The Chevy lurched from the curb, shooting back into traffic almost colliding with a silver Honda Civic. Cleo clawed at the velvet, searching for anything to hold onto as she slid across the seat and crashed into C's side. His arm wound around her, shackling her to him. Not wanting to risk a wreck, by struggling to break the cement hold, she remained tucked under his muscular limb until he pulled the car safely into the driveway of his yard. Soon as he parked the car she wrenched away from him and hurried out of the Chevy, tripping over Ant in the process.
"Slow down." Ant warned as he clasped her shoulder to steady her. "Don't bust yo' dome to spite C's, ole crazy ass girl.
Cleo yanked herself out Ant's grasp, shooting him a unit before she turned to walk in the direction of the porch. Fuck C's. She'd had enough of him for the rest of her grandchildren days. Tech was right, his trifling behind had more hoes than Hue Hefner knew what to do with. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! On a scale from zero to ten, she was off da meter dumb. She should've known a dude as all that, as C's couldn't be for real about a hood rat from the Ninth.
Stomping pass C's into the house, she dived for the phone on the coffee table. If he didn't want to take her home, she'd just call a cab.
C's snatched the phone from her. "Holla at me, bae."
When she served him up a unit, instead of trailing him like a puppy to his room, he shoved the phone in his back pocket, and spun on his heel to jog upstairs. Contemplating everything that had happened that afternoon, she ignored Ant when he came in the living room and brushed pass her to heave himself on the sofa. Folding her arms, she glared at the stairs. There was no way in the world she going after him for the phone. She'd rather go across the street and break up the dice game by begging to make a call, than follow C's double slick ass to his room.
"You might as well go see what he want." Ant grabbed the remote off the coffee table and flipped on the TV. "He won't take that ass home until you do."
Cleo gave him a, stank face, before rolling her eyes back to the stairs. "Fuck him. I ain't goin up there." She snapped, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Let his ass call one of his hoes. Run his tech on the next, since he don't fuck with black chicks."
Vindicated anger coursed beneath the surface of her skin searching for any outlet in which to manifest the degree of its rage. Now she saw why sisters went for the ride first. Automatic reciprocation. No matter if the brother was white, black or brown, they all worshiped their rides how they should've been loving their woman. Humph. Fuck with the real main chick, and C's would feel her pain in doubles.
"So what?" Ant asked, his eyes trained on the television. "You're gonna cut off your whippin' hand to spite your hustle? If you want that phone or a ride home, better let the devil have his say. You'll be standing there lookin' stupid 'til you do."
Damn! Ant was right. She was done looking stupid on the account of C's. He'd made an ass out of her more than one time that day. One more slight, would drive her head game clean over the edge. Reluctantly, she whirled on her heel. Her tennis skirt flared out around her upper thighs, probably even teasing Ant with a hint of panty. But she could care less about the type of shots she'd served up. She had serious beef to deal with. Beef that had grown and thrived so fast over the course of four days it was sheer ridiculousness in all its bullshit glory.
The march up the stairs to C's room was too damn short in her opinion. A little more time to lock down the ringing in her mental, would've been appreciated. She needed her mind working beyond capacity, firing off like a double barrel sawed down shot gun putting in work in a drive by. C's was slick with his words. Spanish...English it didn't matter. Dude worked both languages for desired results.
Tapping twice, she opened the door and slipped inside the room. He sat on the side of the bed, counting money. Stacks of twenties, fifties, and hundreds were laid before him like an all you can eat country style buffet. When he finished counting the wad of cash in his hand, he folded the bills in half and popped a rubber band around the knot. Dropping the bundle on the bed, he trained his gaze on her.
Cleo pushed off the door, standing erect, she glared down at him, holding her hand out. "Let me get the phone."
He shook his head. "Talk to me first, bae. Then I'll let you have the phone."
"The hell you wanna, talk about, C's?" Her eyes narrowed until she felt the skin squint at the corners of her lids. "After everything I heard with my own ears and saw with my own eyes what could be left to say? Hell, talk to me." A low hum buzzed in her ears, warning her that shit was about to get live if he got fly.
"I fucked up," he said.
"Got that right." She snapped as her hand found her hip.
He cocked his head to the side, raising a silky black eyebrow, his mouth snapped closed. His way of letting her know he wasn't going to say a damn thing until she closed her lips. With a drawn out sigh, she waved a hand for him to continue.
"But in my defense, Nike rolled with me before I met you." He resumed. "She looked out when I was in Juvie. Held my position until I touched down." A half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he stared at something unseen. "Bitch'll ride harder and die quicker for me than a lot of my homeboys. She street. That's why I call her Nike." This time the motherfucker did grin.
Cleo's head jerked back like a bitch had snatched her bald. Did he really think she'd come up there to hear his ghetto love story about the last chick? She didn't give a damn about how that skeezer got her name.
"That's yo' thang huh? You like to name bitches and shit." Slowly, she stalked forward, her expression deceptively amused. "Like how you call me, Trouble?"
"Naw." C's shook his head in denial as the stupid grin wilted and fell from his arrogant mouth. "It's not even like that. See what the deal is-,"
She cut him off. "What the deal is, you probably told her some BS like, we don't lie to each other. I'm in to you, baby. I wanna see where this goes, bae." Jabbing her finger in his face, her neck bobbed and weaved like she was going ten with Tyson. "Playing with her head like your own personal playground. Twisting things until she can't think straight without you telling her what the business is." Her muscles coiled and locked, preparing for the inevitable strike.
C's shoved her away to stand. "Man you got shit all wrong, I ain't-,"
"And when it's official." She raised her voice, effectively cutting off his. "And her mind is yours, that's when the other females come struttin' through, trying to play her out of position at every turn. Then the lies." Her hands fisted at her sides as she shot hate making units one after the other, so mad she could damn near his ass. "Oooh, the lies." She hissed.
C's grabbed her arms and gripped them so tight his fingers actually grazed bone. "Come on now. You bending shit-,"
"Lies spit so good, they sound better than the truth to her." Cleo was now yelling at the top of her lungs, just to drown out the bullshit his mouth was attempting to spew. Thoroughly pissed about him trying to shut her down, she switched lanes. Since he liked the sound of his voice so much she'd oblige. Her tongue became a tech nine fully loaded with his words, which she used to fire back at him. "Baby you got me wrong, I don't do this. I don't waste this type of time on a chick I ain't about to get into. I can wait. What I look like tryin' to rush you into doing something you're not ready for?"
Instead of slaying him, each untruth gouged chunks out of her chest cavity. The pain so intense, the ache doubled her over and had her clawing at her left breast. Unwanted hands reached for her. With her free arm she fought them off, while hot tears brimmed her eyes and singed her lower lids, forcing her to blink rapidly to appease the stinging sensation at her tear ducts.
Desperate to resume striking him with her truth, she opened her mouth to speak only to choke on deprived sobs. When the battle against herself became too much, and her rage waned, she surrendered the fight unable to continue facing down her own stupidity. He'd made a fool out of her and she'd allowed him.
Cleo's knees buckled and she sank to the carpet. Breathing hard, air rushed from her mouth and retreated up her nose in gasping cycles. Defeated she pulled her knees to her chest. This time when C's reached for her, she didn't fight. There was just no fight left. After the storm all of her hostility had evaporated, blown itself out.
She allowed him to sit beside her and even pull her into his lap. No matter how twisted the notion, she wanted him to take away the ache. To heal the hurt in her soul with a kiss and another pretty lie. She needed the snake that bit her. The very venom that had crippled her was the same remedy that would make her whole. Without intent he'd somehow become her drug of choice. She was now a junkie. Just like Liberty.