what you tryna do but it ain't gone work.”
Bam!
The nigga hits me across the head with the gun, not hard enough to knock me out, but hard enough to motivate my ass. I wrap my sweaty hands around his dick and start sucking slowly; the nigga is fucking my mouth like he is in some pussy. After about three minutes, the nigga pulls out of my mouth and looks down at me.
“I'm getting ready to come,” he says and looks at me like I know what time it is. I try to rise up but he knocks me back down. “Suck my nut, bitch, or I'ma split yo muh-fucking head open!” La-La then forces his dick back into my mouth. This time he holds on to the back of my head with his left hand. He pumps and pumps until he busses off.
“I'm coming, I'm coming,” he announces. “Oh yeah, nickga, yeah, I like this shit, ooh yeah, ooh yeah, don't stop, keep sucking, nickga.”
I want to jump up and fight the nigga, but La is stronger than me, and I know there is no win. The big muh-fucker is cock diesel; he's 6 feet 5 inches, 240 pounds, and cut up like a mutherfucker. The nigga jerks off in my mouth and then tells me to get the fuck out of his house. I run to the bathroom. I'm humiliated, violated, and some mo shit. I shut the door behind me.
He yells, “Yeah, bitch, wash your mouth out.”
I sit on the toilet for a minute trying to compose myself, 'cause I am hurt like a muh-fucker. I'm already thinking of ways I'm gon’ get back at that nigga. I stand up and open the medicine cabinet to see if Melody keeps toothpaste or Listerine since I don't see shit lying around. I'm throwing shit out of the cabinet, which looks like it ain't never been cleaned or wiped out. That's when I come across a ring with the initial K on it. It's a diamond cluster, and one of the diamonds is missing from it. There was only one nigga in the hood that wore a ring like it, and that was my lil bro, KaQuanza.
I wonder, what the fuck is Quanza's ring doing in Melody and La's crib. Come to think of it, La-La's night-prowling ass is the only nigga that would be in the cut at four in the morning. And that nigga gambles every fucking day. Mat-o-fact, I saw that nigga at Food Circus with one of them dudes from Fairmont the same day Quanza died. Yeah, everybody knows them niggas from Fairmont love gambling. I wonder if La ass was out there with them, too. Man, I know this nigga ain't the one who pulled the trigger on my baby bro.
I sit on the toilet then stand up again, sit on the toilet, then stand up again. My mind is racing. It's going a hundred miles an hour. I start pacing back and forth in the confined quarters of the bathroom. My heart starts beating fast again and sweat pours down my face. I start thinking about all the crazy shit me and Quanza used to do when we was little, like playing “knock on people's door and run.” I think about how we used to make signs like we was homeless and stand in front of the Daily Planet Homeless Shelter on Canal Street holding signs that read hungry orphans, can you please spare a dime? just to collect money so we could go to the Kiddy Disco at the Ebony Island Club. Then I think about the time we used Uncle Lee's driver's license to get Quanza's ass in Club Tropicana, and how that nigga got pissy drunk 'cause his ass was a forty-five-year-old man that night and was able to buy liquor. I'm vexed. Ithink to myself, This nigga done killed my brother and made me suck his dick!
Man, I lose it. I swing open the bathroom door and run downstairs. La-La is sitting back at the table finishing off the box of cereal, his burner on the table beside him. I slam the ring down in front of him. He looks up from the bowl, still eating and wearing nothing but his boxers and says, “And what, nickga?”
“So it was you, dawg?” I'm not crying. I can't cry. Besides, the teardrop tattoo underneath my left eye takes care of my pain for me.
“Fuck it look like? You a smart girl, figure it out,” he says, reaching for his burner. He ain't fast
Bam!
The nigga hits me across the head with the gun, not hard enough to knock me out, but hard enough to motivate my ass. I wrap my sweaty hands around his dick and start sucking slowly; the nigga is fucking my mouth like he is in some pussy. After about three minutes, the nigga pulls out of my mouth and looks down at me.
“I'm getting ready to come,” he says and looks at me like I know what time it is. I try to rise up but he knocks me back down. “Suck my nut, bitch, or I'ma split yo muh-fucking head open!” La-La then forces his dick back into my mouth. This time he holds on to the back of my head with his left hand. He pumps and pumps until he busses off.
“I'm coming, I'm coming,” he announces. “Oh yeah, nickga, yeah, I like this shit, ooh yeah, ooh yeah, don't stop, keep sucking, nickga.”
I want to jump up and fight the nigga, but La is stronger than me, and I know there is no win. The big muh-fucker is cock diesel; he's 6 feet 5 inches, 240 pounds, and cut up like a mutherfucker. The nigga jerks off in my mouth and then tells me to get the fuck out of his house. I run to the bathroom. I'm humiliated, violated, and some mo shit. I shut the door behind me.
He yells, “Yeah, bitch, wash your mouth out.”
I sit on the toilet for a minute trying to compose myself, 'cause I am hurt like a muh-fucker. I'm already thinking of ways I'm gon’ get back at that nigga. I stand up and open the medicine cabinet to see if Melody keeps toothpaste or Listerine since I don't see shit lying around. I'm throwing shit out of the cabinet, which looks like it ain't never been cleaned or wiped out. That's when I come across a ring with the initial K on it. It's a diamond cluster, and one of the diamonds is missing from it. There was only one nigga in the hood that wore a ring like it, and that was my lil bro, KaQuanza.
I wonder, what the fuck is Quanza's ring doing in Melody and La's crib. Come to think of it, La-La's night-prowling ass is the only nigga that would be in the cut at four in the morning. And that nigga gambles every fucking day. Mat-o-fact, I saw that nigga at Food Circus with one of them dudes from Fairmont the same day Quanza died. Yeah, everybody knows them niggas from Fairmont love gambling. I wonder if La ass was out there with them, too. Man, I know this nigga ain't the one who pulled the trigger on my baby bro.
I sit on the toilet then stand up again, sit on the toilet, then stand up again. My mind is racing. It's going a hundred miles an hour. I start pacing back and forth in the confined quarters of the bathroom. My heart starts beating fast again and sweat pours down my face. I start thinking about all the crazy shit me and Quanza used to do when we was little, like playing “knock on people's door and run.” I think about how we used to make signs like we was homeless and stand in front of the Daily Planet Homeless Shelter on Canal Street holding signs that read hungry orphans, can you please spare a dime? just to collect money so we could go to the Kiddy Disco at the Ebony Island Club. Then I think about the time we used Uncle Lee's driver's license to get Quanza's ass in Club Tropicana, and how that nigga got pissy drunk 'cause his ass was a forty-five-year-old man that night and was able to buy liquor. I'm vexed. Ithink to myself, This nigga done killed my brother and made me suck his dick!
Man, I lose it. I swing open the bathroom door and run downstairs. La-La is sitting back at the table finishing off the box of cereal, his burner on the table beside him. I slam the ring down in front of him. He looks up from the bowl, still eating and wearing nothing but his boxers and says, “And what, nickga?”
“So it was you, dawg?” I'm not crying. I can't cry. Besides, the teardrop tattoo underneath my left eye takes care of my pain for me.
“Fuck it look like? You a smart girl, figure it out,” he says, reaching for his burner. He ain't fast
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