Chapter Twelve- Snow
“Fuck you, Snow!” Ciara shouted, tossing a can of Dove body spray at me. I ducked just in time, or I would have collected that mothafucka straight to my forehead. For the last couple of days it had been a fucking war zone in my home.
“Toss something else at me, and I’ll come over there and smack the shit out you,” I warned her, pointing my index finger in her direction.
“Or yeah?” She challenged me, lifting a bottle of her Bath n Body Works mist. Getting ready to throw it at me like a baseball pitcher.
“I swear to God Ci–. Mothafucka!” I hollered, grabbing my face as the bottle connected just under my right eye, bounced off my face, and landed on the floor.
“Cheating on me with Angel Bianchi. I hope you know that bitch is bipolar; you’re so fucking desperate it’s embarrassing,” Ciara said, looking at me in disgust. I snorted at her words as I watched her pack some of her belongings in a Louis Vuitton luggage.
“Why did you make that noise? Did I say something to amuse you, Snow?” She stopped folding a pair of jeans so she could look over at me with her hands on her hips.
“I have nothing to say to you. If you’re leaving, hurry up so I can get some sleep.
” I didn’t even feel like arguing with her.
Every time we had a disagreement, no matter how small.
This is what Ciara did: she would pack as much as she could, go for a couple of days, and be right back here.
It was the same song and dance I’ve been dealing with for years.
“Oh, I bet you can’t wait until I leave so you can invite your little slut over,” I rubbed the back of my neck as I felt the tension rising. My blood pressure was probably higher than a mothafucka right now.
“Ciara, do you think you’re a fucking prize?” I asked because she was beginning to ride my last nerve.
“Excuse you?” She said in an incredulous tone, her eyes wide in disbelief at what I just asked.
“I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I’d never met you.
It’s because of your ass that I got hooked on cocaine.
Drugs were something I never even dreamed of doing, until I met you.
Having children is something I’ve always wanted, but can I get a coke hoe pregnant?
I don’t fucking think so; I’m not about to risk my child’s health because you can’t stop sniffing a line.
So, if you want to leave, I don’t give a fuck, it will probably be the best thing that ever happened to me.
” I didn’t care if I sounded insensitive; I didn’t care if I was hurting her feelings.
All I knew was that I was tired of living my life this way.
Ciara leaving, maybe, was exactly what I needed.
“Don’t you dare blame me for your drug use!” she shouted, marching over to me, pointing her index finger in my face. I looked at her delusional ass because she was really full of it.
“So who the fuck do I blame? Riddle me fucking that, Ciara. Who the fuck do I blame? You laced the fucking weed with cocaine without my knowledge. You pretended that you didn’t do drugs, the entire time you were Amy Winehouse 2.
0. So yeah, I do fucking blame you,” I wanted to grab her fucking neck so bad, I had to take a step back away from her.
“Oh, boo-hoo. There’s this little thing called drug rehab, you know.
If you wanted to quit so badly, why didn’t you check yourself in?
Maybe it’s because you liked being a cocaine fiend.
You loved the way high made you feel. Remember how much you used to enjoy fucking me after you sniffed a line or two.
” She reached forward and tried to grab my dick, but I slapped her hand away.
Ciara began laughing as though this shit was fucking funny.
“You're standing there talking about having kids. Boy bye, you know damn good and well you never wanted to have children. Doing coke and being Buddha’s shadow is all you’ll ever fucking be,” Ciara giggled, before she turned away to continue packing.
I stared at the back of her head, and my anger reached its boiling point.
My chest heaved with a rage I had never felt before in my entire life.
I didn’t think about what I was about to do until I had walked over to Ciara and had her face in my hands, squeezing her cheeks in, with nothing but pure vengeance in my eyes, my voice dripping with malice. I watched her in her frightened eyes.
“That’s why Angel is carrying my child. A child that I want, a child that I plan to welcome with open arms. A child that I plan to love.
A child that your barren, dried-out, coked-out womb could never fucking give me.
” When I was done releasing my venomous words, I pushed her hard, hard enough that she fell to the floor.
“Hurry up and pack your shit and get the fuck out,” I told her before I turned and walked out of the room.
As I made my way toward the staircase, I could hear Ciara crying.
The sound of her tears did nothing but harden my heart.
I was sick of her shit. Walking into the kitchen, I made my way to the small bar, picked up a bottle of Macallan 60-year-old aged whiskey, and poured myself a drink.
This shit was worth well over half a million dollars.
I only drank it when I wanted to get the edge off.
I believe this was one of those situations where this whiskey was needed.
My back was turned to the kitchen’s entrance as I sipped my alcoholic drink. My hand immediately paused mid-air at the sound of a gun being cocked. I took my time as I slowly turned around and saw Ciara standing with my Glock pointed right at me.
We both remained quiet as she stood there with her tear-stained face; silent sobs escaped her lips every few seconds. I looked at my gun in her hand and then up at her, knowing I had to be very, very careful of what I said from here on out.
“What now?” I asked, placing the glass down as I lifted both my hands in the air.
“Are you gonna shoot me? Then what? Do you think after killing me, you’ll be able to leave this house alive?
My father, Buddha, hell, even my mother will have sprayed so many bullets in you you’ll look like a human strainer.
So I suggest you think long and hard about what you’re about to do,” I kept my eyes on the gun and her finger on the trigger.
I’d be damned if this was going to be the way I left this earth.
“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit!” Ciara screamed like a fucking unhinged banshee. The gun in her hand shook a little as she struggled to keep it steady. “Did you really get her pregnant?”
“No,” I lied with a straight face because what the fuck else was I supposed to say? The way I saw it, this was a lose-lose situation.
“You’re fucking lying, Snow!” She shrieked, taking a step closer to me.
“Well then, why did you ask?” Even as the words left my lips, I cursed myself.
“You think this is funny? You think this is fucking funny. Telling me that I’m the reason we couldn’t have a baby. Do you know how much I loved you? I would have done anything to give you children.” I narrowed my eyes at Ciara because now she was just full of shit.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, taking two more steps toward me. The gun was still aimed at my chest.
“You seriously expect me to believe that you would have given up drugs for us to have a baby? Get the fuck outta here, Ciara,” I wanted to laugh in her face, but that would be pushing it.
“You never even gave me the chance. You never spoke about kids, Snow. I would have gladly tried to give you a baby. Instead, you run off with that pathological liar and give her what I would have gladly done for you without so much as a second thought. I fucking hate you, Snow. I hate you!” She was a mere couple of feet away from me.
Ciara’s finger began to squeeze the trigger, and I knew right then it was either her or me.
I already said I’d be damned if this was the way I left this earth.
I had to make a decision, so I sprang forward and grabbed the gun.
Ciara held on for dear life; the gun swung to the left and then to the right.
Pow! A single shot erupted in the quiet of the kitchen. I froze; my breath stopped instantly. I’d been shot. Had I been shot? Ciara began gasping for air, and her eyes started rolling in the back of her head.
“S-s-Snow,” she said, my name in short gasps, before her body went limp in my arms.
“Oh fuck, Ciara,” I held on to her as I looked at the middle of her chest. A small red dot soaked through her clothing, and before I knew what was happening.
That small dot grew into the size of a grapefruit.
Ciara stared at me as I held her. Her breathing was erratic, then it slowed until it stopped altogether.
“Ciara!” I called out to her, but her eyes just stared at me, not blinking or moving.
Ciara was dead, and I killed her. Even if it was an accident, I still killed her.
I hugged her for a minute, or maybe it was five.
I had no idea; time seemed to slip away from me.
I didn’t know if I was coming or fucking going.
I’m not sure how long I sat there on the floor until I gently placed Ciara on the tiles on her back.
I closed her dead eyes before standing up.
With my hands on top of my head, I wondered what to do. Calling 911 was something us Riccis never did; getting the police involved in our family’s affairs was suicide.
I grabbed a fistful of my curly mohawk as I thought long and hard. What the fuck was I supposed to do now? Doubling over, I put my hands on both knees as I looked down at my dead wife.
“Shit.” There was only one person I knew I could call to help me with this. Taking a deep breath, I rushed up the stairs and made my way into my bedroom. I found my phone and dialed the number. I listened to the phone ring until, finally, on the fourth ring, my call was answered.
“The fuck you want nigga?” My brother answered in his usual cherry voice.