by Jaci J
“I’m alright.” Lil tries to sound fine, but it’s there in her voice.
“You don’t sound alright, baby. He still not being the man he needs to be for ya?” I wait for the shit Lil’s about to spill about me. I know she wants to.
“We’ll be okay.” Nothing. Shit is falling down around her and she still pretends that shit’s okay. Even though everyone, including me, can see it and feel it, she won’t say a word against me. She lets that shit sit and eat away at her, but I let her deal with it all.
“You ain’t got to pretend with me baby. I know, hell, we all know he’s lost his ever lovin’ mind.” Fucking Kiki talking about shit she knows nothing about. She’s recently started giving me hell, puttin’ her nose in our business. She’s dumb as shit if she thinks her opinion matters.
“Things are strained. He’s had a lot to deal with, but it’ll get better,” Lil says softly.
“Strained?” Kiki repeats. I can hear her disbelief. I know they care about Lil, but these bitches thrive off drama.
“Yes, strained. It fuckin’ sucks, but we’ll work through it.” The lack of conviction in Lil’s words hurt. I know she’s just spitting shit to satisfy these nosy bitches. She says whatever she thinks they need to hear from her, and I know she doesn’t believe a goddamn word of it herself.
“Personally I’d scrape him off,” Mary adds in. Fucking bitches trying to turn my Old Lady away from me. Fuck these stupid bitches.
“I can’t.”
“Why not? He’s not treatin’ you the way he should, then let him go. Haven’t you had enough of his shit? You’re the one who’s been through all the shit, not him. He needs to let go and get the fuck over it. Your ass is here, alive. He needs to take advantage of that instead of blaming you for him feeling like a fuck up.” I’ve never wanted to strangle Mary as much as I do right now.
“Don’t you get it? I love him, that’s why.”
“Oh, I don’t know Lil. I used to see how he looked at you. He loves you, but he’s just so lost.” There’s Melli. I got the whole goddamn flock in my kitchen telling my woman what they want her to do.
“Fuck that, he ain’t treatin’ you right honey. Stop pretendin’ it’s gonna be okay. Don’t let him run you down ‘cause I know damn well Lucy would hate to see this.”
“Mary’s got a point. Don’t let him wear you down baby. No one is worth it if you just end up losin’ yourself in the process. You may never come back from it.”
Lil’s voice is nowhere to be heard in this whole conversation now. I listen to them all give their opinion. Some good, most just fucking bullshit. Either way, it ain’t shit I wanna hear.
****
Where the fuck is she? I can’t fucking find her!
I left her in the kitchen with those bitches and now no one knows where the fuck she is. Her cell goes straight to voicemail and the Jeep is in my motherfucking driveway. The front door’s unlocked but there’s no Lil. She sure the fuck ain’t at home. I checked that motherfucker. Searched the entire fucking place by tearing it apart.
She’s not at the club. I searched every room, grilled everyone. She’s not at the school. Those stupid bitches said they left Lil at home in her pj’s, now no one seems to know a goddamn thing. I feel fucking crazy. I feel like the night Josh took her from me and I feel so fucking helpless. Fuck! She’s gone.
“What’d she say she was doin’?” I ask Melli for the third time. I moved onto her after Peaches called me a fucking prick and took a swing at me. Cali threw a pool ball at me, and Kiki slammed the swinging kitchen door in my face. Wasn’t in the mood to start killing bitches right this second, but that shit could change because I doubt those fucking bitches would tell me even if they knew.
Melli’s sitting on a stool and I’m standing over her, trying to scare the fuck out of her. She’s scared, but it’s not scared enough to get her talking. Bitch looks like she might cry or puke. Her wide eyes look up at me while her hands shake in her lap.
“I … I don’t know. She didn’t say anything about goin’ anywhere. She … uh … She didn’t say anything.”
“You fuckin’ sure? You lyin’ to me?” I lean in close to her.
Arms shoots me a look when I yell at his wife. I don’t care. Don’t give a fuck about anyone but Lil. He wants to get pissy about it, that’s fine, I’ll handle him after I find Lil’s ass.
“Back off, asshole,” he warns me.
I walk away and pace, still checking every square inch of the clubs floors. I call her cell every few seconds. I’ve got Kash at the house waiting and motherfuckers looking around town. The longer I don’t know where she is, the sicker I feel. I feel out of control and I hate not knowing where she is. I hate this shit. I hate caring about someone else. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
6
Broken Chairs
Lil
“Bye, babe!” I wave back over my shoulder from the front porch. I even send her ass an air kiss like some classy broad.
Lailah laughs and shakes her head at me. “Text you later, cuddle muffin!”
I heave my shopping bags and myself in through the door. Kicking off my shoes and setting down my bags, I look up when I push the front door closed. My heart stutters in my chest ‘cause I find a disaster inside. What the hell happened in here? Were we robbed? Is someone looking for something?
A chill of panic washes over me as I try to push the creeping memories back and hold them down. Josh is dead. Tick is dead. I take some deep breaths and tell myself that a few more times and work hard to shake it off.
A chair is smashed on the ground with pieces of splintered wood all over the floor. Well there goes my new dining room table. The pictures that were once on the wall are now broken and thrown all over the floor, glass cracked and smashed into pieces. The coffee table’s on it’s top with magazines, books, and mail all over the place, ripped and torn.
Turning back around, the front door is cracked down the middle and there are three fist sized holes punched into the plaster of the wall, streaked with blood. What the fuck happened?
Walking down the hall to the bedroom, it looks just like the living room. Blankets, clothes, and shoes are all over the place, curtains hanging off the rods. I take one more look around and walk back into the front room, feeling stunned and on autopilot. I haven’t got the slightest clue what’s happened. Nothing seems to be missing. The TV’s, computers, electronics, and expensive shit are still here.
Walking back to the front room, Tank is standing by the door and his face is terrifying. My blood runs cold and my step falters. I instantly take a step back on sheer sight.
His chest is rising and falling with quick, deep breaths. There is something very feral and terrifying in his eyes when he stares back at me, all bloodshot and unfocused. For the first time since I’ve met Tank, a beat of fear stutters in my heart. His hands are clinching and un-clinching at his sides. There’s a slight tremor in his body as he stares at me. I try to smooth my face into something neutral and uncaring, but right now I’m nervous; Nervous he’ll be mad, sad, or that he’ll just completely go crazy and leave me, maybe worse. Right now he’s unpredictable, so I never know what to expect. For the first time, I’m scared of him.
“Tank ....” I speak first. Holding up a hand, he stops me.
“Don’t fuckin’ say shit to me.” Blinking a couple of times I look around and back at him. Did I miss something?
“Did you do this?” I ignore him and ask anyway. I wave a hand around the mess, like I’m trying to formulate an answer. He dips his head slightly and narrows his glazed eyes at me. I’ve got no clue what’s going on, so I stand still and wait.
“You really disappear on me?” he returns sharply.
“Excuse me?
Disappear? I had lunch with Lailah and we stopped by a few stores. I’ve been gone for four hours. I hardly call that disappearing on him.
“Disappear.” he repeats and does hand gestures like a fucking magician. Is he trying to be funny?
“I
’m so completely fuckin’ lost Tank. Is this a joke or what? What happened to the house?”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. JESUS FUCKIN’ CHRIST!” He roars and puts another fist through the wall as he walks out the door. I flinch at the loud crack from the wood giving way to flesh, then I watch him walk away, feeling stuck as he once again shuts down and shuts me out.
****
I gave him a few hours. I spent the time cleaning the house, righting furniture and hanging up clothes. For the holes, I wouldn’t even know where to start so I leave them for another time. Hang a picture over them? Maybe Gin or Happy could fix them. Hell, I need Bob the fucking builder for that shit. I’ll leave them be.
While I picked up and cleaned, I tried to piece together what the fuck all that shit was, but I’m fucking clueless. Part of me thinks it’s probably something I wouldn’t understand, even if I knew. But my heart wants to know Tank is okay. My heart fights to be there for him no matter what kind of shit he’s going through.
Driving down the road toward the club, I think and drive, which is almost as bad as driving and crying. I’m replaying Tanks heartbreaking face when the wheel jerks hard to the right in my hands. My purse topples over and onto the passenger side floorboard, while my cell slides off the seat. Instantly there’s a terrible tremor and wobble in my Jeep. Oh good fucking God. You’ve got to be shitting me? What is it with vehicles and me?
Hanging onto the steering wheel, I pull off toward the shoulder of the road as my jeep comes to a bumpy and unsteady stop. I jump out of the car to see that my poor tire is blown to shreds and the rim is all bent up. Just my fucking luck.
I tug. I wiggle. I kick my tire, but that rim is bent to shit and it’s not going anywhere. Why me? Like seriously. I need a fucking drink because this shit is just too much. Sticking my head back inside, I grab my phone and try Tank. Of course his phone is off. I try Gin and get him, thankfully.
“Sis?” Gin answers on the first ring.
“Jeep blew a tire.” I tell him. His response is exactly like I expected it would be. “Change it then.” He says lamely, like I didn’t think of that already.
“Tried, asshole. The rim is bent. Come get me.”
“Alright. ‘Bout twenty out.”
Leaning against the door, I hear tires crunching on the gravel of the shoulder. Looking behind me, I see a man in a big truck I don’t recognize pull up.
“Hey you need a hand?” The guy calls over to me while stepping out of his old beat up Chevy.
Probably not a good idea, but I yell back.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
Reaching back inside, I grab the small hunting knife from under the seat and tuck it into my pocket. God knows who this guy is and with my luck with men, he’s probably a psycho looking for his next kill.
Walking up he says, “Names Mike.”
“Lilly.” I offer him.
“Had a blowout, I see. The wife had one a few months back and she couldn’t get the thing off herself. It was bitch. Need a hand?”
I wave a hand towards the tire, giving him free rein. Why not let him go at it. I got nowhere with it.
“If you want to, but I’ve got a ride comin’.” I tell him.
Partially because it’s true and partially because if he wants to kill me, chop me into small pieces and stuff me into a suitcase for later, he might think twice if he knows people will be coming for me.
“Don’t mind. Someone helped my wife until I got there. Good road karma.” He seems genuine and sincere so I let him help me. Better him getting greasy hands then me anyway.
I left my road side knight and shining armor to do his thing. I was no help so I figure I might as well clean up the contents of my purse that’s all over the floor. Seems kind of befitting for the kind of day I’m having. Shit being broken and spilled, and me having to clean them up. Poetic justice, I suppose.
I’m shoving my lip gloss back into my purse when I hear the familiar rumble of pipes. I’m sweeping the rest of my shit back into its home when I hear him. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Where the fuck’s my woman?” Tanks furious voice growls at the man and he’s not sounding happy. Where the fuck did he come from? He wasn’t answering his phone. Jesus Christ, his timing is fabulous.
“Uh. Um. Yeah she…” Sticking my head around the side of the Jeep I spot Tank looming over my little helper. God he looks huge next to the small, scared man. My nervous friend Mike glances around. I’m sure he has no clue what’s going on and Tank’s just staring at him like he might perform magic for him or something.
“Where fuck she is before I snap your fuckin’ neck.” Tank threatens the poor guy. Mike steps back and looks around for something to probably bonk Tank over the head with, not that that would stop Tank. He’s a man on a mission.
“Calm down Tank. I got a flat and he was nice enough to stop and help me till Gin got here. His name is Mike.” Tilting his head around the guy, he gives me thorough once over. He sees that I’m fine, so now he looks bored and mildly annoyed.
“Mike?” he repeats stupidly. All I do is nod. It doesn’t matter what I say, he’s gonna be annoyed I’m being helped by a man no matter what his name is. He looks back at Mike, but Mike’s staring at me. He looks scared.
“Don’t fuckin’ look at my Old Lady.” Tank snaps at him. Mike glances back at Tank and then back to me. He’s clearly not sure what to do or say. Poor guy.
There is no malice or ill will when Mike looks at me. He’s completely unsure of what to think or do about Tank. I don’t blame him. Tanks scary and I get it, but then I notice Tank. He has that look in his eyes that I’ve become all too familiar with, and it doesn’t look well for Mike. No matter how mad Tank is at me, he won’t hesitate to bury someone looking at me in the wrong way. That rigid set to his body as he towers over Mike spells disaster. Mike’s going to end up bleeding. Fuck.
I go to grab onto Mike’s arm to get him away from killer, but it’s too late. Tank punches him square in the face with no hesitation. I hear cartilage crack and skin split as Mike stumbles back helplessly with an agonized groan. Blindly, he stumbles into me and I slip back on the loose gravel and lose my footing. His staggering keeps him falling into me as he tries to steady himself, but it’s not working. With nothing to grab onto in front of me, I twist to grab onto the side of the Jeep, but I’m not quick enough. My temple, down my face to my upper lip meet the side of the bumper of my Jeep.
“Fuck! Jesus Christ, Lilly.” Tank’s crouching down in front of me in an instant. His eyes look wild, but mostly they’re lost.
Why? Why does it have to be this way? Why does he have to act first and ask questions later? He knows damn well Mike is no threat. I can’t handle all the ups and downs anymore. He wants me and then he has me. He pushes me away, but still wants me. He doesn’t want me, but he won’t just let me fucking go.
I’m done walking on egg shells all the time. No one can look at me. No one can talk to me. He’s even getting pushy with my family. I can’t have anyone besides him, yet he doesn’t want anything to do with me. I’m always alone. Does anything that I’ve gone through matter at all to him? Losing my mom, my dad in prison because of me, almost dying, and now living with someone I have to take care of. I have no one to take care of me or help me through this.
Lifting a hand to my lip, I feel the sticky stain of blood. My lip has a dull throb and it fucking stings.
“Damn baby. Fuck, I’m sorry.” Pulling me up to him he buries his face in my neck. “Shit, I lost my shit. You disappeared on me earlier n’ now this.” I start pushing him off me. Whatever his issues, it’s not a good enough excuse for acting like a complete asshole.
“I didn’t disappear. I had lunch with Lailah and we went shoppin’ asshole. I need to check on this good man Mike who was trying to help me before you fucking hit him.” I don’t know why I’m even explaining myself.
“Jesus Christ. Let me fix this baby.” He pleads, trying to pull me right back in. He brings his hands to my face and
searches for more damage.
I shrug him off. “You done yet?”
“Done?”
“Done fuckin’ every goddamn thing up?” I know my words are hurtful, but I’m just so fucking tired and done with it all. I can’t keep letting him shit on me.
“I’ll never be fuckin’ done.” No truer words have ever been spoken. He’s never going to let me go. No matter how much it hurts him or me, he’s gonna hang on ‘till it kills one of us, maybe even both of us.
7
Lost
Tank
My head pounds, my body aches, and my mouth is dry as fuck. Rolling my head to the side, I know I’m in my bed at home without even opening my eyes because it smells like Lil. Sweet and sugary. Again I drank too goddamn much, but not enough to block out the shit I did last night. It’s all there.
Cracking one heavy eye open, I see Lil next to me. She’s lying on her back with one of her hands resting on my arm. The comforter is covering everything except for the one long tanned leg that’s always thrown out to the side. A few smears of blood are on her tan skin and it makes my stomach roll. My teeth marks have ruined that smooth leg. Letting my eyes roam up her body, I find the same thing on her shoulder. I know exactly what I did last night. I did the same thing I do every time I get drunk, I fuck her. Fuck her to punish her. I fuck her to punish myself. It’s fucking sick.
Rolling over, I grab the half empty bottle of rum on the floor, hoping to kill the sick ache that’s taking over. I throw the rum back like I’m dying of thirst, like it’ll cure everything. World hunger, poverty, and my pathetic fucking life. I drink like it’ll solve all the problems in the world. Shutting my eyes, I pray like fuck I wake up soon, where things are good again, where things aren’t a total fuck up because of me. But it never works that way. I’m just not that goddamn lucky, so I lay back down only to pass out again.
