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“—I ain’t the one. Fuck what ya heard,” she continued. “I’ma grown-ass woman and how you tried to get at me was on some real shady shit.” Oh my God, I was so ready to blast this ho’s ass. I bit down on my bottom lip and let her continue. “Ever since you left Brooklyn you really been on some extra shit, and I ain’t feelin’ it. Instead of clockin’ what the fuck I do, you need to worry ’bout ya own shit. You act like you better than somebody; like you can’t be touched. Bitch, you bleed like I bleed. You shit like I shit. You ain’t the baddest bitch around, be clear. ’Cause you can get it, too.”
“Wow, I musta really hit a nerve.”
“Nah, bitch, you ain’t hit shit. I just don’t ’preciate how you tried to shine on me. That shit was jacked the fuck up.”
“Okay, you already said that.”
“And I’ma say it a thousand more times if I want, and what, bitch?”
Deep breath.
Silence.
“Are you done?” I finally asked, really tryna hold my tongue. “’Cause you do know, bitch, I really don’t give a fuck. You do know this. But if you need to get ya shit off, then do you.” Yeah, she was heated, but no matter how much shit she popped, I knew this ho didn’t really want it.
“Fuck you, Kat. I hate ya ugly ass.”
I laughed. “Bitch, is there anything else you gotta say, that you wanna say, that you think you need to say? ’Cause I ain’t call ya ass for this.”
“Well, what the fuck you call for, then?”
“What’s the name of that doctor’s office Tameka works at?”
“I don’t know,” she said. But I could tell the bitch was lyin’.
“Well, let me get her number so I can ask her myself.”
“You know I don’t give out nobody’s numbers ’n shit.”
“Humph. Well, call her and give her mine ’cause I need to speak to her.”
“Why, you pregnant or something?”
“No, bitch, I ain’t pregnant. But, I heard my moms was up in that piece. So, I need to see what’s good.”
And when I catch her ass, I’ma dig in her fuckin’ face.
“Well, then, why the fuck you don’t call ya moms and ask her?”
I rolled my eyes. “Obviously, bitch, I’m not speakin’ to her. Duh, now follow the yellow brick road and call ya damn sista, and tell her to call me.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Since we were addressin’ shit and the bitch was already vexed with me, I figured I might as well keep shit goin’. “By the way, what’s good with them E’s?”
“What?” she asked, soundin’ shocked. “E’s? What you talkin’ ’bout?”
I sighed, suckin’ my teeth. “I’m talkin’ ’bout you poppin’ E’s, that’s what.”
“Who told you that?”
“Is it true?” I asked, iggin’ her ass. I hated when bitches asked who told someone somethin’ ’bout them. I’m like, who the fuck cares who said it; either the shit’s true or it isn’t.
“I do my thing from time to time,” she said. “Why?”
I shook my head. A part of me had hoped the shit wasn’t true; that hatin-ass bitches and niggas were just talkin’. But from the looks of things, e’erything Naheem said was true. “’Cause the streets is talkin’,” I stated, soundin’ real disgusted. “But on some real shit, I wasn’t tryna believe it.”
“Why is muhfuckas all up on my clit? Damn, can’t a bitch do her without niggas clockin’ my moves? What the fuck!”
