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I had to have been asleep for about two hours before I woke up because I could feel somebody staring at me. You ever been knocked out, but you could feel eyes on you? That’s how it was. Sidnesha was known to stare at a nigga while he slept. I can’t tell you the times I had been woken from my sleep by her either hitting a nigga with something or slapping the shit out of me.
I slowly opened my eyes, preparing myself for her bullshit because I knew something was coming. I woke up to her sitting up on her side of the bed. My phone was in her hands, and she was going through it with tears in her eyes. I knew the shit I had in there could hurt her feelings, so I reached over and snatched the shit out of her hands.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, yo? Why the fuck you going through my phone? Do I sit around and go through your shit?” I barked, getting defensive, like only a lying, dog ass nigga would do as I tried to flip the shit and put it on her.
“What the fuck is wrong with me? I should be asking you what the fuck is wrong with you! You fucked that ugly ass bitch, Celine, yesterday, and you came home to me and got in the bed with me like nothing even fuckin’ happened! It’s not even just her! Billion, you are texting all kinds of ugly ass bitches like you are fuckin’ single! I’m so sick and tired of you fuckin’ disrespecting me like this! You telling me how I’m going to be your wife one day, yet you doing dirty ass shit like this behind my back! Nigga, I just gave you a beautiful ass fuckin’ son, and this the shit that I get in return from you? I hate your black ass!” she screamed, and then she started crying.
I ain’t say shit back because I knew I was wrong. I didn’t know why I didn’t delete them fuckin’ messages out of my phone in the first place. I sat on the side of the bed, holding my head in my hands as I listened to my shorty cry for like the fourth time this week, and it was only Wednesday.
My back was turned to her, and all of a sudden, I felt her getting out of the bed. She charged at me like a raging fuckin’ bull. She was punching a nigga, slapping me, and I just sat there, taking that shit because, for one, I was wrong, and two, I would not be putting my hands on no woman.
“Since you want to fuck them hoes and act like your ass is single, then go ahead and do that. Get the fuck out, nigga! Go and be with Celine!” she screamed.
My nose was leaking and shit, getting all on my chest because I wasn’t wearing a shirt. She snuck a nigga good in the nose, and it took everything in me not to hit her ass back. The second I raised my hand to hit her back, she’ll tell everyone who would listen that I be in this bitch abusing her.
“Watch the fuck out, yo! I get it! You mad, but keep your motha fuckin’ hands to yourself. This is why a nigga be out fuckin’ hoes. Look at the way you act! You be turned up all the fuckin’ time. Simmer yo’ black ass down sometimes. I fuck with bitches who know how to shut the fuck up and act like a lady. You be on this loud ass, ghetto shit, turning a nigga the fuck off with all that!” I spat and tried to walk around her, so I could get into the bathroom.
She let out a sarcastic ass laugh and mushed the fuck out of me in the back of my head.
“If I’m turned the fuck up, it’s because your stupid ass did something to make me act like this! You always want to blame everybody and everything else for the reason you can’t keep your dick in your pants. Ima start being so fuckin’ disrespectful, and Ima fuck one of yo’ niggas. Let’s see how you like that!” she screamed.
“Go! I don’t give a fuck! I got a drawer full of condoms! You need some?” I barked, getting in her face.
No, I wouldn’t want her to fuck one of my niggas, but since she was saying shit that I knew she didn’t mean, I would do the same. She raised her hand and slapped the shit out of me. When she tried to do that shit again, I got a hold of her hand this time and slammed her ass on the
bed. I just remember tussling with her ass, trying to restrain her and calm her ass down. I don’t even know where the fuckin’ knife came from; I just remember her picking up the sharpest fuckin’ knife we had in the house, and that shit plunged into my chest a good three times.
No lie, I thought a nigga had died in that bedroom that night. It was so much blood in the room, looking like something a horror movie. Meanwhile, I’m leaking fuckin’ blood, yet I got my baby mama in the fuckin’ room, crying like she was the motha fucka in pain. Everything after that was just a fuckin’ blur. I don’t even remember how I made it to the fuckin’ car, but I did. I remember bits and pieces of being rushed to the hospital.
Nesha lied and told the police that some niggas came into the apartment and tried to rob us. In no time, they had my chest stapled. Let me tell you the most toxic shit about this ghetto ass story. When I was discharged from the hospital (the same fuckin’ hospital that Sidnesha sent a nigga to for stabbing m, then had the nerve to be in that bitch crying, like she didn’t do it), we stopped at Popeyes on the way home, ate our food in the parking lot, and I got the best head of my life in that passenger seat.
Before that shit happened, I already knew that my baby mama and I were toxic for each other, but I swear, that moment just really confirmed it.
Now that the shit was in the past, I could laugh about it, but when the shit was taking place, I promise you, it wasn’t shit funny about not knowing whether I would live or die. I thought a hating ass nigga or a cop would take me out before my own baby mama did that shit. Several ghetto ass events like that had taken place in my dating life, and I had lived through them. Most of them took place between Sidnesha and me.
The shit I went through with shorty is the reason Normani meant so much to a nigga. I felt like she was just a breath of fresh air. At the same time, I ain’t about to act like I ain’t play my part in running Nesha crazy because I knew that my cheating had mentally fucked her up some more. Then again, Sidnesha had come into our relationship with a whole bunch of fuckin’ baggage from dealing with a nigga before me, who wasn’t only cheating, but the nigga physically abused her.
I remember our first date, she wanted to go through my phone, so she could see if I was texting other bitches. From there, I shouldn’t have stayed, but I could tell she was crazy, and back then, I had an obsession with a crazy bitch. They had some fire pussy! All in all, I had faith that Sidnesha would find her a good man. Shorty was a phenomenal ass mother, and when she wasn’t on her crazy shit, she could be a good partner. She was a hard worker, so I knew there was a nigga out there for her.
“You ready to go inside?” I asked Khari once she and I were standing in front of Denim’s room door.
Shit, I needed to be asking myself that same question because I didn’t know if I was ready to step inside. She nodded that she was ready to go inside, and I just walked right on in because Denim’s mother knew that we were coming. I had texted her this morning to let her know that I would be bringing Khari by once I picked her up from school.
We walked on in, and the first thing I heard was the news playing and the monitor in the room beeping. I spotted Rylo, who was sitting at a table doing her homework. She looked just like that nigga, Reggie. From the time I’ve been around Rylo, which wasn’t that often, I’ll admit that she was a respectful little girl. She saw me and waved. I waved back at her, and then my attention went to Denim’s mother, who was standing by Denim’s bed, she was wringing out a washcloth into a pink bin. It looked like she had just given Denim her bath.
The covers on the bed were pulled down, but she was in her hospital gown. The first thing I saw was the cast she had on her foot. My eyes examined each body part for at least ten seconds, and the more my eyes traveled up, the worse shit got. I knew how women could exaggerate, so when Sidnesha told me that Denim didn’t look like herself, I just knew that she was exaggerating the story, so she could get a nigga to feel bad and come down to the hospital, but she was right. The bruises and shit were bad, and if I ain’t know Denim the way I did, I would swear up and down this wasn’t her.
Seeing her face and how bruised it was made me want to find this nigga and kill him my damn self. No matter how mad a woman gets, you ain’t supposed to ever let shit get this fuckin’ bad.
“This isn’t Mommy,” Khari said, and then she started crying.
“That is your mommy. Look at her dreads. Look at the tattoo on her wrist,” I said, turning Denim’s hand around and showing Khari the tattoo of her name along with her sister’s name.
Khari saw that, and she broke down, disregarding everything that we had talked about in the school parking lot, but it was cool. If I had to see my mama like that at five years old, it would have fucked me up too.
“Who… whooo did thissss?” she cried, big tears falling from her eyes as she looked at me like I had all the answers.
This shit was hard on me, so I was glad when Denim’s mother took Khari out of my arms and then walked out of the room with her. Although she’d closed the door behind her, I could still hear Khari out there crying. Her cries eventually grew distant, so I knew that she had to have walked away with her.
