Page 101 of Own It

“We still on that, huh?” I mumbled to myself. “Like I said, that shit will go left. He and I don’t get along, ain’t ever gotten along to keep it real, and I’m not going to prison for you.”

“Why? Don’t wanna leave your new girl all alone?” she spat, then looked off like she hadn’t meant to voice that.

“Nah, she loyal. I ain’t even worried about that. However, if I ever go back to prison, I wanna be sure it’s worth it, and this shit right here ain’t.” When she nodded, I continued. “Leave. Ayan ain’t gon’ come looking for you like a lot of these other crazy, abusive muthafuckas will. I know him; he not holding yo’ ass hostage. If you tired of the shit, pack up AJ and Ayanna, then dip.”

Most women in situations like this, my own mama for example, usually had a reason for not getting the fuck out. Either the nigga abusing them would hunt them down and murk their asses, or the nigga had enough power to strip them of their kids and some more shit.

My pops was both. He’d warned my mama that if she left, he would not only smoke her ass, but he’d make sure he got full custody before he did. And being a celebrated boxer whom everyone saw as a gentle giant and family man, we all knew like she did that he could make every threat he spewed at her come to fruition.

On the flip side, Ayan wasn’t like him. He beat on LaMia because he was an insecure ass little boy who would rather fight someone smaller and weaker than go pick a bar fight to get his anger out. If LaMia woke her ass up one day and disappeared, he’d move onto a new bitch before her perfume even fully dissipated from their bedroom.

“I . . . I can’t.” She pushed her hair back, sniffling. “He’s going through a lot right now, Rah. I can’t just go because times are rough.”

What she meant to say was she wasn’t ready to leave that lifestyle being with Ayan provided. Half of it was the riches while the other half was the fame and notoriety. LaMia basked in being known as the popular boxer’s girl, something she hadn’t been able to experience with me because a nigga was so private.

“Aight, well, if you wanna continue to let him get his frustrations out on yo’ damn face, then I ain’t gon’ stop you, LaMia.”

“I just, please. Please think about it. Mr. Godfrey doesn’t even talk to me, and I guess I understand why.” She blinked back tears. My father barely liked her when she was with me, but now that he deemed her the cause of Ayan’s and my beef—a fallacy and he knew it—she wasn’t worth the shit beneath his shoe. “Ayan doesn’t respect Jojo, and his friend circle is full of yes men, so you’re the only one left.” She pondered for a moment, then said, “You know your little girlfriend told me she didn’t want anything serious with you and was only after sex.”

“I’m waiting to hear what the fuck that gotta do with you,” I replied, and the way her jaw lifted and fell with no sound coming out, I could tell she was surprised by my answer.

“I-I just am looking out for you.”

“And that’s always been yo’ fucking problem, LaMia. You running around worried about another woman’s intentions with me, when you should be more focused on the fact that you trying to find excuses not to leave a nigga who will send you out looking like that.” I pointed to her face. “I’m not yo’ nigga and never will be again. You always in one muthafuckin’ house but looking in on another, and that’s why you in the place you are now.”

“I’m sorry. Can you please⁠—”

“Let yaself out, LaMia.” I started toward the back, leaving her ass standing there.

“Bruh did that?” Mylo inquired as soon as I made it to the storage room. I could tell by the horrified look on his face that he was shocked.

“He did.” I exhaled, shaking my head as I started pulling bread crates down for Josias.

“Talk about some fucking karma for yo’ ass.”

“Mhm.” I bobbed my head.

Deep down, though, despite how LaMia dogged me, I didn’t believe she deserved to be getting her ass beat. Being with Ayan all the fucking time was karma enough. Getting knocked around was too fucking much.

“My bad, it was traffic.” Josias entered the storage room, running a hand down his overly tired ass face.

“You good?” I asked him as he started to stack the crates on the dolly.

“Yeah.” He wouldn’t look at me, so I made his ass, nicking his chin with my knuckle.

“Look at me when you speak, nigga. Men don’t talk looking down,” I scolded.

“I’m good, nigga.” He picked his head up, staring me in the eyes with his bloodshot and somewhat misty ones. “Help me with this shit.” He started out of the room.

Choosing to have a private conversation at another fucking time, I did as he’d requested with Mylo in tow.

* * *

“You stopping by now?” Shardaya palmed her hip as she stood in the doorway, her glare altering her soft features.

“Yeah,” was all I could say, unwilling to reveal the truth behind my spotty attendance as of late.

Rolling her eyes so hard I thought she was having a seizure, she threw a hand over her shoulder and said, “He’s in the back room. He’s better but still in pain and out of it.”