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“Shit, if you ain’t, then I know you ain’t that far from it. Ima send that pregnancy test, though, because you trippin’ for real,” he said.
“Where is Khari? I want to talk to her,” I changed the subject.
“Upstairs making a big ass mess in her room. Ima tell her to call you from her phone. I miss you. Shit ain’t the same without you here,” he said.
“You miss me, but you just finished cursing me out. That don’t even make sense,” I told him.
“You be trippin’, that’s why. Take your bath, ma, and call me once you get settled in the bed and shit. I want to have a convo with you and that pussy tonight,” he said, and I laughed.
“And tell her what?” I asked.
“That I think a nigga scored. A nigga is certain that you pregnant. Call me back tonight. I love you,” he let me know.
“I love you more,” and with that, our conversation was done.
“What the fuck you mean, yo? How the fuck they going to charge me with some shit that they don’t even know that I did for sure? Ain’t I’m in here for putting hands on my baby mama? Niggas beat they bitch every fuckin’ day! Fuck you mean I can be looking at a couple of life sentences? That’s bullshit!” I barked at my lawyer as I sat at a small, square table with him with my hands shackled.
They were treating a nigga like I was a fuckin’ terrorist
or some shit because I stayed chained the fuck up whenever I was let out of my cell. On top of that, when the officers found me a few days ago, they kicked the fuckin’ door down like I was Osama Bin Laden. I was just a nigga who put my foot in my baby mama’s ass, and if I must say so myself, Denim deserved that shit for even fuckin’ playing with me like I was some lame ass nigga out here. I done put my hands on Denim before, but nothing to this extreme.
I’ll admit that a part of me just blacked the fuck out. I thought back to the day she had that nigga over to the house with my daughter sitting on his fuckin’ lap, and that hoe knew all this time that Khari belonged to me. I knew the type of grimy, money-hungry bitch that Denim was, so I knew that was the only reason her bitch ass lied and pinned the baby on that nigga in the first place.
What’s so crazy is that I never stopped to ask shorty for a DNA test. Around the time Khari was conceived, Denim and I weren’t even together. Yeah, we fucked occasionally, but I knew she was fuckin’ on other niggas too because she and I didn’t have a commitment. Hell, I was fuckin’ bitches too, so it wasn’t like I was bothered by what Denim was doing with her pussy.
This shit would make a nigga out to be the bad guy, but I bet nobody would talk about the fact that the bitch lied for five fuckin’ years about who was Khari’s real father. They would only see the fact that I’d put my hands on a pregnant woman, and now I had her in the hospital, fighting for her life, but no one would see the foul shit that Denim did.
Denim thought that she could scream she was pregnant, and that would get her out of an ass whipping, but that bitch lied about me being Khari’s real father, so I knew she would lie about anything else. Damn right, I didn’t believe her when she screamed that she was pregnant. Even if she was, I didn’t trust that hoe no more, so who even knows if that baby was mine for real.
For the past few days since I’d been in this bitch, I’ll admit that a nigga had been going fuckin’ crazy. My mama ain’t support the shit I had done, but she did hook a nigga up with a lawyer, and here I was, meeting up with him for the first time. This bitch ass nigga wasn’t telling me shit I wanted to hear. Honestly, I was wondering where the fuck she even found this nigga because I could tell he was still wet behind the ears when it came to this lawyer shit.
I wondered if my mama had purposely gotten me this weak ass lawyer, so she could see a nigga behind bars for a long fuckin’ time. Then again, my mama didn’t even move like that. Besides, she told me all the time that I was all she had in this world, so I doubt she would willingly do some foul shit to a nigga and force us to be apart. As much as my mama loved me, when I hit her up and told her the shit I had done to Denim and how it was a possibility that the police would be looking for my ass, she basically shut the shit down before I even got to ask her if I could hide out at her house for a couple of hours to come up with a plan. Hung up the phone on me too, right after she let me know that she loved me and she would get me a lawyer.
I was an only child, and all my life, it had just been my mama and me. She ain’t have no siblings either. Then again, I don’t know if she had any siblings because my mama grew up in foster homes. I can’t tell you the times that she’d sang that same sad song to a nigga over the years. She let me know a thousand times that the life she had to endure growing up is what made her the strong woman she was today. When she was fourteen years old, a black couple who had no children of their own adopted her. My mama told me how it was because of them that she actually finished high school and went to college because before being adopted into that family, she had no goals or shit to go to school.
Long story short, my mama got pregnant with me during her second year of college. She kept me, and by this time, her parents had set her up nicely in a one-bedroom apartment because she was attending school locally. My mama going through shit like pushing through college while pregnant and even finishing while raising a baby on her own was the reason she had instilled in me for as long as I could remember to get an education, so I could do something for myself when I got older. However, a nigga had been fiending for that street life ever since I was a little nigga.
Let my mama tell it, I was always bad. My first time going to juvie was when I was ten years old, and that was for stabbing a nigga in the neck with a pocketknife. I won’t and act like I was some notorious drug dealer in Miami, but I was making a little noise, and I was trying to get on that level.
The fucked-up thing about it is that I really did love Denim. I really wanted to get my shit together, so we could be a family and give the kids something that neither of us had growing up. That was the page that we had been on for the past couple of years, but the second that fuck nigga Billion came home, that hoe changed. She was back to being all on that nigga’s dick, and little shit she did just turned me the fuck off.
While I’ve been in that little ass cell for the past few days, one question that I kept asking myself was whether I regretted doing what I did to Denim, and the answer to that question is no! I had no regrets. I just should have properly planned the shit out because I knew a couple of her neighbors had seen me when I walked into her apartment. I should have come in like a thief in the night and did her ass dirty, leaving no possibility for her to wake up from this shit.
As I sat across from my lawyer, Moses, I thought he was about to hit me with some good news, letting me know that it would be easy to get a bond, but he was in this bitch bringing up old murders I committed from months ago, drugs found in my cousin’s apartment where I was laying low when all this shit went down, and of course, the charges I had for beating up Denim. Did I really think that these crackers had anything on me for those murders? Nah. They were just throwing anything out there, trying to scare a nigga.
My homies would have had to rat on a nigga for the cops to know about those bodies we had hidden. Homies that I knew would never do no fucked-up shit like that, so I wasn’t too much worried about that shit. Now, the drugs, I was a little bit worried about because there were so many fuckin’ drugs in that apartment; that shit could get a nigga buried under the jail, although none of that shit belonged to me.
I got picked up from an apartment in Tampa where my cousin stayed, and I didn’t even trap out of Tampa. Any weight I moved, I did that shit out of Miami. It was my older cousin, Mitch, who I had been staying with, and he did his dirty work where he laid his head. I told myself that I didn’t need to be around that shit because if there was a chance that I got picked up at his apartment, I knew the consequences I would face in drug charges. At the same time, I ain’t want to be checking into no motels or no shit like that. All it took was for someone to see me, and I knew they would call and rat on me because the money on my head was high. I ain’t want to keep driving on the road because I couldn’t chance getting pulled over.
Mitch was like the only nigga I could trust who I knew wouldn’t rat me out, so that’s why I took that ride to Tampa. They not only picked me up, but they picked my cousin up too. I hadn’t seen him since I’d been in there, though. I wasn’t even sure where they got the tip that I was hiding out in Tampa. This shit was making me not trust a fuckin’ soul, I swear.
I knew those crackers wouldn’t believe me, even if I said until I was blue in the face that those drugs weren’t my shit. As far as Denim, they were trying to charge me with attempted murder on not only her but on the baby too, since she was pregnant. If Denim didn’t wake up from the coma, they would charge me with murder, and that was an automatic life sentence on top of the other two life sentences they were trying to hit me with.
“Mr. Wilson, if I were you, I would calm down! I’m literally the only choice you have. I’m probably the only person that’s on your side right now, and the only reason I’m on your side is that I’m being paid to represent you. I know an innocent man when I see one, and I can look in your eyes and tell that you aren’t innocent, so again, you need to relax!
“I’m sure you know about the two missing person reports that were filed back in November of last
year on a twelve-year-old boy and his father. Police got an anonymous tip, and let’s just say that this person is cooperating with the police. They claim to know where both of the bodies are, and somehow they can prove that you are the one responsible for those murders. Now, I can argue that you were scared and hiding out in Tampa because it was your last resort.
