Five Long Weeks Later . . .
10
Jakia
I was curled up in the bed, and my body was drained physically while I was still in the dumps emotionally. Being down for the team and loyal to love wasn’t working out in my favor. I was tired of being a prisoner in this room while Spade still got to run the streets free as a bird. Newlywed or not, this lifestyle wasn’t my fantasy. The “new life as a wife dream” Spade sold me was officially a figment of my imagination. I felt like a fool for ever having faith in someone who has never given me a real reason to have hope.
Let me catch you up on what’s gone down. After Spade showed back up at our house five weeks ago with a “mysterious” rental van I later found out was in Tiff’s name, we rode out to the city of Toledo to elope, then checked into a slum-motel in the city of Monroe.
At first, I thought this was the rest stop until we vacationed for our honeymoon, but I’ve been stashed here ever since. The more I pondered on Spade’s reason to marry me so quickly, the more I felt played. It didn’t take many hours after scrubbing this once-filthy room clean to figure out he’d suckered my weak mind once again. Me taking his last name wasn’t for my added safety. It was to ensure he continued to keep control.
After a few minutes of lying still, I sat up, grabbing the motel’s notepad from off the nightstand and the Bible from inside the drawer. Propping myself up against the headboard, I took a deep breathe, then tried to meditate my stress away. Despite me not wanting to lay all my burdens and worries on Juan since he was locked away in the penitentiary, there was absolutely no one else in the world for me to confide in.
My tiny words were scribbled, and my hands were cramped from writing on such a tiny space. Still, I poured my heart out to my brother and made sure to express how much I missed him. I wondered if this letter would find him or if it was just a therapeutic way for me to survive another mind-fuck with Spade. Either way, I kept going until I felt relief.
Every ounce of emotion swimming around inside of me was lost within the letter. Every sour feeling I had toward Spade was bleeding through my pen. I was inking my bitter love story, and it felt good to release what I’d been bottling up for so long. The more I wrote, the more I thought.
Why not run and disappear? Why do you keep letting him control and manipulate you? Why don’t you think you deserve more than what he’s offering? Fuck this nigga; you can stand on your own. No matter what I thought, I never believed a weak link like myself could stand alone without Spade.
I’ve had plenty of times to run from him. It wasn’t like he kept me handcuffed to the bed or cut phone cords when he left. Even though I was taking the risk of getting slapped up if he caught me out and about, I still disobeyed him whenever it was opportune and walked laps around the motel for fresh air. Disobeying Spade was how I confirmed my fate was tainted for good in the first place. That was my first and last trip to the store.
When I feared the white discharge, stomach queasiness, and food cravings were symptoms of me being knocked up, I ripped off a few dollars from Spade’s pocket so I could walk to the nearest store for a pregnancy test. Before my pee could hit the stick, the two pink lines meaning I was pregnant were bold and bright pink. The results didn’t shock me, though.
Since waking up the morning after getting ejaculated in by both Robert and Spade, I knew life wasn’t good enough to spare me an “oops pregnancy.” In spite of how I got pregnant, I wanted to keep this particular card that was dealt into my life. Good or bad, the baby growing inside of me was mine. It might’ve sounded slightly twisted, but at least if I really were to have a baby, he or she would love me unconditionally.
Closing my eyes feeling an anxiety attack coming on, it was hard fighting back my tears. No matter what I thought a few weeks ago, my heart was actually developing strings to the thought of being a mother. Regardless of Phoebe fuckin’ up Juan and me as kids on the emotional tip, then Spade bringing it up on the back end, I still had a lot of love to give a child.
Rubbing my still-flat stomach, knowing there was a tiny human inside, I didn’t know what to pray for. I wanted this baby to be the beginning of me, but the eerie feeling overwhelming my soul told me my fate was about to be the exact opposite.
Behind Prison Walls . . .
Juan Coleman
“It’s count time, countttt tiiime,” one of the officers of Jackson State Penitentiary announced over the loudspeaker.
Prison life wasn’t for me. It was three o’clock in the morning, and even though I didn’t want to be cuddled up in the stiff-board, twin-sized bed, I didn’t want to be up waiting on some pickle-dick-prick to count me. For the whole year of me serving jail time, I’ve hated every single count time like the first. Whatever we were doing at whatever time the prison staff deemed it necessary, we’d have to stop and drop to be tallied up as the prisoners we were. It was dumb shit like this that’s made me regret taking the bid for Spade. It was even more frustrating having to deal with the politics inside here knowing my sister was on the outside living hell.
A few hours ago, I’d read a brief letter saying she’d be in touch after their mini vacation and for me not to write until then. I’ve been itching to see my lawyer in addition to punching a few walls out ever since. Justice needed to be served swiftly, which started with the Coleman siblings reuniting. Spade’s bid to ruin me was already in progress. I couldn’t let history repeat itself with Jakia.
After count was over, I lay in the bed wide awake. My own rendition of Jakia getting punched like a grown man played out in my mind relentlessly. That nigga Spade owed me to take care of her since I was locked up as a favor to him. But instead, he was taking advantage of her having a bleak support system. Having a cracked-out corner mom and an incarcerated brother only made him prey on her more. The joke was gonna be on his shady ass, though, once I got up out of here. I’d already put plans into motion to see that nigga eye-to-eye. I just needed them to play out properly.
“Hey, Coleman, you good? Even your thoughts are keeping me awake,” my Hispanic bunkie Gonzalo spoke in a low tone over the scurrying mice. He was from Southwest Detroit and into his fourth year of a ten-year bid for a botched robbery too.
“Yeah, I’m one-hundred. Just over here thinking of a master plan to murk that nigga Spade when I get out.” I didn’t consider myself friends with anyone behind bars, yet I kicked it real with Gonzalo about the real deal concerning me.
“What are you about to do—dig up out of here with a rock hammer like in that movie Shawshank Redemption? Ain’t no way in hell these racist white suckas are about to let you out a day before your sentence is served,” he said as he tried breaking my spirits down.
“I’ve gotta get free. And when my lawyer feeds them the truth of what really went down that night, they’ll have no other choice.”
“Wow, Coleman, you’ve gotta be the only prisoner left up in here that thinks the system gives a fuck about the truth. You might as well get comfy in that cot and get to crossing days off your calendar. They ain’t wasting another penny on a trial over a robbery that took place in the hood.”
“Watch what I tell you, Gonz, I’m about to be sweet. You’ll see,” I reassured him while trying to reassure myself.
“Well, I’ve gotta catch some shut-eye before it’s time to get up and give these cocksuckers more free labor. I’ll holla at you in the a.m., bro. Make sure you keep hope alive,” he sarcastically chuckled. “Oh, and if shit doesn’t work out with that Great White Hope lawyer of yours, get at me.” Gonzalo Ramos didn’t have to drop any hints on what he could do. Even on the inside, my bunkie was powerful. The stories I’d heard about him and his Mexican crew that still did dirt on the outside were endless. Spade and Rocko were no competition to the heat those li’l fellas could bring.
The sun rose, but the prison walls I lived within kept life gray. After the morning count, I made my way to the shower, then to work. Since Spade only allowed Jakia to ration a few bucks to me now and then, I used
the little pennies they “paid” us to keep on my books. It was barely enough to save up for much-needed toiletries and snacks from the commissary or random illegal contraband floating around, but I made do. Struggling and ending up with shit wasn’t nothing new.
I rushed getting ready, which wasn’t much to do. It was the same mundane routine day in and out. I would’ve killed for a pair of run-down Air Max shoes and handed down True Religion jeans right about now. Anything would’ve been better than this bright pumpkin-orange jumpsuit, prisoner badge, and worn down Chucks I’d paced the soles out of. I’d gone from being a dusty bum on the streets to a caged monkey up in here. Even if my little sister wasn’t in danger, I had to change my circumstances.
I scrubbed toilets, mopped floors, and cleaned up left behind blood from brawls that went down. There were always inmates fighting, but I kept my head down and was doing my time the best I could. I was the type of prisoner that fell in line because I was scared of being hauled off and confined to solitary. Everything within the jailhouse was crooked. The guards, wardens, and even counselors should’ve been serving time with us for all the illegal shit they did daily. But no one cared about the common criminal. We were treated like trained dogs and humiliated as such whenever someone in charge had a bad day.
“Coleman, your lawyer is here,” my supervisor shouted from his desk. I usually couldn’t stand the crude bastard, but today, his words were like music to my ears.
The female guard who escorted me to the meeting room tried hitting on me a few times, but I shot her down with ease—knowing the game well. In lockdown, it wasn’t unusual for male prisoners and female guards to get down on the low. Hell, even those peanut butter-loving cocksuckers got loved on up in here. We might’ve been locked up for not following rules; however, there weren’t any to follow when it came to sexual relations. Folks liked to label us as deviants to society, but these hot-and-bothered supposed women and men of the badge kept juicy pussies or hard dicks and illegal contraband in exchange for our services.
I wasn’t having no parts in getting written up on some bogus nonsense because I wouldn’t cooperate in the game. I kept my eyes in my head and my dick in my pants. Fuck having my piece fall off from catching a slow-creeping disease. Even if this attorney couldn’t pull a miracle out of his hat, I’d still be out in my late 30s ready to spray up some bitch with nut when I got out. From my first day in county, I’ve been doing my time the very same way—to myself.
“Mr. Coleman, how are you holding up in here? Are they treating you okay enough?” Popping open his black briefcase, he pulled a manila folder out with a stack of official-looking forms.
“It ain’t shit like the 5-Star lavish life,” I smartly commented. “Please tell me you’ve come with some good news that can get me up out of this hellhole, bossman.”
My lawyer looked down, then began shuffling through his file of paperwork. I knew off rip he was about to come at me with some bullshit I wasn’t trying to hear. If we were meeting in the privacy of his office, I would’ve fa’sho been across the table with my scrawny hands around his puny neck. My hands twitched as my eyes burned a hole through his head.
“Listen, Mr. Coleman, I can’t get your story to check out. With the crime taking place over a year ago, and you refusing to give names back when it actually occurred, I’m not sure your chances of a retrial are good. Maybe you should focus on serving the remaining nine years of your term. With good behavior, I’m sure they’ll let you out in maybe seven.”
“What in the fuck? Are you crazy?” My outburst was loud and should’ve been expected.
“Watch your language, Coleman,” the guard scolded me.
I nodded, then looked back at my attorney who had the nerve to be tight-faced. “So, it’s like that, my man? You’re gonna leave me hanging up in here when you know good and well I’m innocent? Spade and Rocko are the two most ruthless cousins in the D. If I’m out, I can help the cops get more dirt on them than I already have so you can lock them both up under here. I don’t deserve to be here another day!” Hearing my words out loud, I was getting pissed at myself for begging to snitch even more. I’d already sung like a canary to him, and it hadn’t meant shit thus far. In other words, my extra attempts were in vain and an embarrassment to me.
“Listen, boy, I’ve done everything I can for you, and I don’t have a big enough heart for pro bono. Plus, I’ve got much more pressing city issues to handle. Check out the law library for some newbie lawyer out of school looking for practice. You and your kind like to live by the no-snitching rule—which has to be the dumbest thing my people have ever heard of. I wish you well and hope you follow my advice.” He gathered his paperwork, but this coon-hating paste face was about to get set straight. Guard or no guard around, he had me fucked up.
“Fuck you, yo’ wife, yo’ incest-looking kids, and I even wish death on yo’ moms—you fat, white bitch.” Something in me snapped. Before I knew it, my attorney was dangling by his feet, and the guards had their weapons in my back. He was powerless to me as my hands tried choking the life from out of him.
“Release him, you piece of shit,” the woman guard who’d just tried to fuck me demanded. When I didn’t comply, she aggressively elbowed me in the side, then followed up her attempt at restraining me by hitting me in the back of my head with her metal flashlight.
It wasn’t the blow I took that made me let the attorney go. Thoughts of Jakia out on her own came rushing back, and I realized I’d crossed the line. The male guard who finally showed up as backup put his foot in my back, then handcuffed me. Shaking my head, I knew my fate was sealed, and the system had fucked me. Gonz was gonna clown me hard once I got back from where I was heading.
“Tell ya friends that I’m the wrong one to fuck with—you got that Jew boy?” The last comment, I meant with every vicious feeling brewing within my soul. I wasn’t anybody’s boy—not even Phoebe’s.
I was dragged down to solitary kicking and screaming. My voice was echoing throughout the prison. Fuck the Great White Hope. Time in the SHU only meant one thing—more time added to my sentence. Plus, I’d collared up a man of the law, technically, so ain’t no telling how my black ass was about to burn.
Clank!
When the hollow metal door slammed, I stood against the wall continuously banging my head against the concrete. “Let me out of here! Let me the fuck out of here!” I knew my screams were pointless; nevertheless, I kept shouting until my throat went sore. Who knew when they’d come set me free from this small, sickening cell. Sliding down the wall, I could barely breathe as my chest began caving in. As disgusting and inhumane as it was inside of this cell, my heart and mind were heavier with a bigger burden. “Please, God, let me survive this so I can right my wrongs with my little sister.”
11
Jakia
Spade massaged my back while we watched a movie on Netflix. We’d been having a good time enjoying each other’s company, but I was fighting through each moment trying not to show that I was sick. My attitude was hot and cold, but to me, it didn’t matter. I was entitled to it. The smell of the blunt he kept smoking, then putting out, was unsettling to my stomach even more. Plus, his usual Unforgivable cologne was making me want to gag. Bells were going off that I was pregnant—hopefully, Spade was deaf to them.
“Drink some of this. I wanna get you fucked up so we can have some drunk sex tonight.” Spade pushed his cup of Hennessy with no chaser into my face.
“No, thank you. I’m good on that.” I pushed the cup back toward him, making some spill out on his shirt.
“Damn, Jakia,” he jerked back. “What’s your problem? Why have you been acting funny all day?” Taking off his shirt with aggravation, I’m sure his attitude couldn’t match mine.
“Nothing besides the fact that I’m tired of being cooped up in this stuffy-ass hotel room all day and night. You wouldn’t know how I’m feeling since you get to rip and run the streets still,” I whined like a kid throwing a mini extra tantrum. Spade k
new what was up before he asked. This wasn’t a new conversation; yet, I yearned for a different outcome.
“Don’t start that shit, Jakia. You already know what’s up and that you can’t hit the D again until everything in the media about the ‘Motor City Murder’ dies down. Why do you keep having memory lapses and shit? I’m tired of hearing you bitch about something you can’t change.” He guzzled down the remaining liquor in his cup, then poured some more.
“Not as tired as me.” I wouldn’t drop the subject. I couldn’t understand why Spade got to run back and forth to Detroit if I couldn’t, especially if we left together. His rationale had holes in it, and it wouldn’t shock me if he were lying. He was probably laid up with Tiff all day. “I’m starting to think you wanna keep me stashed out here in no-man’s land so you can do your dirt in peace. There’s no reason I can’t at least hide out at home—especially since no one knows where we stay at besides Rocko.” I folded my arms ready to have a full-blown debate. I didn’t care about the open and unsolved case we were involved in. The circle to snitch on me was small since he kept me friendless and isolated. Besides him, Rocko, Lezlee, and I, no one knew of my involvement with Robert Taylor’s setup/murder.
“Whomp, whomp, whomp.” He moved his hands like I was talking too much. “I’m tired of hearing your mouth about the next chick, so chill the fuck out,” he said, sitting back on the bed.
I flicked him off, knowing I’d lost another battle to get from out of downriver back to Detroit. The home I hated more than ever weeks ago was a welcomed joy right about now.
“So now that we’ve settled that, you wanna drink and fuck or what?” Spade looked at me with greedy eyes.
“Why not? It’s not like there’s much else for me to do.” I rolled my eyes, then slid down toward his midsection. “I don’t need liquor to fuck you right.” Because I was pregnant, drinking was out for me. To make sure he didn’t slip any in my system by force, I hurriedly pulled out his dick, then began giving him the best head job I could. Like any good woman, I knew my man—or at least I thought I did. Bobbing and slobbing on his dick and nut sac like it was my last meal, maybe if I swallowed a huge enough glob, he’d take more consideration into my pleas about going home.
Graveyard Love Page 9
