Chapter 29 – Gutta Barbie
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
GUTTA BARBIE
Iwalked into the run-down, abandoned house with War leading the way.
I turned up my nose at the horrible, strong smell of piss.
There was trash and old, dirty furniture scattered throughout the old home.
I wasn’t sure what War ass was up to, but I was ready to go the moment I stepped foot inside.
I had been in plenty of abandoned properties, but lately I’ve been over the shit.
The street life was starting to take its toll on me, and I didn’t know how much longer I could do this shit.
I was starting to lose more than I was gaining when it came to friends, and I was tired.
“What’s this all about?” I asked, War.
“Just relax.” He said, keeping it short, as he continued guiding me through the house.
We made it to the basement and were greeted by Dumpa.
I was happy to see a familiar face. I had met him a couple of times, and after Hood Brat's death, he’s become a part of my family.
I knew that if she were still here, the two of them would’ve been a solid couple, which was the reason Lil Rude ass was so mad.
He knew that my best friend had found a real nigga and couldn’t handle that shit.
“Follow me,” Dumpa said.
I knew from his tone of voice and his body language that something serious was going on.
Whatever the reason he called us here, I knew that he meant business.
When we walked deeper into the basement, I saw a large figure sitting in the dark.
The brown wooden chair he was sitting in was holding his body up, but I could tell that Dumpa had done a number on him.
The closer I got, the more my heart dropped seeing who it was.
Lil Rude sat there beaten and tied to the wooden chair with his head hanging low.
The sight of him sent me into a rage, and before I knew it, I was raining punches and blows on every inch of his body.
He fell over with the chair, and I continued stomping him into the basement cement with my sneakers.
I wanted to beat that nigga to death, and that’s exactly what I did.
He deserved a slow and excruciating death.
I wanted him to feel everything that my best friend had to feel.
I got straight to the point; I wasn’t here for small talk because it wasn’t shit to talk about.
He knew that it was up and stuck and on sight when it came to him and me.
“You want me to handle the rest and take it from here?” War asked.
“No. This shit here is personal.” I seethed. I looked down at Lil Rude and hawk spit on his battered body. I really wanted them to untie his bitch ass so that he could fight back.
I knew his punk ass couldn't do anything with me.
The only thing stopping me was my child and War, who I knew wasn't having that shit.
I had so much rage in me towards Lil Rude that I knew for certain he wasn't fucking with me on any level.
The hate I had for him was enough to kill his entire bloodline.
“You a bitch ass nigga!” I growled, kicking him in the ribs, making him groan in pain.
I kicked him three more times, but ten times harder. I loved seeing him in pain; it was entertaining to watch him cry and scream like a bitch.
“I swear I wanted to kill myself; I should've,” he cried.
“You should've.” War stepped in.
“Nah pussy, that's my job.” I kicked his ass again and again and again.
I spotted a 2x4 being used as a leg to hold up the broken table.
I walked over, grabbed the large 2x4, and inspected it with a smile on my face.
I raised it over my head and charged at Lil Rude, beating him with the stick all over his already beaten body.
I beat him for over thirty minutes until his body lay stiff and lifeless.
“I'm done with this no-good nigga, wrap his bitch ass up!” I said emotionless, tossing the 2x4 and walking out.
I sat in the truck weeping as War and Dumpa handled his body. When his mother got to see him for the last time, I wanted her to know how much he was hated. How she had given birth to the worst creature on earth, and I had done the world a huge favor by ending his life.
The music was low, barely audible over the rain tapping against the condo's windows.
I sat on the edge of the couch, my fingers wrapped around a glass of juice that I hadn’t touched in almost twenty minutes. My mind was somewhere else—buried beneath memories, betrayals, and battles that I've spent years pretending didn’t affect me.
I could feel War watching me from across the room.
Most people were intimidated by me.
They saw the attitude.
The reputation.
The woman who always stood ten toes down no matter what.
But War had started noticing the things nobody else paid attention to.
The way my eyes got distant when I was carrying too much.
The way I would clench my jaw when I was trying not to break.
The way I always took care of everybody else but never myself.
“You’ve been quiet all night,” he said softly.
I laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it.
“Maybe I’m tired.”
“Tired of what?”
I looked at him.
“Everything.”
The room fell silent.
For a moment, I looked away, fighting emotions I wasn’t used to sharing.
“I get tired of being strong all the time,” I admitted. “People think because I survived it, it didn’t hurt. Because I made it through, they think I still don't carry it.”
War slowly moved closer.
“You ain’t gotta carry everything by yourself.” he looked down and rubbed my protruding belly.
A bitter smile crossed my face. It wasn't his responsibility.
“That’s easy to say.”
“No,” he replied. “It’s easy to leave. It’s easy to disappear when things get heavy. Staying is the hard part.”
That made me look at him.
Really look at him.
He was here, always. Since day one.
War wasn’t perfect.
Neither of us was.
But there was something different about him.
He never seemed interested in competing with me.
Never seemed threatened by my strength.
Never tried to control my fire.
He simply accepted all of it.
The beautiful parts.
The broken parts.
The parts that I tried to hide.
“You know what scares me?” I whispered.
“What?”
“Being loved.”
The words surprised even me.
War’s expression softened.
“Why?”
“Because everybody says they love you until it’s time to prove it.”
A long silence settled between us.
Then War reached for my hand.
Not aggressively.
Not possessively.
Just enough to remind me that I wasn’t alone.
“I ain’t everybody.”
The tears I had been fighting all evening suddenly filled my eyes.
Not because I was weak.
Because I was exhausted.
Exhausted from surviving.
Exhausted from carrying wounds nobody could see.
Exhausted from pretending I always had it together.
War pulled me against his chest and held me while I cried.
No judgment.
No questions.
No, trying to fix me.
Just presence.
And somehow that felt more intimate than anything else.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t being the strong one.
I wasn’t being the protector.
I wasn’t being the woman everybody depended on.
For a few quiet moments, I simply allowed myself to be held.
And War held me like I was something worth protecting.