10. Deja McCoy #4
“Get the fuck off me, Hitta,” was all that I had the energy to say to him.
“No! You don’t know how to keep your hands to yourself. I don’t have faith that you won’t swing on me again if I let your arms go, so no. I’m not going to get up until you calm the fuck down,” he said.
With tears falling from my eyes still, I nodded my head at his words.
I nodded my head as if I accepted the fact that I really allowed this man to play me like that.
I knew this was the final straw. I knew that I didn’t have it in me to continue going through life with him.
I couldn’t accept a baby. He knew that, and that’s why he went out of his way to keep it away from me.
“I swear to God I hate you. I’m not saying this shit to you out of anger, either.
I really do hate your ass. You wonder why the kind of fucked up shit continues to happen to you.
Yeah, you make good money putting those tickets in, but you lose a lot of money too.
You want to know where the fuck I was the other night when you kept calling my phone, and I was declining your calls?
You know, the night I turned my phone off on you?
Fuck nigga, I was with Wolf. I didn’t even have to give the nigga any pussy, either.
It was just my presence alone that he admired.
I was sitting across from this billionaire ass nigga, and I wouldn’t give him a chance all because of the loyalty that I had for your stupid ass.
I’m going to go out of my way to find him, and Ima let him fuck me too.
I want your chest to cave the fuck in the same way mine just caved in when I had to see that shit on your phone! ” I was so angry.
It wasn’t even like me to throw another man up in his face like that, but I had to let him know that he wasn’t the only nigga that I could pull. Here I am, turning niggas down on a daily, only for him to be on these field days with hoes.
“Yeah, and you going to get that pretty looking ass nigga killed. Go fuck him, and deal with the consequences. You’re a stripper, love. No disrespect, but I’m sure that nigga took you out because he wants to fuck you—”
“Every time I tell you about a nigga being in my face, the first thing you want to tell me is that they only want to fuck me because I’m a stripper.
Fuck nigga, if he wanted to fuck me, he could have tried something with me.
I’ve been around him twice, when it was just the two of us, and he didn’t try anything with me.
I’m sorry if you’ve only seen the women in your life be dogged out, so you think that all women are dogged out by men, and that all men only want pussy from women.
I’m sorry if your mama got put on the streets by your daddy, and he was pimping her ass out—”
“Pop!”
I never got the chance to finish what I was saying because he let go of my wrist, and he punched me right in my mouth. I didn’t see the punch coming. Hitta has never in his life put his hands on me. We’ve talked shit to each other, he’s jacked me up, but he’s never actually hit me.
I was shocked behind the hit. I threw something up in his face, that he’d expressed to me in private.
Hitta had a very rocky relationship with his mother.
Just like my mom, his mom wasn’t shit, and she missed out on a lot of his childhood.
Hitta was the product of his mom being pimped out, so a lot of his life, he witnessed her getting treated like shit by his father, who was her pimp.
Even with me knowing the hurt behind that, it still didn’t subject to him putting his hands on me.
Once reality hit me that he had put his hands on me, I swung back on his ass.
I knocked him in his mouth, just like he’d knocked me in mine.
I’m not sure if it was a mixture of him knowing the money that he’d lost tonight, mixed with what I just threw up in his face, plus the feeling of knowing that I was going to leave him for good this time, but the nigga blacked out.
He blacked out, and I became no match for him because he started beating the shit out of me.
He was much stronger than I was, even though Hitta was a slim dude.
I tried to keep up with him as much as I could, but during the blows that he was sending my way, it’s as if my body eventually gave out on me.
It felt like this man was on top of me for about ten minutes, just sending blows my way.
“Shit! Deja, I’m sorry. Bae, I’m sorry,” he said, once he came back to, and relieved himself of whatever version he just transitioned into.
I was battered and bruised, feeling like I was laying down with broken bones.
My eyes were so swollen that I could hardly see out of them.
When he tried to reach down and grab me, so that he could pick me up off the floor, I screamed to the top of my lungs, telling him not to touch me.
I kicked, and flailed my arms, as if he was a monster that I didn’t want touching me.
I’m not sure how I was able to do it, especially since I damn near stumbled each time that I tried to stand up, but I was able to pick myself off the bathroom floor, and I limped out.
Hitta was behind me, continuously apologizing for what he’d done.
I felt so broken as I grabbed my shoes that were siting by the front door, picked my purse up that was right there, and I struggled with getting the door unlocked, but I did it anyways.
“Deja, you don’t have to go. Bae, just stay in the house, so we can talk. I’m sorry,” he said from behind me.
My body was in so much pain, but I was able to take off. I never took the stairs whenever I came to see him, especially since he stayed on the 3rd floor, but I took the stairs this time. I took them down and rushed over to my car.
Once inside, I locked the doors behind me because I didn’t want him to come out into the parking lot. My vision was terrible right now. It felt as if my eyes were going to completely shut on me.
Hitta stayed about twenty minutes away from me. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to make it home. I had no idea what my plan was, but in the meantime, I just pulled out of the parking spot, and I rushed to get out of here.