“Monae, you really think it’s that easy, don’t you?” Quay asked me and I looked at him with a funny look because I didn’t know what he was referring to.
“What you talking about?” I asked, cocking my head to the side for emphasis.
“I’m talking about the fact that I’m not fuckin with you like that no more and you bring your ass over here demanding shit like everything is good,” he said.
“If you not fuckin with me like that, then why you was hunting me down, trying to find me?” I asked, not fazed by the bullshit that was coming out of his mouth.
“Whatever, Monae,” Quay said, removing his hands from my ass and jumping off the counter. His tall frame mounted over me and I stared up at him in a daze, waiting to see what his next move was going to be.
“I’m about to go upstairs. A nigga done had a long ass day,” he said and I followed him upstairs into his bedroom.
After we were in the room, I went into the bathroom inside of his bedroom so that I could take a shower. After showering, I stepped out and went to wrap the towel around my body. I walked back inside of the room and Quay was sitting up in the bed smoking, while he had the Xbox controller in his hand.
“You have a shirt or something that I can throw on?” I asked him.
“Look over there in my top drawer and take out one of those tank tops,” Quay said, never looking up at me.
I walked over to his drawer, got the tank and went inside his walk-in closet to put it on and then I put the towel in the dirty clothes hamper. After that, I retrieved my phone from the nightstand and texted Toya, letting her know that if anybody asked, I’d spent the night at her house. After sending the message, I climbed in the bed and snuggled up under my man as he played the game. I watched him play for a little while and then my hormones got the best of me and I went to slide my hands up under his basketball shorts, but he stopped me.
“Move, Monae. I ain’t even fuckin with you like that,” Quay said.
“Whhyyy, what did I do?” I whined, still trying to put my hands down his pants.
“You know what you did. Until you tell your brother what’s up, no dick, no kisses, no nothing. I mean that shit, too, girl,” Quay said and I sucked my teeth, but I kept my head on his chest and he let me.
I couldn’t believe he was doing me like this. He acted like I wasn’t telling Jaquan just to be a bitch about it, when honestly, I really did have my reasons. This whole situation was something that could possibly ruin a friendship between my brother and my boyfriend and I didn’t want that. I missed the days when Quay wouldn’t nag me about letting my brother know because at the time, he had the same mindset as me about the situation. By no means was Quay afraid of my brother, it was just a level of respect. Everybody knew that when it came to me, my brother could get bat shit crazy and I didn’t want things to come to blows. I already knew without a doubt that Jaquan would look at Quay as if he’d violated and disrespected him being that he knew from the jump that I was off limits.
Chapter 11: Dre
A nigga had been home from almost a week now and I swear I didn’t realize how much my freedom actually meant to me until I was caged up like an animal for the past 5 years. That jail shit wasn’t for me because a nigga wasn’t used to be getting told what the hell to do and when the hell I could do it. Every day I was getting told when I could take a piss, shit, eat, and sleep. I didn’t do good with this whole following the rules shit, so I was glad I got my ass the fuck up out of there when I did because if I had to stay another year, I would have killed a mothafucka in there and then got more time added to my sentence. If you ask me, I didn’t deserve to go to jail. That bitch Nariah deserved to go for fuckin making me believe that a baby she had was mine. They fucked around and gave my ass five damn years for assault because the bitch was pregnant. While I was locked away, I plotted every day on how I was going to get back at this bitch the minute I got out. I could have easily had some of my little niggas handle that shit for me, but this shit right here was personal and I wanted to handle her myself.
I’m not even about to sit here like some fuck nigga and say that Nariah was just some bitch that I used to fuck from time to time, because she wasn’t. She was probably the only woman in my life that I’d started having feelings for but the minute those feelings started showing, she went and fucked up, so we never even had the chance to be in a fully committed relationship. I stopped fuckin with Nariah because I found out that her ass had a boyfriend already. If you couldn’t be honest with me about something as little as that, then there real
ly wasn’t any purpose of me keeping you around. The moment I told Nariah I was through with her ass, she started begging and crying to a nigga bout how she was pregnant and she didn’t want to go through this pregnancy by herself. Me, being the dumb nigga that I was at the time, believed her stupid ass. I did make her take a pregnancy test, though, and the shit checked out, so I had no reason to believe that the baby wasn’t mine.
So one day, I get a call from one of my niggas and he telling me that he see Nariah, the baby who I though was mine, and some fuckin clown together at the mall. So you know what the fuck I did! The next day I went and got the baby from Nariah, went to the doctor’s to take a DNA test and waited patiently for that shit to come back in the mail. When that shit came back, letting me know that I had 0% chance the father of that baby, I fuckin lost my mind. It’s like I fuckin snapped. I was lied to, disrespected, and humiliated. Not to mention, I was cutting a check on her and the baby, wanting my supposed-to-be baby mama and child in a safe environment.
The night I went over to Nariah’s house, I already knew that I was going to go to jail. Nobody could tell me anything that would have made me turn around and just say fuck the whole situation. Most niggas would have just swept the whole situation under the rug and said fuck her and that baby and just put her and the baby out of the house but I wanted this bitch to feel me. I wanted her to know what the fuck happened to low down dirty bitches that tried to get a check out of me. And who is exactly is me? I’m that nigga that your mama warned you to stay the fuck away from. Diandre Hakeem Davis.
I guess this is the part where I come up with a little cute story about my life and the experiences that I been through as a child. Truth is, I didn’t have one of those. This isn’t the part where I go through memory lane explaining how I grew up in a two parent household with siblings, and we would sit at the table every night as a family explaining to each other how our day went. Naw, a nigga didn’t have nothing like that; not even close. I was fucked up in the head since day one because I had seen so many shit at a young age that I had no business seeing. At the age of five, I’d watched my mama sit on the couch in our roach infested apartment out in Lincoln Field getting high, putting all that damn poison in her system. And don’t you dare ask me where my father was because I have no fuckin answer to give you and neither do I care. I also watched different men come into our house every night like my mom was a damn supermarket and they would pay her for her services and leave. People may not know this, but shit like that will really fuck any child up in the head and make them become a problem to society.
At the age of ten, I was taken away from my mother because my school had reported DCF on me because I came to school every day dressed in the same clothes, stankin, and always hungry. My ass would have been in the damn system but my grandmother, my mom’s mom, stepped up and took me in. I became rebellious and I didn’t give a fuck about no one, so that made me treat my grandma like shit. I had this feeling in my heart that nobody gave a fuck about me because if they did, then I wouldn’t have went through half the shit that I’d endured as a child. I’ll admit, my grandma did everything in her power to make sure I didn’t end up in jail or dead when I hit my teenage years but it was already too late. A nigga was thirteen years old and I was working for a nigga named Clyde selling dope on the street like a grown ass man. When I turned 17, my whole mindset on school changed. Going to school couldn’t buy me the shit that I wanted. Going to school couldn’t get me to fuck any bitch that I wanted; which is why I chose to say fuck school and let’s get this money!
I met my niggas Quan and Quay when we were in middle school and we just instantly clicked. We all had fantasies about getting money, so naturally we had a bond. I wanted to be the biggest fuckin dope dealer while Quan wanted to be the biggest damn rapper alive. Hell, Quay didn’t care what he did as long as he was getting his money. But that was then and this is now. A nigga was 26 years old now and I’d started looking at life a little differently. While I still had every much infatuation with money, I just wanted to get that shit in a different way. It wasn’t worth playing with your freedom because at the end of the day, you couldn’t do shit with that money when you behind bars or if you’re six feet under. I’m not saying that I was about to jump out of the game right this instant because a nigga was fresh out of jail and I had to eat! Luckily for me, I was smart with the way I’d handled my money before I went to jail. I had a huge lump sum of money at my grandma’s house that was waiting for me.
Anyways, tonight it was Friday night and my niggas were taking me out to Club Mansion to celebrate my coming home. I’d hoped that tonight I ended up going to a hotel with a few bad bitches because a nigga was backed up. No pussy for 5 years damn near killed a nigga. Those COs used to walk around that bitch looking like they wanted to fuck a nigga but I’ll admit I had some morals when it came to bitches, so I wasn’t about to stick my dick in none of them busted ass correctional officers. A nigga was getting off for the past five years just by beating my damn meat. Whoever I took home with me tonight was going to definitely feel my wrath and the bitch might have to end up walking with a damn cane by the time I finish murdering her damn insides.
Right now, I was standing in my old room at my grandmother’s spot waiting on Quay to come and get me. First thing tomorrow morning, I was going to go find a spot of my own with the realtor that I had spoken to on the phone with earlier this week and I also needed to get a new whip. Looking in the mirror, I knew without a doubt that I was indeed that nigga. I was currently wearing a pair of all-white Levi jeans that were sagging off my ass with the extra crisp crease in them. I had on a long sleeve plaid shirt from Polo and a pair of tan Timberlands boots on my feet. The jewelry that was around my neck, wrist and fingers was literally the cost of somebody’s mortgage. I went inside the case on my dresser and put in my 14k gold grillz top and bottom and ran my hands over my hair. I’d went to the barber this morning, so I was all cleaned up for this event. I sprayed a little bit of my Guilty Gucci cologne and threw my iPhone, which I had just purchased yesterday, in my front pocket. A nigga was away for five years, so all that Instagram, Snapchat, and Twitter shit was new to me. I needed to hurry up and learn how to work it because I needed to find me some bad hoes.
Walking out of my room, I went down into the den to see my grandma sitting on the couch watching her gospel channel on TV. Ever since I could remember, she’d always watched this shit. My grandma was one of those old fashioned grandmothers, similar to Irma P. Hall from the movie Soul Food. No matter how strict she tried to be when I started living with her, or how many times she beat my ass with a damn switch, she still couldn’t tame my ass.
“What’s up, old lady?’ I asked my grandma, sitting next to her on the couch and kissing her on her forehead.
“Just sitting here thinking,” she responded, looking over at me.
“Thinking about what?” I asked, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.
“Diandre, I’m praying for you every night. You got a second chance at life and I don’t want you messing it up, doing reckless stuff in these here streets. I want you to start making wiser decisions and think about the consequences before you react. You got five years last time, you don’t want to have to do life. Baby boy, you have the potential to do better and I love you and it will kill me if something were to happen to you,” my grandma said and I could hear it in her voice that she was stressed. I was pissed at myself because I already knew that I was the cause of that.