“Bitch, how da fuck I know what it is. All I know is, Juanita’s dead ass shouldn’t be layin’ up there wastin’ hospital space. The bitch is dead and there ain’t no sense in draggin’ da shit out. And, as far as that lil’ thing inside of ’er, I’m doin’ it for its own good. Why da fuck would I wanna see that thing come into this world all fucked up?”
“Ohhhh, puhleeeeeze. Give. Me. A. Fuckin’. Break. You ain’t doin’ shit for nobody but ya’self. And it’s not a thing or a it, Kat. You talk like it’s an object. It’s a baby. Wit’ hands and feet and a mouth and nose. And you wanna take its life.”
I sigh. “Oh, well. There’s ’nough motherless and fatherless babies in this world. No sense in lettin’ it suffer, too.”
“Bitch, it’s murder!”
“How da fuck is it murder? Do ya homework, Sweetie. As long as that plug gets pulled while that thing is under twenty-four weeks, it’s all good.”
“Bitch, on some real shit, you’ve done and said some fucked-up shit before, but this right here goes waaaaay beyond fucked up. It’s some vicious, nasty, psycho bullshit.”
“Ho, please. Spare me. Since when da fuck you find a set’a morals?”
“Ohhhh no, trick, don’t try ’n flip this shit on me. You’re a real fucked-up, selfish bitch for this shit. And if you ask me, you ain’t no different from ya moms.”
“Excuuuuuuuuuuuse you?! What da fuck you say?”
“You heard me, ho. For years you been callin’ ya moms all kinda heartless, selfish-ass neglectful bitches. And here you soundin’ just like ’er.”
“Bitch, fuuuuuuck you,” I say, gettin’ up off’a my bed. “I ain?
?t nuthin’ like that woman.”
“No, fuuuuck you. And yes, you are. You just too damn blind to see it.”
“Uhhhhhh, nooooooooooo, sweetness. You got it fucked up.”
“Yeah, okay. Denial looks real fucked-up on you, boo.”
“Whateva,” I say, pacin’ the floor.
“Annnnnyway, if I was Rosa ’n ’em, I woulda jumped on ya ass, too. Keep shit real, boo. Is this about you or ya fuckin’ hate for ya moms? And da only bitch you need to be real wit’ ’bout it is you.”
The bitch bangs on me, but I’m not fazed ’cause my mind is made up. And there ain’t shit she or anyone else is gonna say to me to change it.
I take off my bra ’n panties, then head to the bathroom to fill the tub. A bitch need’s a real Calgon moment. I pour in bath crystals, let the water fill to the rim, then step into the steamy water. Chanel’s voice rings in my head. Bitch, on some real shit, you’ve done and said some fucked up shit before, but this right here goes waaaaay beyond fucked up. It’s some vicious, nasty, psycho bullshit.
“Ho, that bitch read ya ass for filth,” I say, layin’ my head back. I close my eyes, inhalin’. Am I bein’ selfish? Is this really ’bout me, or my hate for Juanita? Why da fuck should I let ’er baby live? Who’s gonna care for the thing? Rosa…Elise…ho-ass Patrice?
Before I start slippin’ down memory lane gettin’ all depressed ’n shit ’bout shit a bitch can’t change, I open my eyes, decide there’s nuthin’ to think ’bout. It is what it is. Right now, I need sumthin’ to relax me; to take my mind off’a all this craziness. I play wit’ my nipples, slide my right hand down into the water, and massage the front of my pussy. I need to be fucked nice ’n deep, I think, reachin’ for my cell. I scroll through the call log, then press TALK. As soon as it rings, I hang up, punkin’ out.
What da fuck is you doin’, ho?
Tryna get this pussy rocked?
Then why da fuck ya silly-ass hang up?
’Cause I don’t need da drama.”
Yeah, but ya dumb-ass needs sum dick.
My ringin’ cell disrupts the mini conversation in my head. I glance at the screen. Fuck! “Hello.”
“Yo, you call me?”
“Yeah, but it was a mistake. I dialed da wrong number.”
He laughs. “Yeah right. Stop frontin’. You know you was thinkin’ ’bout me. It’s cool, ma. You can say it.”