by Cairo
He smirks, letting his eyes drop down to my hard nipples, then to my stomach. I’m not really showing yet. “Oh, you mine?”
“All yours,” I tell him, stepping up into his space. The tension between us begins to lift. I press my body up against his. Grind my pelvis into him.
“Then get ya ass back in bed.” He steps back to let me by. I glance over my shoulder and catch him staring back at my laptop. “I’m tellin’ you, Pasha, don’t have me fuck you up, yo.”
TWENTY-NINE
Between the long hours at the salon, trying to tie-up last-minute wedding details—like making sure my dress will fit me by the time it’s time to go down the aisle, and Jasper’s constant mood swings, I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Shit, I’m the one who should be on an emotional roller coaster—I’m the one knocked up! But, the way Jasper carries on, you would think he’s the one three months’ pregnant. The nigga’s moods are too damn unpredictable for me, and it’s nerve-wracking. One minute, he’s yelling and cursing and screaming at me; the next minute he’s telling me how much he loves me. A few days’ll go by and everything will be good between us. Then without provocation, his moody ass will flip the switch and start accusing and threatening me. I’m telling you. The way he’s been acting, I have to wonder if he isn’t out there doing his own dirt. I mean, damn! The nigga has me walking on eggshells. I don’t know what little voices he’s hearing in his head, but whatever they’re saying to him has him acting like a certified fool.
Since that last incident a month or so ago when Jasper walked up on me in the middle of the night while I was online, I’ve been keeping it real low-key. That shit was too close for comfort and I don’t need any more close calls like that. I didn’t even go off and meet the nigga like I had planned. And I haven’t been going online looking for extra dick to suck, either. Yes, the thought crossed my mind once or twice…but, that’s it. I’m not doing shit. One, I’m pregnant; and, two, it’s too damn dangerous. Jasper watches and checks every move I make. The last thing I’m interested in is having him snap the fuck out on me. I’m seriously thinking he needs to see someone to help him with whatever is going on with him. I don’t know if it’s nerves or what, but something isn’t right. And it’s starting to get on my last goddamn nerve!
Two weeks ago, he snapped to the point where I thought he was going to have a damn heart attack the way he was screaming and carrying on. “Yo, where the fuck you been at?” he snapped the minute I walked through the door. He caught me off guard, startling me. I dropped my shopping bags.
“Excuse you!” I said with major attitude. He had this wild, crazy look on his face, practically foaming at the mouth. Something told me he would have hit me if I wasn’t pregnant.
“I asked you where the fuck you was at, yo! It’s almost eight-thirty and you just walkin’ up in this muthafucka when you left the shop at five. Pasha, don’t have me beat ya ass, yo.”
“Yeah, nigga, and when I spoke to you this afternoon, I told your black ass that I was going to the mall. So what the fuck is your problem? I’m really getting sick of this shit. Always fucking threatening me. Nigga, if you wanna beat my ass, then do it.” Although I said that, I didn’t really mean it. “I can’t put up with this stress. It’s too much for me. And it’s too much for my baby.”
He glanced down at the shopping bags in the middle of the floor. His tone changed. “Oh, now it’s your baby. Fuck me, right?”
“Yeah, basically,” I said, picking my bags up and brushing past him to go upstairs. “I think you should move out,” I told him, climbing the steps.
“Say what?”
“You heard me. Pack your shit and get the fuck out. I need some time away from you.”
“For what? So you can go out and fuck around on me, yo. I ain’t goin’ no fuckin’ where. My name’s on this shit, too.”
I sighed. “Then don’t,” I told him, walking into my walk-in closet and pulling out a suitcase and overnight bag. I opened up drawers and started pulling out underwear and yanking shit off hangers, then stuffing it in the suitcases.
He snatched my travel bag. “Yo, where the fuck you think you goin’, yo?”
“I can’t do this with you; this constant nitpicking and badgering me. I need a break from you and your craziness.”
Then he started apologizing; telling me how he worries about me when he can’t get me on the phone or when I don’t come home right away. “Baby, the shit stresses me. I don’t want anything happening to you or our baby; feel me?” He grabbed my arm, pulled me toward him. “You’re my world, Pash. You and our unborn baby are all I have in this world, yo. Without you two, I have nothing.”
Needless to say, I ended up lying in his arms and falling asleep. The next day, this nigga woke up like nothing had ever happened. Then two days later, he has the audacity to tell me that when I’m not at the salon or out with Felecia or Mona planning the wedding, he wants me to check in with him every fifteen minutes. I screamed at him. “Nigga, first of all, I’m not on parole. You are. Second of all, you are out of your crazy-ass mind if you think I’m gonna be doing all that shit. I’ma grown-ass woman; what the fuck I look like checking in with you like I’m some damn child.”
“Because I said so,” he responded as if my statement was a question. It wasn’t.
“Well, too bad. What you are asking is ridiculous. And I’m not doing it.”
“Yo, you heard what I said,” he calmly stated.
“Yeah, and you heard what I said. You not keeping me on a leash like I’m some goddamn poodle you tryna train. If you want a slave, then you need to go out and find you one ’cause you are not gonna be chaining me down.” I snatched up my bag and keys, then made my way out the door.
Surprisingly, the last two weeks all has been calm. Honestly, a little too peaceful if you ask me. Almost like the calm before the storm. But I’m not going to complain. Jasper’s curfew has been modified to eleven P.M. on weeknights, and midnight on the weekends. Although he’s bitching about that, it definitely seems to have lessened the stress around here. I think the nigga was getting stir-crazy or something.
In any case, I am home, enjoying me time. Jasper has been out all day with Stax doing whatever they do. Though he’s called to check in on me a few times, he seemed perfectly fine knowing I was home, lounging. Now I’m sitting here on the sofa, Sade’s “Babyfather” is playing on the stereo. I rub my belly and sing. Your daddy knows…your daddy knows…for you he is the best he can be…
“Yo, baby,” Jasper says, walking through the door, disrupting my moment. He’s carrying a long white box with a big red bow wrapped around it.
Flowers, I think, smiling. “Hey,” I say, reaching for the stereo remote and turning the sound down. He walks over and plants a kiss on my lips. He hands me the box. “Thank you,” I say, pulling the ribbon apart, then opening the box. “This is so sweet.” There’s a white envelope atop a dozen Birds of Paradise. I open the envelope and pull out the card. It reads:
Pasha, baby,
I know there are times when I’m buggin’ ’n shit; when you think I don’t give a fuck ’bout us, or you. But, that’s far from true. You are all I think about, baby. Life with you in it is what brings me joy. You keep me smiling. Don’t give up on me, baby. Or on us. One day, I’ma be the man you need me to be.
I love you, need you, and want you, baby…forever!
One love, one heart,
Ya man for life,
Jasper
Jasper is sitting across from me, watching me. I get up from my seat, walk over to him and sit in his lap, planting soft kisses all over his face, then lips. We tongue for a few seconds. Jasper’s hand snakes its way up my nightgown. I part my legs; allow him to brush his fingers against my clit. I kiss him with more passion. Then, before I know it, we are both naked in the middle of the floor fucking like two wild rabbits until he carries me upstairs and finishes serving me his dick in every position imaginable.
By the time Jasper finishes blowing my b
ack out—three rounds later—it’s almost three in the morning. We both pass out, sticky and exhausted.
I glance at my watch, walking out of Bloomingdales. It’s 8:51 P.M. I can’t believe I’ve practically shut down the damn mall, again. Two nights in a row; this shit’s got to stop, I think as my cell rings. I fish it out of my bag, pressing TALK. It’s Jasper. “Hey, baby.”
“Aye, yo, you still at the mall?” he asks as I walk toward the exit doors.
“I’m leaving now,” I tell him.
“What time you gonna be home?”
“I’m heading there now. Why, you need something?”
“Yeah, you,” he says, lowering his voice. “A muhfucka’s horny as fuck, yo.”
I grin. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we? Keep that dick hard for me. I’ll be home shortly.”
“No doubt, baby. Hurry ya sexy ass on.”
“I’m on my way,” I say, giggling as I walk across the street toward the parking garage. I look around and notice that there is no movement anywhere. “See you when I get there.”
“No doubt, baby.”
We say our goodbyes, then disconnect. I’m surprised to see how empty the parking garage is. Then again, it’s a Tuesday night, I reason in my head, walking toward my car. The mall didn’t have many people in it tonight to begin with. I stick my hand down into my bag for my car keys. I feel around in the bottom for them, finally pulling them out. I disarm the alarm. Open the back door and toss my bags in. Before I can shut it, I feel my hair being violently pulled and my head yanked back; then I hear the click of a gun. The sound of it being cocked as it presses against my temple. My heart stops, then starts racing a mile a minute. I drop my cell and keys.
“Bitch, if you so much as flinch, I’ma dead ya ass right here. You hear me?”
I nod, practically about to shit on myself. The only thing I am thinking at this very moment is: Not this shit again! But here I am in motherfucking white suburbia in the middle of a parking garage of an upscale mall and I have another goddamn nut standing in back of me with a gun pressed to my head. Unfucking believable!
“Good. Now do as I tell you and I won’t haveta spill ya pretty, lil brains out all over this concrete.”
The voice is deep, and unrecognizable. My mind is reeling. I have to get someone’s attention before this kook does God knows what to me. I have two options. I can scream at the top of my lungs and attempt to fight him, hoping someone hears me. Or I can scream and get my brains splattered all over the place. I swear this is not how I want to die, murdered—like my mother and father. Think, bitch!
I open my mouth to scream, but he whacks me in the back of the head with the butt of his gun, causing my knees to buckle. “Don’t even think it. I promise you. On e’erything I love. I will kill you, bitch.”
“Please,” I plead in a whisper, “my wallet’s in my bag. I only have a few hundred dollars on me, but we can go to an ATM and get more. Whatever you do, don’t hurt me.”
He yanks me by the arm. “Bitch, shut the fuck up and walk.” He tightens his grip on me, and starts dragging me toward a burgundy van. “You think I waited all goddamn night out in this muthafuckin’ parkin’ garage for ya money? Silly bitch! I don’t want ya goddamn money. I want somethin’ way better than that shit.”
OhmyGod, this nigga is gonna rape me! Right here! In the middle of this parking garage! Where the fuck is everyone? Where the fuck is security? Think, bitch!
“What, you want some pussy? You can fuck me right here, baby. You don’t have to rape me for it.”
“Bitch, shut ya smutty ass up. Ain’t nobody tryna rape ya trick ass. Now let’s go.” He yanks me by the arm. Tries to drag me with him.
For some reason I realize this is my last shot at getting away. If this nut takes me off in his vehicle, I may end up at the bottom of a river, or chopped up into tiny pieces, then tossed out somewhere. Win or lose, I have to at least try. If I have to die, then I need to go down with a fight. I start screaming at the top of my lungs and violently swinging. “HELP! SOMEBODY! PLEASE, HELP ME! THERE’S A—”
Whack! He punches me in the mouth. Blood gushes out. “Bitch, what the fuck is wrong with you, huh? I told you to keep ya motherfuckin’ mouth shut, you stupid bitch.” Whack! This time he hits me upside the head with the butt of his gun and everything around me starts to blur, but it doesn’t stop me from balling up both of my hands and swinging punches at him. I stun this nigga when I hit him with an uppercut, then connect two punches to his face. I start screaming—again, to no avail. Someone else runs up and grabs me from behind. I wildly kick the nigga in front of me.
“Yo, hurry the fuck up and let’s get this bitch up outta here before someone comes out,” the nigga in back of me says, trying to restrain me. Then, in one swift motion, there’s a blade pressed up under my throat. “I’ma tell you one time to shut the fuck up. Now shut…the fuck…up. Or I’ma slice ya muthafuckin’ throat, ya heard?”
I shut my mouth, but I can feel myself starting to hyperventilate as images of my mother being found dead in the trunk of her car surface. I can’t help but think how both of my parents were tragically murdered, and now…that may become my fate as well. I continue to struggle to keep them from taking me, but they overpower me. And, then, the nigga in back of me gets me in a choke hold—blocking off my airway, causing everything to fade.
When I open my eyes, it takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. I am gagged and bound, riding in the back of a vehicle. It’s dark in here. I blink my eyes and try to adjust to the darkness, but then I realize that I am blindfolded as well. My head is banging and feels like it’s about to explode. I am not sure how long I’ve been passed out, or how long we’ve been driving, but one thing I am certain of: I am in some deep shit!
I close my eyes, tight. Hoping someone has located my car. That Jasper, or Felecia—anyone, is calling around for me, worried. I can’t stop thinking about Jasper. About how much I love him. About how ready I am to marry him. And how I want to spend my life with him. I am not only frightened about not knowing where these nuts are taking me, or what’s going to happen to me once they get me there. I am scared shitless about these motherfuckers killing me, then tossing my body where no one will ever find me.
I’m nervous. And I can’t stop wondering if I am going to be raped, first, before my body is disposed of. If they’re going to torture me, or make it a swift kill. They have me riding around in the back of this van, going God knows where. I unsuccessfully struggle to break free, but give up, realizing it’s a moot point. The only thing I keep thinking is: I don’t want to die! Not tonight! And definitely not like this: kidnapped, gagged, blindfolded, and bound!
I frantically rack my brain, trying to figure out who is doing this to me, and why. I can’t imagine whom I could have pissed off? What I might have said or done that was so fucked-up that would warrant this. The only person who comes to mind is that nut who had been harassing me. I knew not hearing from him was too good to be true. I force myself to think of happy things. Imagine being a mother. Picture myself going down the aisle. My wedding is less than a month away and here I am shackled like a slave. Then that book I read, Sold…no, not that one—Stealing Candy, comes to mind. OhmyGod, please don’t let these niggas be a part of some sex trafficking ring, I think, letting my imagination get the best of me. Don’t let them drug me, then sell me and use me as some underground sex slave. Suddenly, my panic intensifies, then turns to grief as my concerns and fear for my own safety shifts to that of my unborn child. What if I lose my baby, I think, fretfully. Oh God, please don’t let me miscarry. I beg you.
The vehicle abruptly stops. I hear a set of voices. Then a door opens and slams shut. My heart races, knowing I’ve probably reached my destination; hopefully, it will not be my final destination.
The back doors swing open, and I feel two sets of hands grabbing me by the ankles, pulling me out. I attempt to fight and squirm, to no avail.
“Th
is bitch is real feisty,” one voice says.
“Yeah, I’ma have a lotta fun tamin’ her hot ass,” another voice adds, laughing.
“Remember, she’s not to be hurt,” the first nigga says. His voice is not as gruff as the first nigga’s. He seems more rational.
“No doubt. I’ll just rough the bitch up a bit. Treat her like the slut she is.” He starts trying to manhandle me.
“C’mon, man…chill out wit’ all that. Let’s just get her inside,” the other guy says, stopping him. “She’s pregnant.”
The taller nigga huffs. “Whatever, nigga. Grab the bitch’s legs and let’s get this shit over with.”
THIRTY
I can’t wait to tear that throat up,” this ignorant motherfucker says to me as he removes the blindfold, then the tape from around my mouth. Although his face is hidden behind a black ski mask, I can tell he’s smirking. He’s not one of the two who kidnapped me from the mall. He’s taller and thicker. And more arrogant than the nigga who said he wanted to rough me up. His voice is also much deeper; more menacing than the others. He’s wearing faded blue jeans, a gray wife beater and a pair of green, white and gray AirMax 95s. “Yeah, I hear you got niggas beggin’ ya ass for some of that neck, but ya stuck-up ass be on some extra shit, tryna play muhfuckas. Well, guess what, bitch? A nigga like me doesn’t take ’no’ for an answer. I take what the fuck I want. Now I’ma treat you like the nasty, lil’ freaky, dick-teasing, cumslut you are. You wanna live, bitch?”
I nod my head, praying I’m not killed.
“Then you had better suck my dick and swallow my nut for ya life…and you better not choke, vomit, or fuck it up. You understand?” I nod again, watching him massage his crotch area. A lump forms in his jeans. I shift my gaze from his growing dick to the butt of his gun tucked down in his waistband. A silent reminder of what will happen if I don’t do exactly what I’m told. “Answer me, bitch, when I fuckin’ speak to you. Do you fuckin’ understand?”
