La Familia

by Paradise Gomez

  We continued to talk. The projects were still sleeping. It was quiet because it was Sunday morning. People were either in church, or coming over a hangover.

  Rico looked at me; his eyes became fixated on my thighs and hips. I knew what he was looking at. My figure was looking great in the jeans I wore. We hadn’t fucked yet, but it was obvious he was thinking about some pussy, hypnotized off my body. I was thick, juicy, and in shape.

  “When I’m gonna see you again?” he asked.

  “Whenever. You got my number.”

  “Yeah, I do, and I’m gonna definitely use it.”

  “You do that.”

  “Can I get another kiss before you leave?” he asked with a smile.

  “That can definitely happen.”

  We leaned toward each other and pressed our lips together fervently, locking our mouths tight like magnets. Our mouths hungrily devoured each other’s lips as our tongues battled for dominance. I would suck every now and then on his tongue, easily pulling his wet muscle into my playground. I felt his hand cupping my breast and his other hand pressed against my thigh. My pussy throbbed. I loved the taste of his breath against mines and I loved the way he touched me, heatedly, yearning for me and my goodies. It’d been a minute since I had sex. I wasn’t fuckin’ niggas like that. They were chasing for my treasures, but the treasure chest wasn’t going to open easily for anyone. I had some good pussy, ’cause I’d been told that by everyone who had the chance to slide into me, and when some niggas get a taste of it, they don’t know how to act afterward. They become possessive and wanna stalk you. That’s why you gotta be careful who you give your cookies to. Next thing you know, you got the Cookie Monster coming after you looking crazy and fiendish.

  I already knew Rico was going to get some though. He had me open. He was smart, ambitious, and funny. I mean, even though he was Puerto Rican and thuggish, this man was impressive. He was a hustler, but he could talk that Harvard shit. I was attracted to his intelligence. Street smarts and book smarts were making my pussy wet.

  We continued kissing and groping each other in the front seat of his 650i. I would occasionally give into his needs and probe my long, sinuous muscle into his mouth, coiling it several times around his own. I had him hard. The bulge in his jeans was notable. I wondered how big his dick was. With his swag alone, I knew the dick had to be good. But I had to get my mind out of the gutter and make my exit. This nigga had me ready to take my jeans and panties off in the front seat and ride that dick in broad daylight.

  I pulled away from him, panting and feeling horny.

  “That was nice,” I said.

  “Yeah, you got a nigga feeling crazy nice right now,” he replied.

  “I do, huh?”

  He nodded.

  We talked briefly again and I had to go. I stepped out of Rico’s car with a pleasant smile on my face. With it being a beautiful day, I wasn’t ready to sleep yet. I was high off of life, having a great time in Philly and with him. Rico waited for me to walk into the lobby until he pulled away. I watched him drive off. They said he was dangerous, but he was such a gentleman. I never been out of New York and he took me two states away from home. I definitely wanted to see him again.

  The minute I stepped into the elevator my phone went off. I looked at the caller ID and it was Sammy calling. I figured she was worried. I was having such a good time that I forgot to give her a call.

  I answered and the first thing Sammy said to me was, “Damn, bitch, you forgot about me. I hope you had a great time wit’ that nigga.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sammy,” I apologized.

  “Where did he take you? At least give me that since you ducked out on Search and me last night,” she said.

  I was reluctant in telling her the truth, but Sammy was my friend and we didn’t hide anything from each other. “He took me to Philly,” I said.

  “Philly?” she hollered into the phone.

  “Yeah, Philly.”

  I already knew she was really upset and would be against me and Rico hooking up. I tried changing the subject by asking, “So, what happened? What did y’all talk about?”

  “If you would have been there then you would have known what went down, Mouse. That was so fucked up how you did us,” she proclaimed.

  “Well, I’m sorry, Sammy. I can make it up to you.”

  “You better, Mouse. I really want this music thing to happen in our lives, so we gotta be on our grind.”

  “I feel you.”

  “Search set up some studio time for us Tuesday night. He’s gonna pay for our sessions. You good wit’ that?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Sammy and Search wanted to start working on our demo and an underground album. I was excited. Search wanted to market and promote us. He had these extraordinary plans for Vixen Chaos. Search had a vision for us, but first we had to create a buzz out there on the streets, create a strong following for ourselves. Doing shows in places like the Bronx, Harlem, and Yonkers was nice, but we needed something tangible to put in people’s hands for them to play in their cars or on their iPhones. Search was the brains and we were the talent. He always said we needed to get into the studio and start recording. I was down.

  “Don’t let love blind you, Mouse,” she warned.

  “Who said anything about being in love?” I replied, becoming a bit irritated. “We just hung out and talked. It ain’t like he brand new to us, Sammy. Rico is cool peoples.”

  “I know you, Mouse.”

  I sucked my teeth. I didn’t want to hear her fuckin’ preaching right now. “Sammy, stop tryin’ to set up a wedding date and shit. Maybe I just wanna fuck the nigga and keep it moving. You know I ain’t had any dick in a minute,” I proclaimed.

  She laughed. “You crazy, girl. You and me both. But all I’m sayin’ is just be careful wit’ Rico. You already know he ’bout that life and he can be trouble.”

  In more ways than one, I thought. I was thinking about all the nasty things I wanted to do with Rico’s fine ass. But I didn’t let Sammy know about it. I was already being criticized by her.

  “Rico’s about his business, Sammy. Like us,” I replied.

  “And let’s stay about our business. So Tuesday night, we up in the studio wit’ Search and his peoples. A’ight?”

  “I’m there.”

  “I love you, Mouse,” she said genially.

  “And I love you too, Sammy,” I returned.

  We both said our good-byes. Even though Sammy could get on my nerves, sometimes acting like she was the big sister when we were the same age, I still loved her. I knew she was only watching my back. Now that was friendship, when they tell you something you need to hear instead of something you want to hear. Sammy was never the one to sugarcoat anything. Real recognized real, and that’s why we were so fuckin’ close.

  I walked into my apartment after talking with Sammy. Yeah, she was tight that I went with Rico last night, but I had a thing for him. I wasn’t trying to marry the nigga, but I had a feeling that things with him might work out. Now I’m not saying it was love at first sight, but there was some sparks between us.

  With it being late morning, almost early afternoon, my apartment was dark. The shades were drawn and not an ounce of sunlight percolated into the living room. My father was sleeping on the couch when I walked in. He was on his back. He had an empty bottle of Mad Dog 40/40 in one hand and an expired cigarette in the next hand. Once again he had drunk himself to sleep. He was shirtless with his gang tattoos and war scars showing. Even though my father was in his late thirties, he still had it going on, physique and looks wise. These young bitches in Edenwald all had crushes on my father. Back in the days he was the man, balling, making bank, and doing big things.

  However, we both lived a rough life; my father lived a very hard life growing up, especially coming from the Dominican Republic. My father, Hector, who went by the street name Ozone, was a serious OG in the hood. He ran with the Latin Kings back in the days and moved
up in the ranks quickly. He was an enforcer for the notorious gang. He did everything for them, from murders, moving drugs, beatings, and extortions. My father’s name rang out heavily in the streets. He had been to hell and back so many times, the devil had a personal timeshare for him there.

  For the past two years, my father had been keeping a low profile. He’d been trying to keep out of trouble. Since he was ten, trouble was the only thing he knew. I never knew my grandparents; they still lived in the Dominican Republic and never came to the States to visit me, and I never went there.

  When my father was fourteen, he was a terror out there and he had gotten into serious trouble on the island. His parents had gotten him a visa and sent him to America to escape death or prosecution. He came to live with his aunt. But living in the States didn’t change his ways. He became worse in America, being in and out of jail since he was fifteen, and then he met my mother when he was seventeen and they had me two years later.

  He came home for good three years ago and was now on parole. Hector became tired of the streets, going in and out of jail since he was ten years old—first in the Dominican Republic and then in America—dealing with the shootings, stabbings, and murders. My father done seen it all. His respect preceded him and I was his baby girl, his only child. But most times, I didn’t feel like it. My father was a personal hell in my life.

  I pretty much raised myself when he wasn’t around. When my mother died our lives became more gripping and hard, but we survived. The streets were in our blood. I followed in my father’s footsteps by joining my own gang, the Edenwald Blood Vixens, and soon I was getting arrested and becoming a menace to society. Music was the only positive thing right now I had going on in my life. But to keep it real, I was also lonely. Yeah, I had Sammy in my life, but I was looking for some intimacy and love in my life, too. Rapping wasn’t going to keep me warm and scratch my throbbing pussy at night. I wanted my cake and to eat it, too. Why not have the best of both worlds: my career in music and a good man in my life?

  I wasn’t trying to wake up my father. I wanted to let him sleep because I didn’t want to hear his mouth and endure his abuse. He was also mentally unstable, pretty much crazy. He was on medication. The streets, the killings, and prison fucked him up pretty bad. The nigga was unpredictable. When he got drunk, it got worse. It was when he would put his hands on me and forget that I was his little girl.

  I went straight into my bedroom and undressed. The place was quiet. Usually my father would have his peoples and bitches come over, smoking, drinking or playing cards. Our apartment was the hangout spot. My father wasn’t in the streets anymore killing and doing grimy shit, but he still had his ways about him and he was still somebody you didn’t want to fuck with.

  As always, the first thing I went for was my stereo system. I turned it on and put in Kanye West and Jay-Z’s album, the two rap icons in the game. TV wasn’t my thing like that, I guess because we only had one TV in the apartment and it was in the living room, and the living room was always occupied with niggas. So when I was home, I would stay reclusive in my bedroom with the door shut and music playing loudly.

  I walked around my bedroom in my panties and bra and rolled up a phat blunt, some kush, and got high near my window. The sun was peaking in the sky and the courtyard below my window was gradually coming alive with the local residents. I took a few pulls and stared at nasty-ass Kay strutting through the courtyard, searching for her next high by sucking someone’s dick. I shook my head in disgust. She looked like a fuckin’ broomstick with clothes. It wasn’t going to be my future.

  I continued to smoke my joint, listening to my rap music. This time I had 2Pac playing, and as I heard him rhyme, I was coming up with a few lyrics of my own to spit next time. I quickly grabbed for my notebook and pen on the bed and began jotting down some lyrics. Living here, there was always something to write or rhyme about. When I started to write, Rico came into my head. I started thinking about him heavily and smiled. I just left him only a few hours ago, but I wanted to see him again. I was tempted to give him a call but I didn’t want to look desperate.

  I exhaled out the window and my attention stayed fixated on the courtyard below my window. I watched the young hustlers emerge from their apartments to linger around on the benches to serve the daily fiends wandering around, and to drink, smoke, roll dice, and waste their day hanging out.

  Yup, it was Kurt, Manny, D-dot, Feach, and Floyd. They were the neighborhood bad boys, drug dealers, playboy, gangsters, and killers. They were my niggas, though, young, exciting, and fresh, and just didn’t give a fuck. If you came at them, you better be heavily armed and ready to die, and if they came at you, you done fucked up.

  I eyed Feach the most though. We had a thing a while back, like six months ago. I fucked him. He was the last nigga to get this sweet pussy. And the dick was good. I liked him, but he wasn’t ready for a relationship. Feach was crazy like my father. He was two steps away from incarceration or death. Feach was a trigger-happy goon. He was very violent and temperamental, but also very handsome, and looking like Fabulous in his sagging jeans, Timberlands, and long cornrows.

  Everyone was rolling dice and I watched. The hustlers had the area on lockdown. If they didn’t know you, then you wouldn’t dare to pass by them, risking a serious beat down for interrupting their dice game or narcotics sales.

  After smoking, and being up for a very long time, I felt my eyes getting heavy. I retreated to my bed and the minute my face touched my pillow, it was lights out.

  I woke up a few hours later to Jose de Rico, “Rayos de Sol,” blaring from the other room:

  Quiero rayos de sol Tumbados en la arena

  Y ver como se pone tu piel dorada y morena

  I instantly knew that my father was awake and he probably had company. I got out of bed and looked out the window. It was dark. I glanced at the time and it was almost midnight.

  “Damn,” I uttered.

  I had slept for twelve hours straight. I was so tired. I reached for my phone and saw the missed calls. Two were from Sammy, the next was from an unknown number, the other one was from Tina, and the final was from Rico. I smiled when I saw Rico’s number on the screen. I was ready to call him back.

  With me being up at midnight, I was ready to hit the streets and do something. My home felt like trouble to me. Rico had tried to call me around nine p.m. and I wondered if it was too late to hit him back. As I was contemplating my next move, I heard a loud knock at my bedroom door. Before I could say to come in, the door swung open and there was my father standing in the doorway. He was shirtless with a cigarette dangling from his lips and, as was customary, a bottle of alcohol in his hand. I cursed myself for forgetting to lock my door.

  “Despertar dormilon,” he said in Spanish.

  “I am up,” I replied.

  “Come join the party, Mouse,” he said.

  “I’m okay.”

  I could hear loud chatter coming from the living room. It was a full house in our small apartment. I smelled the lingering cigarette smoke and heard the Spanish music blaring like we were at a concert hall. My father’s cronies always made me feel uncomfortable.

  My father looked at me. He was already drunk and it wasn’t going to take long until something bad happened. Either he would be fighting with me or with one of his guests in the other room. He stepped farther into my room with his saucy eyes locked on me. It felt like the devil himself was in my bedroom.

  “Papa, ya drunk,” I said.

  “I’m not fuckin’ drunk! Where were you last night?” he hollered.

  I moved back toward the window. He took a swig from the bottle and glared at me. This wasn’t going to be pretty at all.

  “I went out wit’ Sammy,” I said calmly. I didn’t want to anger him.

  “That little friend bitch of yours that is always gettin’ you into trouble. Ustedes dos son putitas,” he shouted.

  How can a father call his own daughter a whore?

  “She’s not a
whore and neither am I,” I argued.

  “You are a fuckin’ whore! You think I don’t know, Mouse. I still have people in the streets.”

  “Papa, get out!”

  He rushed toward me and smacked me across the face. I toppled over the chair in my room and hit the floor. My father towered over me, scowling.

  “You don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do. I manejar las cosas aqui.”

  He suddenly became furious, shouting at me that he ran things in this apartment. My eyes became flooded with tears. I stayed glued to the floor. I was still in my underwear and embarrassed. It was the liquor controlling him. It was the only time he became so abusive and mean to me. When he was sober, it felt like we were the best father and daughter team of the year. He would talk to me. He would love me. He would protect me. But that alcohol made him schizophrenic. It turned him into a fuckin’ monster.

  “Get up, you little bitch!” he screamed.

  I refused to get up so he could strike me back down. Here I was, one of the baddest bitches in my gang and in my hood, having respect from block to block, but here, in my own home, I felt like a coward. I was scared.

  “Get up!” he screamed again.

  He hit me again. The blow struck me on my cheek. He was strong. He was dangerous. I continued to cry.

  “Papa, stop it!” I yelled.

  “You’re my daughter! You do what the fuck I say. Ya not grown, you little bitch! This is my home and you keep ya fuckin’ legs closed. You better not end up fuckin’ pregnant or I’ll kill you and cut that bastard baby out ya belly!” he said harshly.

  Where was this suddenly coming from? Who was he talking to? I wanted to know. It scared me to death. My father was crazy, and even though it was the alcohol talking, I knew there might have been some truth to his words.