“Great.” My dad smiled with his mouth closed.
Again, an awkward silence came over the room.
Sighing, I said, “Look, I know things aren’t good between us because of how I left and how I was behaving. But I want you two to know that even though I’m not the Alivia you wanted me to be, I’m still a good person. The only difference is that yes, sometimes I go out at night with my friends, or maybe a male companion. And yes, at times I do get home well after midnight. But—”
“Alivia, what exactly was the point in you coming here?” My mother cocked her head.
“I came here because I want to make up. You’re my parents, and I’m your child. We shouldn’t be on non-speaking terms over something this small. I—”
“Small?” That perfectly arched eyebrow of my mother’s went up. “Alivia, making sure you are looked at as a respectable woman and not some hussy, is not small. There is a certain way the women in our family are to behave, and not abiding by those rules is a huge problem. And if you believe that to be small, then honey, we have nothing to talk about.” My mama stayed giving me a Clair Huxtable read.
“So because I don’t want to live like you or Sherri, you don’t care about me? You don’t love me anymore?” I got choked up unexpectedly.
Exhaling heavily, my father moved his arm from being around my mother, and replied, “Sweetheart, of course we love you; you’re our kid. However, like your mother said, if you choose to live a lifestyle alternative to the one that we and the entire family believes in, us associating isn’t really going to work. Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” I whispered, standing up and grabbing my purse along the way.
I didn’t say anything else as I walked right out of the house and to my car.
5
Belly
Today was my last session with the sports psychologist before the fight. I’d have to come back after my fight with Mason’s ass was over, and I was dreading it.
The shit was boring as fuck, and I didn’t feel I needed it. I knew it was to make sure our heads were in the right space before competitions and shit, but I was just ready to fuck this nigga up. Mason was a fucking undefeated champion, and I planned to win via a KO. If I knocked his ass out, you might as well start calling a nigga the king of the world.
I entered the suite, then nodded my head up to the receptionist, Betty.
“Mr. Khalil, hi!” she exclaimed.
“Sup. Tell this nigga to hurry the fuck up because I don’t need the full hour today.”
“Right.” She was still grinning. “Well there has been a change due to—”
“Welcome, Mr. Khalil. I’m Sylvia Hemp.” Some light-skinned bitch with dark hair emerged from the large glass office with her hand extended.
“And why the fuck would that matter to me?” I questioned, ignoring her hand. I already didn’t want to be here, and this bullshit was making it worse.
Giggling, she replied, “I’m going to be doing your therapy for today and after your match.”
“Nah, where is Alfred? That’s who I’ve been going to.”
“Yes. Alfred had a death in the family, so I had to fill in for him. I’ve been doing this much longer, so I think we’ll be just fine.”
“Whatever. I just wanna hurry the fuck up.”
“Sure thing. Follow me.” Sylvia switched, wearing a tight ass dress. It was business appropriate, but you could tell she got her shit a size smaller to accentuate the curves in her semi wack ass body.
After we got in the room, she shut the door, so I took a seat on the brown couch. She did the same but in the recliner chair, still cheesing like a fucking fool. Her face wasn’t bad at all, but her bright green eyes made her look better than she would have without them muthafuckas.
“Aight, so.” I shrugged.
“Well firstly, I want to say I know switching psychologists this close to such a huge match isn’t ideal. But, on the bright side, I think you’ll do much better with a Black psychologist versus a White one, right?” She laughed, but I stayed stale faced. “Okay, the first thing I want is for you to tell me how you feel about the match in a couple days. Now I want you to be honest. Nothing you say here leaves the room.”
“I feel fine. I’m just ready to do it. I wanna fight the nigga and win.”
Sylvia nodded, writing something down.
“Do you want to win because you want to? Or is it pressure to win?”
“Yeah, because I want to. Fuck you mean? A nigga ain’t under no pressure, because I know it’s a wrap for his ass. Shit, I wanna fast forward to the muthafucka so I can be in that damn ring already. I’m ready to be the official champ; that top nigga.”
“Is that all boxing is to you? Something for you to feel on top with?”
“Every sport is about winning. I like to win, I like to fight, and I enjoy the sport. It’s simple. And the money lately has been more than nice.”
“Yes, I heard about your new deal with AP, and the commercials, plus sponsorships. Congrats.” I nodded to say thank you. “What about the people in your personal life? Are they pressuring you in a sense to win?”
“Nah. I’m not exactly the type of nigga that can be pressured into a muthafuckin’ thing.” I sat back, throwing my arm along the back of the couch and getting comfortable. I swore I saw Sylvia’s eyes dart to my dick, so I adjusted myself, making my dick print less obvious.
Licking her lips, she replied, “Well that’s great. I believe I know the answer to this already, but I’m not sure because you’re quite the Lothario. But do you have a woman in your life that you’re serious with?”
“I do.”
“Oh.” Sylvia’s smile faded, and a few moments later, she wrote something down again. “Serious meaning she’s a girlfriend, right? Not someone you sleep with multiple times a week and maybe have a meal with.”
“Nah, that’s my woman. Fine ass brown skinned girl on the Streets TV show.”
“Oh, Crissi? Wow. Okay.” Sylvia looked me over like she was surprised and slightly bothered.
“Yep, all mine.”
“And how does she feel about your career? Namely this match in particular since I mean, it is a huge one. Everyone is talking about it, and ticket sales have been through the roof.”
“She’s good; she wants to see her nigga win.”
“Do you feel obligated to win because of her?”
“No, because even if I lose, she’s still gon’ fuck with me. But I won’t, so it don’t even fucking matter.” I sat up, pressing my elbows into my legs and intertwining my fingers. “Look, can I get the fuck up out of here? I’m fine, I promise you. Let’s wrap this shit up.”
“Okay, okay. I do agree that you seem to be in a great headspace.” She cheesed, closing her notepad. “How about we have a drink to celebrate?” She stood up then went to the decanter set to fill a glass.
“I don’t drink before matches, especially not this close. And even if I could, I’m good.” I rose up, and again, her eyes were devouring my dick. “I’m good on fucking yo’ face too.”
“Excuse me?” She cocked her head.
“You keep eyeing my dick like you wanna put it in yo’ mouth, and I said I’m good.”
“Mr. Khalil,” she walked over, “if I wanted your dick in my mouth, it would be in there.”
Smirking, I replied, “I wouldn’t put my dick in yo’ mouth if it was a fucking condom. Flirt with me again, and I’ll make sure they snatch that young license right the fuck up, and you’ll be sucking plenty of muthafuckin’ dicks for a roll of quarters.”
Sylvia was speechless, so I left the office without another word.
“How was your session, Mr. Khalil?” Betty quizzed me as I walked by.
“Go finger fuck ya boss and help her out. She was panting like a fucking puppy dog, hoping I whipped my dick out and tapped her on the lip with it.”
Betty wore an astonished expression as I turned back toward the exit and bounced.
On my way home, I ch
ose to stop by my old crib because I knew some of my mail was still going there. I didn’t need none of them nosy muthafuckas in the hood deep in my fucking business. So until the post office switched my shit over completely, I had to make the necessary trips.
When I pulled into my driveway, I saw Kharla climb out of her car from across the street where Rocko lived. She was in some tight ass dress, so I could see the shape of her body easily. Her hair was a gray color, but it went well with her pretty face.
“What, Kharla?” I inquired as I picked the stack of mail up out of the box. I’d heard her step her ass onto the porch in them heels.
“We haven’t talked in a while. You’ve been ignoring me.”
“’Cause we done. You knew that.” I hadn’t looked her in the face yet, because I was still sifting through the mail. “What you need?”
“Can I come in so we can talk?”
“Nah, this place is up for sale. I moved. Talk right now.” I finally looked down into her face.
Taking a seat in one of the porch chairs, she fidgeted then said, “I know with our usual pattern, you meet someone new, you spend most of your time with them, and then eventually we resume our relationship, but that can’t happen anymore.”
I laughed.
“Kharla, take yo’ ass home. You drove yo’ thirsty ass all the way over here to tell me that bullshit? Come on, baby, gas is too expensive for them types of games.”
“No, that’s not all.” She sniffled, glancing back down into her lap before gazing up at me again. “I met someone. He plays in the NBA, and we’ve been spending a lot of time together. We’re on the verge of making things official. He really cares about me, and I feel the same way about him.” She paused, so I just stared at her, wondering what the fuck this had to do with me. “Anyway, I wanted to speak with you face to face because I still love you, and if you think that for a second you may want me back, whether you’re with Blaise or not, I need you to tell me before I move forward with Leonard.”
“I won’t want you back. Like I told you before, Blaise is it. That’s the only woman I’ve found that can keep me satisfied to the point where I don’t need the rest of you hoes. I don’t even think about y’all when I’m with her. That’s some true shit.”
The tears in Kharla’s eyes trickled down her cheeks before she quickly wiped them.
“Are you sure, Cortez, because I’m pregnant by him, but I can get rid of it if you want me to. You don’t understand how much I love you and will do anything for you. I wish you would see that I love you more than Blaise ever could. She trapped you with that baby, I know it. And Cortez, there is no one that I would put above you. You mean everything to me.” She was crying, voice trembling and shit.
“And that’s why I would never fuck with you, Kharla. My bitch has to have some self-esteem and some fucking independence. The fact that you got two kids and one on the way that you feel I’m more important than says a lot.
I grew up with a mother who didn’t give a fuck about me, because she cared more about chasing my pops, going crazy over him. And you honestly believe I would wife that same type of bitch?” I frowned down at her, wanting to slap her stupid no confidence having ass across the face. “You will never in yo’ fucking life be able to compare yaself to a female like Blaise. And the fact that you think I would give up a woman like that for you, shows how much of a delusional fuck you are.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Get yo’ foolish ass the fuck off my porch, Kharla.” I snatched her up by her arm and shoved her only a little bit. I ain’t want her to fall in them heels while pregnant.
She stumbled slightly before staring me down and then rushing off across the street to her car.
I proceeded to mine with my mail in hand and went on about my damn day.
Fight Night… Khalil v. Strauss…
“Alright, remember, Cortez, don’t fall for any of his bullshit antics; that’s how he wins. He moves around a lot, and he goads his opponents to throw them off of their game,” Victor explained to me backstage, as I stood there, ready to walk out and be announced.
I didn’t reply. I just looked past Victor, getting into my zone. There was nothing Mason could do to make me lose this fight, and shit, if I did see myself losing, I was gon’ take these muthafuckin’ gloves off and just whoop his ass. At the end of the day, that nigga wasn’t leaving that ring without being fucked up.
The beat to “Millidelphia” by Meek Mill started, which was my walk out music, so Victor gave me a pat on the back before I started out with him, Manny, and the rest of my corner niggas behind me.
As soon as I entered the stadium portion of the venue, the crowd went wild, letting out deafening screams to the point where I could barely hear the announcer stating my name or the music. It was crazy how I used to fight in front of twelve niggas for $50 bucks, and now I was here, making millions to do the same shit.
Mason was already in the ring, and per usual, the announcer said my name again. Mason was smirking, but I gave him no reaction. His corner people were holding up all his belts from his previous fights, gloating and talking big shit, but I didn’t give a fuck. It would make my win feel that much better.
“Pretty boy came here to get pulverized tonight!” Mason growled, bouncing around the ring and doing his usual theatrics as the crowd egged him on.
Nigga loved calling me a pretty boy simply because I didn’t have a bunch of marks on my face, and boxers typically weren’t handsome like myself. This pretty boy was about to fuck his ass up though.
“Alright, boys, let’s have a good, clean fight,” the older Black nigga who was the referee said once we had our mouth pieces in and shit.
Round one began, and Mason immediately came at me swinging, so I put up to block him as he backed me to the ropes. The referee separated us, so we got back to the middle of the ring. The same thing happened for the next two rounds, him doing the most and me blocking, not getting hit once.
By the beginning of the fourth round, he came with the same energy, but finally hitting my ribcage at the same time that I’d decked his ass in the face. That pissed him off, so he came at me wildly with his face balled the fuck up. I ducked his last swing, and when I came up, I took off on his ass, making him give me his back, but I didn’t stop, trying to punch him on the sides of his face.
“Stop!” the referee yelled once he saw Mason wouldn’t turn around.
The three-minute round was up, and it was time for our one-minute break, so we each went to our corners, sitting down.
As they gave me water and cleaned my mouth guard, Mason and I made eye contact. Looking away, I turned to the area I knew Blaise was in with her friends and my homies. When she saw me, she gave me her pretty ass smile, making me give her the same in return.
“I love you,” I mouthed, and she replied with the same, blowing me a kiss, blushing and shit.
That made me chuckle just as I turned away to look back at Mason. Smirking, he formed his fingers into the shape of a gun and mouthed ‘pow’, which enraged me as he laughed.
It was on.
The time was up, so they put my guard back in then got us back to the center of the ring. Before the bell was even done ceasing, I went in, delivering non-stop punches to his stupid ass face. Mason attempted to swing back, but it did nothing, because the velocity and power behind my punches were throwing his equilibrium off. I continued, making the crowd roar loudly with excitement, as I punched on this nigga as if I wanted to kill him. He backed away from me continuously, and once we were up against the ropes, I murdered his ass, making the stadium get even wilder, standing in their seats as they hollered.
The referee grabbed me by the waist and flung me off of that bitch ass nigga since I’d ignored him yelling ‘stop’. As soon as he did that shit, Mason hung over the ropes in a limp ass state, before sliding down onto the boxing ring floor, passing the fuck out.
The referee threw his arms up, signaling that the match was over due to a KO. The fact tha
t I not only beat the top undefeated champion but also through knockout was some shit. Not to mention, Mason weighed six pounds more and was two inches taller at six feet six.
Happy as fuck and about to gloat just like he did, I hopped up onto the ropes as most of the crowd stayed standing, cheering me on.
“I’m the fucking king of this shit!” I hollered, making the stadium go even crazier. “A nigga got shot and still came out on top!” I added, smiling hard as fuck and making sure to show my grin to Strauss’ team since he was still laid out like a hoe with a tired pussy.
“Mr. Khalil—” A reporter came up into the ring with his camera crew, but I snatched his microphone.
“We can do that shit in a second,” I told him, before Victor handed me what I needed. Panting a little bit, still I spoke into the microphone. “Before we get to all the other shit, I wanna ask my girl, Blaise, to come in here.”
Blaise had just shoved a piece of pretzel into her mouth, so people chuckled when her face showed up on the big screen with her eyes wide while chewing. I waved her to come on, so security helped her from her seat and then up into the ring.
She was wearing these tight ass pink pants that hugged her thick thighs and her plump ass. Her top was short, showing the top of her stomach only since the pants were high waisted as she called them muthafuckas. The bottom of her stomach was poking, so she wanted to cover it with the pants. She looked sexy as fuck per usual, all the way down to her toes in them heels.
Tousling her long, dark, wavy hair, she blushed. “What am I doing in here? This is scary.” She smiled.
“Everybody, this is my girlfriend, Blaise.” I gestured toward her and allowed the people to cheer. Turning to look down into her pretty ass face, I said, “I don’t have a speech or no shit like that, because I’m just not that type of nigga. All I know is that I love yo’ ass so…” I handed the microphone back to the reporter, who was grinning like a fool, before I dropped down onto my knee, opening the ring box Victor had brought to me seconds ago. “Will you marry me? Please. I know you like it when a nigga begs you.”
Nobody Can Love You Like Them Roughnecks Do 3 Page 15
