The shit she said to me had a nigga feeling defeated as fuck. I could tell just from her body language how distanced we were, and how the feelings I had for her were definitely one-sided. The thought made me want to hit a line or two, or call her up and curse her the fuck out, but I knew that would only make shit worse.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hampton. How are we feeling today?”
“I’m good,” I lied, not wanting this bitch to see me sweat. “How you doing?”
“I’m alright. Been with patients all day, so I’m doing just fine.” She sat down and slipped her glasses onto her wrinkled face. “I love what I do, so being at work usually keeps me in good spirits.” She grabbed her pen and notepad.
Dr. Rose was an elderly Black bitch who thought she knew every damn thing. But as irritated as I was by her, I was hoping that maybe she could give me some answers on how to either get Bia or get over Bia.
I ain’t really have nobody else because I wasn’t taking advice from Micah’s bitch ass. Nigga got duped by Isla for years so, shit, he needed therapy too. And then, my mama just kept telling me to leave Bia alone because I had damaged the relationship too much. Lastly would be Ricky, but unfortunately, that nigga had dropped me like a whore’s panties.
I’d called him on several occasions, texted him, hit his social media, but never got anything. I thought about popping up on him, but I was 100% sure he would whoop my ass, so for now that was a no-go. Honestly, I didn’t really realize how much that nigga meant to me until now … no homo. You get so used to certain shit and certain people that you begin to take shit for granted. But fuck him.
“Alrighty, Mr. Hampton—”
“I told you Qamar was fine.”
“Right.” Dr. Rose nodded. “So, Qamar, how have things been going?”
“As far as what?” I frowned.
“Just in general. How has your music been going, your relationships with family, friends, etcetera?”
For a minute, I just looked at her. What I hated was how smart she was. She knew what to ask and how to ask things, just so it could lead elsewhere.
“My career is umm … my career ain’t doing too well at the moment.” I sniffled and shrugged it off.
“And why is that?”
“Personal things,” I replied shortly.
Nadine’s family had assault charges filed against me, and once people got wind of the details, shit had been going downhill. To add insult to injury, the hospital was suing me for knocking Nadine’s respirator out of the machine that day I caught Bia in Switch’s lap.
Because of that shit, I had all kinds of feminists boycotting my shit, along with certain music stores, radio stations, and a lot of other places. A couple of my shows had been cancelled due to too many refunded tickets, and just a bunch of shit that I never thought would happen. I’d been living my life as if I were untouchable, and now it was catching up with me. It seemed unreal.
“Personal things like what, Qamar?”
Inhaling sharply, I said, “I did something, and now the bullshit is coming back on me. I know you’ve heard about the shit with Nadine Parrish. A bunch of bullshit from her family is killing me,” I ranted.
Dr. Rose wrote something down and then squinted her eyes.
“So, you believe that them filing charges, and in turn that causing you to fail in your career, is bullshit?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I see.” She nodded. “From what I have heard, the young girl almost died at your hands twice. Is that false?”
“No.”
“So if that is true, you don’t think her family deserves to be outraged?”
“That’s not the fucking point!” I yelled. “She ain’t dead, and they need to be happy about that, aight? Fuck do they expect, I was high as hell! They should feel like shit for doing this to me knowing I’m sick!”
Dr. Rose nodded calmly despite my demeanor.
“Last time you were here, Qamar, we talked about emotional blackmail, right?” She raised a brow, pushing up her glasses.
“Yeah, and it ain’t got nothing to do with me. Look, I’m just here because I need you to tell me what to do so I can get my girl back.”
“Okay, and who is this girl?”
“Her name is Bia. And she don’t want me because she doesn’t believe I’ve changed and shit. She thinks that I’m gon’ spiral out in a couple of months. Even though I told her dumb ass that I was fixed. I ain’t tripping off her being a dirty, nasty hoe in the past, so she should forgive me too.”
“Do you love her?”
“Yeah, ain’t it obvious? If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have brought her up!”
“No, it’s not obvious. Actually, it doesn’t seem like you love her at all.”
“How would you know?”
“Listen to the way you’ve just described her to me, Qamar. I got dumb, dirty, and hoe as a description.” She lifted a finger as she listed each word.
“Because I’m angry…” As soon as those three words left my lips, I dropped my face into my hands. “Fuck!”
“Qamar, a part of being an adult, particularly a man, is not lashing out and throwing tantrums. You are still in a childlike phase.”
“Nah, I’m not. I’ve been a man for a while now, Dr. Rose. In case you can’t see what’s in front of you.”
“What makes you a man besides the obvious, like your age?”
“I got my own house, my own cars, money, and shit … anything else I want. I’m a fucking man.”
“I see.” She jotted something else down. “Do you think taking your medicine and not doing drugs that affect your medicine, is being a man? What about speaking respectfully to the woman you care about, even when she does something you don’t want her to? Or not physically assaulting a young woman who refused sexual relations with you?”
“That doesn’t have shit to do with being a man.”
“So then why doesn’t Bia want to be with you? According to your explanation of a man, you have it all. So what’s the hold up?”
“Because she’s blaming me for things that were out of my control, aight? And if something happens to me, it’s gon’ be her fucking fault for putting all of this shit on me knowing I was sick. I am sick. When you have what I have, people need to realize that your actions are not your fault!”
“You mention your illness a lot.”
“Yeah, because it’s real!”
Dr. Rose nodded.
“So back to emotional blackmail, Qamar. The—”
“I don’ told you—”
“Listen for a moment. What you’re doing is emotionally blackmailing the people in your life. You manipulate them to do what you want, by making them feel guilty if they don’t comply. For instance, with your friend Ricky that you mentioned last time, you told me in the past you’d said or done things, but he forgave you because you were mentally ill.”
“So.”
“To put it simply, Qamar, you use your illness to get what you want. And when the person resists, you say hurtful things or you make them feel bad because of your illness. That feeling of guilt then forces them to go ahead and agree with your requests, which in your case, is wanting their friendship after you’ve wronged them.
The reason Bia doesn’t want you is for the reasons she explained, but also because she feels trapped when with you. She doesn’t know what it is, but she can feel that while with you, she feels forced in a way; that’s the emotional blackmail. Because it isn’t physical, it’s harder to detect.” Dr. Rose removed her glasses.
“No, ain’t no way—”
“Tell me, Qamar, and be honest, because nothing we talk about leaves this room.” She stared at me and I nodded. “All these things you’ve done lately, to Bia, Nadine, Ricky … were you in your right mind when they happened, and just maybe kind of did it anyway?” She pushed her glasses up. “Because let’s be honest. According to your doctor’s notes, you’re mildly bipolar but second level, which just means you get depressed for no reason when not m
edicated. Yet, your actions reflect those of someone with a more severe case; level one bipolar and maybe with slight schizophrenia. So I’m wondering if maybe it’s not your illness that causes you to lash out, but maybe it’s just … Qamar Hampton. Would you agree?”
It was dead quiet as I looked this bitch in her eyes intensely. It was almost if she was reading me like a book. I didn’t want to answer, but it was almost like vomit; like my body was forcing me to be honest about the shit.
“Yes,” I replied lowly as hell.
“Maybe you’re just naturally a reckless person, who has a mild case of random bouts of depression, yeah?”
“Yeah…”
On more occasions than one, I’d chosen to do some shit, knowing I would be able to slide if I said I hadn’t been taking my medicine. It started when I first got diagnosed. Everyone around me, my mom, aunt, and extended family would always mention my illness when I did some fucked up shit. Even when I knew damn well what I’d done happened when I was perfectly fine.
Over time, I just became careless, knowing that once I dropped that bipolar bomb, people would back off due to their ignorance of what I had exactly. As sick as it may sound, I was actually thankful for my illness because it’d given me so many damn advantages. Granted, I had times where I didn’t take my medicine and I did shit, but it was never anything violent. The things I did off my medication were more like not leaving my room for a week because I was depressed, or recording for twenty-four hours straight with no sleep because my mood was so up. Never anything like what I’d done to Bia, Ricky, or Nadine … that was just … me not giving a fuck.
There were a lot of times where I was medicated, sober, and lucid, but decided I could do what I wanted. I mean, nothing too bad had ever happened to me, so I didn’t feel the need to give a fuck. I slowed up on it once Ricky and MG started to learn more about my illness, but when I met Bia, I knew she couldn’t, so when around her, I did what the fuck I wanted to, knowing she wouldn’t shake me. And if she tried, I would just make her feel bad for it, so she’d change her mind. Women were always easy for me because I could play on their emotions.
“You’ve probably been doing reckless things for years with no repercussions, and it just got a little out of hand, huh?” Dr. Rose asked softly, making me comfortable enough to answer truthfully.
“Yeah, man.” I ran my hand down my face.
“So the first step, Qamar, is not only working on maturing, meaning not calling this woman you claim to love nasty names when she doesn’t react the way you want. This also means not guilt tripping your friends and people you love, into forgiving you for things you’ve done because you’re technically ill. You reacting angrily every time you don’t get what you want, is what a child does. What happens when a kid doesn’t get a toy that they beg Mommy for?”
“They throw a tantrum,” I responded begrudgingly.
“They throw a tantrum, yes. They yell and throw things, hoping it will change their mommy’s mind, and sometimes even say mean things to mommy. That is what you do. You call Bia these names, not because you believe them, but because you’re trying to force her to do what you want her to do, act the way you want her to act, and say what you want her to say when your illness is not enough to convince her. You put Nadine in the hospital because she didn’t do what you wanted in that time, and you said despicable things to a friend you claim is like a brother, because he wouldn’t do what you wanted in that time.”
“That shit is hard to stop though. That’s just me, and maybe people just need to accept that shit. When you fuck with me, I get violent and disrespectful, and I don’t care who it is! That’s just me!”
“And look where being you has gotten you, Qamar. You have no woman, you barely have a career left, and the boy you grew up with acts like you don’t exist.
I think before we can worry about anything else, we need to focus on you being more patient, at least with the people you love. Also, having more respect for them because, at the moment, you have none. I think the only reason you’re not name calling, this Ricky guy, is because of that fight, right?” She smiled, and I laughed subtly. I was still a bit salty about that shit. “So that’s your assignment, okay? Practice patience, respect, and no emotional blackmail.
Qamar wouldn’t you want people to be around you because they love you and enjoy your company, versus them only being around because they feel sorry for you, or because they would feel an extreme amount of guilt for cutting ties with you?”
“Definitely,” I whispered.
“Good. Don’t forget your homework, it’s important.”
I nodded in agreement. That shit would be hard as hell to do, but like she said, it was part of being an adult. If I wanted anybody to take me seriously, I had to grow up. I couldn’t keep losing shit, because in a minute, I was gon’ be back on that white shit, and it was the last thing I needed.
I left Dr. Rose’s office with a bunch of shit on my mind. I honestly didn’t know if I could pull off that no tantrum shit. For years, it’d been the way I reacted when someone responded to me in a way I didn’t approve of. It made me feel good.
My phone ringing yanked me from my thoughts, and I looked down to see Lacie’s name. Usually, I would have declined her call, but if I wanted to take this shit serious, I needed to start with her; with my kid, even though I wished deep down that they would somehow disappear. If her ass miscarried somehow, I can’t say I’d be upset, and that was the truth, unfortunately.
“Yeah?”
“I’m at your house, Qamar, we need to talk.”
“Aight, I’m on my way,” I replied.
I hung up with Lacie, and then left out the parking lot. I was a little hungry, so I stopped by Chick-fil-A and picked me up something to eat, before heading home. On the way there, my phone rang again, but when I looked at the screen in my car, my stomach dropped. Greezy.
“Hello?” I answered with hesitation.
“I’m just calling to let you know that you need to come down to the office sometime this week. We need to figure out what we gon’ do about you.”
“What you mean?”
“You’ll know what the fuck I mean when you bring yo’ ass down here. Schedule something with Laura.”
Click.
“Bitch ass,” I mumbled.
When I pulled into my driveway, Lacie got out of her car. She caught me off guard when she removed some luggage from her trunk though.
“Wait, what’s going on?” I got out of my whip and walked up to her.
“I need a place to stay for now.”
“Fuck you mean? You got a house with ya damn husband!” I yelled.
“I told Greezy the truth, Qamar.”
“No, no, no, no, no! No you didn’t fucking tell him!”
“Yeah I did! I am due very soon, and I gave you more than enough time, okay? I have been silent about everything, and dealing with this pregnancy on my own the entire time! You haven’t done a thing to help me, make me feel comfortable, or anything! You even choked me out! I get that you don’t want me, but this is still your child!” Lacie cried.
“Aight, aight! Take ya shit inside,” I said and watched her grab up one bag before wobbling off. She left the heavy shit out here for me.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t shook as fuck right now. I had been telling Lacie to hold off, when in reality, I knew I would never be ready for this shit. I didn’t know what Greezy had planned for a nigga, but I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping peacefully at night for a long while.
Chapter Five: Kattlyn
The next morning …
Ever since MG had kicked me out, I’d been staying at Draylah’s old house, which was pretty much mine. And since she was living with Ricky, I took over the payments by paying her in cash what was taken from her account.
Even though I hated being separated from MG, I can’t lie and say I wasn’t enjoying this home to myself. I have never in my life had a whole house to myself, where I could do whatever the hell I w
anted. Granted, when Draylah was here, she wasn’t a bug-a-boo, and we’d even gotten comfortable enough to walk around naked in front of one another. However, just having something to myself felt nice.
“Fuck,” I groaned, before tossing the covers off of me and rushing to the bathroom.
This was the third morning in a row that I’d thrown up, and I was praying like hell that I was just sick with some sort of bug. Deep down, I knew the truth, but to get through the day, I needed to be in a little bit of denial.
Once I made sure all of it was out, I flushed the toilet, and then washed my hands before brushing my teeth. After flossing and rinsing with mouthwash, I turned on the shower and got in. The hot steamy water felt so good, because lately, my body had been aching for no reason at all. Once done, I put on my lotion, clothes, shoes, a little bit of perfume, and then I was out the door.
Today would be my first day in culinary school, and even though I didn’t know what to expect, I was excited as hell. To think I would be able to sit in and learn more about something I loved, only excited me. I just prayed I didn’t feel ill the rest of the day, because I needed to be in the best mood for my first day of classes.
I made it to my school located in downtown Los Angeles about an hour later due to all of the damn traffic. It was literally bumper-to-bumper, so despite me coming from South Central, it took more than a minute. I’d gotten my parking pass online, so after finding a spot near the building I would be in, I was on my way.
Inside, I expected more of a school feel, but it was more like a building filled with suites. But when I got to my first class, I saw that this was definitely a school environment.
This course didn’t start for another ten minutes, so only about five people were seated inside when I slipped in and found a seat.
“Is it alright if I sit here?” Some dude who looked like he was the star quarterback in high school smiled down at me as he gripped the empty chair beside me. Each table in the class had two chairs to it.
“Sure, I don’t own the place,” I replied, and then turned back to face forward.
At that moment, I realized I wasn’t really used to conversing casually with regular people. I was so used to being around a certain type of person, that this normal stuff was strange. Everyone I knew was either a pimp, a hoe, a scammer, a celebrity, or connected to a celebrity.
She Got It Bad for a Heartless Gangsta Page 13
