1. Koi Malone #2
“You played with me for the last time.” Marcel backed up, crippled over, yelling out obscenities.
I ignored all the “you bitch, ima fuck you up”, slander.
He had me fucked up. Things had been rocky for some time, but this was what I was feeling for him, and with my intuition screaming "cheater," I had to let this go.
My sanity was where I drew the line, and before I chose to fall victim to losing my mind behind a man, he needed to leave.
“Watch! You think I’m playing?” I heard him yell to my back as I made my way to our bedroom.
Ready to take my anger out on something or someone, I forcibly rummaged through my drawers.
I needed to find an outfit and fast. If Marcel thought I was gonna continue to sit around and play these childish games with him, he was sadly mistaken.
All these years and I only had an engagement ring, no marriage, but he got fucked, sucked, fed, and came home to a clean house every damn night.
Something wasn’t adding up, and the blinders I had been wearing were finally coming off.
“You think you going somewhere?” Marcel stood in the threshold of the bedroom.
“Nah. You staying your dramatic ass right in this house.” Before I could react, he had closed and locked the door.
“And since you want to talk! Let’s talk!
” The way he said “talk now” made me understand how people who live outside of New York explain how we say it versus them.
“Why you always cheating on me?” My chest heaved up and down from the strenuous activity.
“Matter fact, don’t even answer that!” I don’t know what football team I thought I played on, but when I tried to tackle Marcel, he showed my five foot five inch frame no mercy when he grabbed me, pushing me back.
The bottom of my slippers didn’t have any grip as I slipped right into the king sized bed frame.
“This isn’t a fight you gonna win.” Marcel was right, but that wasn’t gonna stop me from trying. “Bring your feisty ass over here again, and Imma pop you right on ya big ass forehead.”
“Fuck you and leave my forehead out of this. Me and Rihanna could have been twins with how big our foreheads were. He knew that was an insecurity I had. Which is why my short platinum blonde hair stayed covering it.
“Make me.” This was a sure indication that he wanted to stop fighting, but I wasn’t falling for the shit.
Like I said earlier, sex was the center of our relationship when shit hit the fan.
He would have me in any and every position, apologizing, and my stupid ass would give in as soon as he had me creaming all over his dick.
The dick that he was so freely giving away.
The same dick he just asked me to put my mouth on.
Nope. But I was gonna play along because today, I was leaving this damn house.
“What? With some pussy? I don’t want no dick, especially not from you.” Marcel’s cocky grin pissed me off further. “Move. I have therapy, and if I don’t go, I’m going to burn this fucking apartment down!” I thought quickly on my feet.
Marcel wasn't stupid. Therapy equated money, and losing money wasn’t something he was too fond of. That was an automatic argument.
“Whatever yo. Bring your yella ass back home right after!” He unlocked the door, turned on his heels, and cocked his head to the side as if he was thinking.
“If I find out you lying, I’m going to drag your red ass back to the crib kicking and screaming.
” I rolled my eyes dramatically. Marcel was far from abusive, but he didn’t play that hitting on him either.
Which I was happy about, but I did know a thing or two about him being upset.
I had gotten dragged once or twice out of a club or lounge back in the day.
“Yea yea.” I didn’t have shit else to say to him.
He left out, leaving me alone in the bedroom.
I opened up the walk-in closet, pulling out my Louis Vuitton Speedy 35 Damier, tossing in two pairs of panties, a pair of leggings and a tee, some socks and a bra.
If he suspected I was packing an overnight bag, he would have shut down my escape, so an oversized purse would be my choice for the day.
I hurriedly showered, tossing on a black pair of biker shorts, a red crop top hoodie, and my Gucci sneakers.
The Gucci fanny pack I wore hid the extra skin that was exposed.
My wet curly hair was slicked down on the side, giving me more of a Mohawk look.
I grabbed my oversized Gucci sunglasses and wallet before leaving the room in search of my phone.
Marcel was in the second bathroom of the apartment showering.
I wanted to go inside and snoop on his phone, but there was no sense when I already knew the truth.
He was a dog ass nigga and the more money he made, the more the bitches flocked.
Something had to give, or I was gonna be on the next season's episode of Snapped.
In my Audi, I sat in silence for a few minutes. Wildly inappropriate, I sent a text to my therapist.
Koi: I am sorry for my behavior earlier. It was immature and uncalled for. I allowed my anger to get the best of me and that shit had nothing to do with you. I know I shouldn’t even be texting right now, but I had to right my wrong. If you want to drop me as a client, trust, I understand.
I knew I was skating on thin ice. This was only supposed to be our fifth session, and I was already showing my natural born black ass.
That’s probably why I didn’t like my last therapist. That white bitch checked me the minute I came at her sideways.
Was it warranted? Yes, but as a professional, her ass didn’t have to call her bosses on me.
A conversation would have sufficed, and the last thing I needed was for this one to do the same.
I wasn’t right in the head, and I knew that, but therapy was cheaper and easier than taking damn meds.
Rae: I just hope you got it figured out. It was crazy as hell, but I know these relationships can take you to a place that you didn’t ever think you’d go to. As your therapist, I’ll keep it professional. See you at the next session.
I tossed my phone into the passenger seat along with my purse.
The hood was calling my name. The very place I vowed I wouldn’t go back to after I moved, but yet here I was making a right on 233rd Street in the Bronx.
Mott Haven and Patterson Houses wasn’t close, but it wasn’t far either.
My old stomping grounds. The place that raised me and Marcel.
He moved us to Yonkers when his money flow picked up.
He didn’t like the idea of people knowing where we laid our heads after he was seen upgrading his old Acura to a Benz.
The stares became more frequent, as did the whispers when we stepped out.
For our safety, he found a condo in Yonkers.
A quiet area yet close enough to hit the block if he needed to.
I pulled up by the Fire house Grocery store, placed my shades on my face, scanning the block looking for a spot to pull into.
Many cars had gotten hit being double parked because muthafuckas couldn’t drive.
I found one of the block’s crackheads, calling him over; he came running when I flashed the five dollar bill.
“Toot, watch my car and make sure nobody taps my shit. I’ll be back. Take this and don’t be fucking wit my shit either. Just watch it.”
Toot was old enough to be my father. He had watched me grow up, and although we clowned him as a teen, he was that nigga when I was a kid.
A bad batch of weed, laced with K2, had a nigga head gone.
Yet that didn’t stop me from respecting him like I did when he was passing out Candy, juice, and icy’s to us.
“I got you and tell Belinda I said wassup.”
Toot was always in love with my aunt. She was one of the baddest females around the way who wasn’t married or booed up like my mama. But just like most hood chicks, she had plenty of baby daddies who weren’t shit and a bunch of bad ass kids trailing behind her.
“Bet.” I disappeared into the store, grabbing an ice cup, ordering a chop cheese on a hero, and a bottle of water and cranberry juice.
I knew the water was only to look responsible.
I didn’t plan to drink it until it was time to go.
My mind was set on a pint of Hennessy. My mama wouldn’t approve, but Belinda would be down, and my cousin Rika.
I peeked through the window while my sandwich was being made.
Toot was leaning up against the car as if he was the owner.
I chuckled because if Marcel had witnessed this, he probably would have cursed Toot out.
That was his problem; he didn’t want any niggas close to me but was up in every broke ass bitch face.
I felt my blood boil just thinking about the call from earlier.
The audacity was at an all time high, and Marcel was gonna be the one crying when I was through with running circles around him.
I was strategic with my get back. Yeah, I was gonna play the game for now, but the minute I was ready to show my ass, no one would be able to bring me back down from my high.
I grabbed my plastic bag full of contents and yelled out to Toot to let him know I was going to the liquor store around the corner. “You want anything?”
“Shit. You treating? Get me that good shit, not no damn New Amsterdam,” he yelled out. I had Marcel’s Amex card, so the drink was on him. I ordered three bottles. A Patron for Toot and the Hennessy for me. Knowing Belinda was gonna drink, I picked her up a bottle of E&J Brandy and dipped.