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“Fuck you, Booga,” I say, gettin’ up from the table to get another bottle of Cuervo.
She bursts out laughin’. We spend the rest of the afternoon, blazin’ and drinkin’ ’til we’re both so damn lit we can’t see straight. And as usual, Chanel’s drunk-ass ends up stayin’ the night.
Bang, bang, bang! Ding-dong, ding-dong! I OPEN MY EYES NOT sure if it’s a dream or if someone is really bangin’ on my damn door and ringin’ my doorbell like they two steps from crazy. The bangin’ and ringin’ continues. I glance ova at the clock. 8:47 a.m.
“Who da fuck’s bangin’ on ya door like that?” Chanel asks, standin’ in my doorway in ’er bra and panties wit’ ’er hair all ova her head. She pops ’er hips in my room, walkin’ into my closet to get a robe. I glance at ’er. The bitch’s body is bangin’.
“Beats da hell outta me,” I say, rollin’ ova on my left side and pullin’ da covers up ova my head. “Go down and see.”
She walks outta the room, goes downstairs. I hear the alarm chirp when she finally opens the door, then wonder what the fuck is takin’ ’er so long to come back upstairs.
A few minutes later she comes up and says, “Kat, girrrrrl, you gotta real problem.”
There’s more bangin’. Then pressin’ down on my doorbell. I snap up in bed. “What? Who da fuck is on my doorbell like that?”
She shakes her head. “Baaaaaaby, you might wanna boot up. It’s ya Aunt Rosa.”
My eyes buck in surprise. “Whaaaat?! Rosa’s at my muthafuckin’ door?”
“In da damn flesh. And girlfriend looks like she’s ready to make shit pop.”
Bang, bang, bang, bang! I swing the covers off, then jump outta bed. “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. That bitch brought ’er ass to my muthafuckin’ home tryna bring da noise? Oh, hell no. I’ma fuck this bitch up once ’n for all.”
I run into my closet, snatch’a Baby Phat sweatsuit off’a hanga, then hurriedly put it on. I boot up; tie my laces tight. “I’ma break this bitch’s face,” I say, brushin’ past Chanel. She follows behind me as I race down the stairs, then peek outta the livin’ room window to see what kinda work I gotta put in. Ohmigod, this crazy bitch came here solo, I think when I don’t see anyone else outside wit’ ’er.
“Kat, maybe you should call da police,” Chanel says, slippin’ into a pair’a sweats. She pulls ’er hair into a ponytail. “You said there’s a restrainin’ order, right?”
“Oh, I’ma call da police alright. After I finish rockin’ ’er sockets ’n knockin’ ’er grill out. I’ma need you to be on watch in case some ’xtra shit pops off.”
“I got you.”
Bang, bang, bang! “Kat, I know you’re in there, bitch! Open up this fuckin’ door and take ya ass-whoopin’ like a real bitch. Fuckin’ no-good bitch!”
Bang, bang, bang!
I decide to go out the back door and run ’round to the front to catch this ho by surprise. I tell Chanel to open the front door to distract ’er. I grab two bricks from off’a the patio table, then race ’round to the front. I hit the bitch in the back of the head wit’ one brick and throw the otha through my front window to make it look like the bitch was the one who tossed it.
She grabs ’er head. “Aaaaaah! Pussy bitch! You wanna sneak a bitch?! You wanna fight dirty?!” She charges me, but I got the ho dazed.
I grab ’er by the hair. “Bitch!” I snap, swingin’ ’er onto the ground, then draggin’ ’er by her scalp. “You come to my muthafuckin’ home like you wanna get it in, then let’s.”
“Bitch!” she yells, tryna pry my hands outta ’er hair. “Let my muthafuckin’ hair go and fight me like a real bitch.” I don’t let go ’til I yank’a handful of ’er hair out.
“Get da fuck up, bitch. You wanna rock wit’ da hands, then let’s.” I wait for the bitch to get up; hands balled in tight fists. Give ’er a moment to get ’er thoughts in check, then we bang it out. We go at it like two bitches who have hated each other for years. She’s punchin’. I’m punchin’. My fist connects wit’ the side’a ’er face. Hers connects wit’ the side’a mine. We go blow for blow. I hit ’er dead in ’er grill. She stumbles backward. “I’m so fuckin’ sick of you. I wish you’d die, bitch!” I punch ’er again. “I want you dead!”
She runs toward me, a
nd kicks me in the stomach. I stumble back. “I’ma fuck you up, Kat, for all da pain ya ungrateful ass caused my sista, for disrespectin’ ya grandmutha, and for comin’ at me like I’m some gutter bitch.”
“Suck’a crack pipe, slut,” I snap, punchin’ ’er in ’er throat, then kickin’ the bitch in ’er bad knee—the one I’m sure she thought I forgot ’bout—wit’ my steel toes. “You are a gutter rat.” She falls to ’er knees. “Get up, bitch! Let’s finish this shit once ’n for all.”
She gets up and, then in one swift motion, the bitch whips out ’er blade and swings it, slashin’ into the air. I jump back. She swings ’er blade again. Slashes the air again; attempts to bring it to my face. But I am smart enough to know not to get too close to ’er crazy ass.
Right now, I am too fuckin’ mad to be concerned if the bitch cuts me or not, I want ’er ass dropped. I charge ’er. “Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch, I hate you!” I knock ’er backward into a tree, grabbin’ her by the wrist, then twistin’ ’er arm ’til she drops the blade. I flip ’er onto the ground, then jump on top’a ’er. We roll ’round in the grass, slappin’, punchin’ and clawin’ each other ’til I reach for the brick that’s beside me and start rockin’ the front of ’er face wit’ it. Blood gushes out. And it only entices me; gets a bitch’s juices flowin’ and makes me wanna crack this ho’s skull open. Right now, I wanna smash ’er brains in. I bang in ’er mouth, again.
I hear Chanel scream. “Ohmiiigaaaawd, nooooo, Kat!”
Someone must have called the police. I can hear the sirens in the background, but I don’t give’a fuck. I let go of the brick, drop it on the ground, then get up, leavin’ Rosa lyin’ on the ground busted ’n bloody.
