tongue traced my bottom lip.
It felt like electricity shot through my body. This wasn’t shit like no kiss I ever had before, especially when his tongue slipped inside my mouth. His hands started undressing me and I knew I when I walked out that store that I wasn’t gonna be a little girl no more…
# # #
That led to the beginning of me and Dyme. And the end of life as I knew it. He laced me with plenty money, plenty clothes, my own cell phone, and a life filled with secrets. The fact that was he so much older didn’t mean a motherfuckin’ thing to me except I had to keep my mouth shut to keep him from getting in trouble, just the way he told me.
Dyme taught me how to shop. Dress. Fuck. Roll a blunt. Smoke weed. Drink. Party. And lie like a motherfucka.
I had to explain all the newness and I lied and told Mama Bit I had a job. She believed me and that freed up plenty of time after school for me to enjoy being the lady of a real top notch baller. From then on it was on and popping.
Knowing that nigga had my back made me cocky, bold, and confident. My fashion game was on point. I kept my doobie fresh once a week at this Dominican spot. My nails airbrushed to perfection. My closet overflowing.
I was the shit. We we’re the shit.
Life was good as hell.
We couldn’t get enough of each other…
# # #
2005
“This beats the hell out of sitting up in school all fucking day,” I said aloud to myself with a stretch of my body against the silk sheets of Dyme’s king-sized bed as I took a deep drag of the blunt and then tilted my head up to blow smoke rings to the ceiling. This was my first time at his apartment and I was straight loving it.
We used to meet after school to lay up in a suite at The Hilton, but that shit wasn’t cutting it anymore. We was sick of not being able to see each other until after school. So when Dyme told me to skip school this morning, I did. Fuck it. All I knew was that motherfucka had me gone and I didn’t give a fuck ‘bout nothing else.
I cut my eyes up to the mirrors on the ceiling, lifting my arms above my head as I stretched the naked body Dyme loved so much. Every bronzed honey inch of me.
Who needed school and to hang around duck ass kids all day when I was getting all the education I needed from the School of Hard Dick?
Rolling off the bed I left his bedroom that was bigger than half me and Mama’s Bit apartment. Dyme was paid. A lotta people thought he sold dope but that was a bunch of bullshit. He came into a bunch of loot at twenty when his parents died in a car wreck. He used the money to open up businesses that made him even more money. Boss ass three bedroom condo. A black on black Denali and Benz SL500. Custom motorcycles. Diamond jewelry. Designer clothes. The good life. Dyme was all about the hustle and the hustle paid off well for him.
And now it was paying off well for me. I was that bitch. His bitch. Fuck it.
Of course there was a lot more he wanted to do for me that had to wait until I was older. And I couldn’t wait. Trips out of town. Moving in together. My own car.
The best was yet to come.
I was just about to stroll my ass around the corner into the kitchen when Dyme stepped his fine ass into the hall in front of me. I could tell by the look on his face that something was up.
“I need you to do something for me,” he said, moving past me to walk into the bedroom.
Frowning, I turned to follow him but he was already walking out the room with all my shit in his hands.
What the fuck?
“Dyme. What’s up?” I asked, even as he pushed my shit in my hands and then pushed me towards a closet in the living room.
“Just trust me and stay in here ‘til I come get you. Don’t come out for shit,” he said.
I got scared. Was this one of those “my man ‘bout to get taken out” scene in all those street lit books I loved to read?
“I’m not getting in no fuckin’ closet or nothing else ‘til you tell me what the fuck going on?” I said, standing my ground as I dropped my clothes to the hardwood floors and stood there booty butt naked with my arms crossed over my titties.
“Look, Goldie, I’m married and my wife’s is on the way up,” Dyme said, wiping his hand over his goatee and mouth as he looked down at me.
My heart dropped right along with my bottom lip. I’d rather face the bullets then hear this shit.
“She don’t mean shit to me. I’m getting a divorce but I gotta play my position right or she’ll get half of our shit.” Dyme bent his tall figure down to scoop up the clothes and then open the closet door.
Our shit. Ours. Why did that shit matter to me when this motherfucka just cracked my world?
Keys rattled on the other side of the door. “I know this some grown people shit but I need you to grow up right now. Get in there and wait ‘til I let you out. Do this for me, Goldie. Do this for us.”
The key turned in the lock and Dyme gave me a quick kiss to my lips before he pushed me inside and closed the door in my face.
I stood there holding my clothes, scared as shit to move and make a noise. I would do this for him. He would explain. He would make it all better. Dyme always took care of me and looked out for me. He wouldn’t stop now. He was doin’ this shit for us. For our shit.
But the shit was still fucked up.
The front door closed and soon I heard heels on the hardwood floors. I hated that I wondered what she looked like.
Fine as me? I doubted it or I wouldn’t ever caught Dyme’s eye.
I could barely make out their conversation. Their voices were muffled. There were more footsteps. And then silence.
The closet was a nice size but filled up with coats. I could feel the softness of furs against my naked body and shit. The warmth of the closet was making the scent of me and Dyme’s sex rise from my pussy and between my thighs.
Suddenly the closet door opened and Dyme grabbed my arm and hustled my naked ass out of the closet and then out the front door to the hall. He pushed keys into my hand. “Go to the Benz and wait for me.”
Dyme stepped back in the apartment and closed the door, leaving me ass naked in the hall while he was lamping in his apartment, with his wife, with my dried pussy juices on his dick.
Fighting the urge to kick the door and put his ass on blast, I walked down the hall to the elevator. As soon as I stepped on and the doors closed behind me, I dropped my clothes to the floor and started to get dressed.
The elevator slid to a stop.
Ding.
I was just pulling my lime green lace bikinis up when the doors slid open. I looked up. An old white couple stood there with their eyes big as shit. I was too mad and hurt by Dyme to even give a fuck.
I paused in scooping up my bra. “Y’all getting the fuck on or what?” I asked with plenty of attitude.
The woman turned and caught the man eyeing my titties. Just before the door closed she slapped the shit out of him…
I was mad at Dyme, but I had to laugh at that shit.
# # #
Seven years. No sign of a divorce. Just a new house for him and his wife that I heard about on the streets. Just a hair salon he brought for that bitch. Just her staying firmly locked as Mrs. Gunners while my ass was steady playing my position as wifey in second place. Steady accepting them fucking lies. Steady putting up with his shit.
Abortions that he sweet talked me into. My first at just sixteen. My second just a year later.
Getting cussed out like a criminal or cut the fuck off financially when he got in one of his jealous “somebody trying to fuck my pussy” moods.
And over dumb shit, like I can stop a motherfuckin’ dude from speaking to me.
Promises he couldn’t keep.
Nothing but fucking cries, lies, and alibis.
My cell phone lit up and vibrated on the console.
Yummy picked it up and looked at it. “Ooooh, bitch, it’s Dyme,” she said, handing it to me.
I snatched it out her hand and flipped it open while I steered the night streets.
“Goldie, I know motherfuckin’ well you didn’t bring your ass to my house–”
“No, Dyme, I know motherfuckin’ well your ass ain’t lie to me while you laid up with Mrs. Gunners,” I yelled into the phone as I sat up in the seat. “I’m sick of your lying ass.”
“All the shit I do for your ungrateful ass and you gone pull some shit like this,” he yelled.
“Man, fuck you and your big back bitch of a wife.”
Yummy laughed her ass off at that as she lounged in the passenger seat still blazing. “That bitch do look like a Tazmanian devil and shit.”
“Goldie–”
Tears filled my eyes as I looked through the windshield at the street life laid out before me. “No more, Dyme. I’m done. Stay the fuck away from me. Only thing I ever did was fucking love you and I’m done. It’s a done da-da. And I mean it. Leave me the fuck alone.”
I snapped the phone closed and flung it towards the back seat as I pushed my foot down on the accelerator.
“Girl, you and Dyme been getting down way too long for him just to leave you alone like that,” Yummy told me, passing the blunt before she fucked with the radio stations.
I ain’t say shit ‘cause there wasn’t shit to say. I just sped up until it felt like we were flying across the ice slicked streets.
Yummy slammed her hands on the dashboard as I quickly came up on a double parked car and had to hop in the left lane quick as hell to avoid crashing into it. “Slow your ass down, Goldie. Fuck that.”
God–and nothing but God–got me and Yummy’s ass across town safely so far. Between my anger and my tears we were lucky I didn’t flip that bitch. Blessed that I didn’t wreck and kill us.
“Pull over and let me drive,” Yummy offered.
I shifted my eyes over to her at the sound of nerves all up and through her voice. My hands gripped the wheel tighter as I sped up the ice slicked street.
My cell phone vibrated from the backseat. That nigga was blowing my shit up…just like he always did when I threatened to leave his ass alone.
“Lying, old ass, uncircumcised dick, no good motherfucka,” I spat, that pain and oh so fucking familiar feeling of disappointment surrounding me.
Yummy squealed. “GOLDIE, WATCH OUT!!!”
This lady and a small child stepped from behind a car into the street.
“Shit.” I swore, slamming on brakes.
The tail end of my Lexus sharply swung out as the woman and child scurried across the street to safety.
“Damn, bitch, learn how to drive!” The woman yelled.
That made me want to zoom forward and truly run her ass over.
“I know Dyme is a…a lying, old ass, uncircumcised dick no good motherfucka but how ‘bout we keep from being two dead motherfuckas. You feel me?” Yummy snapped with a mix of anger and fear.
I closed my eyes and released a heavy ass breath. I couldn’t let Dyme hurting me push me to do something stupid. Fuck that. My ass would wind up dead and that nigga would be looking for the next piece of side-ass.
And that’s all I was to him.
The truth of that shit hurt like a motherfucka.
