Page 3 of Session 25

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.

Toot was yelling at another fiend when I walked up on him. “This bitch thought she was about to parlay around this fly ass whip.” He staggered from side to side, rubbing his scruffy face. “I wasn’t having that, sweetheart. I said she told me to watch this,” I chuckled, handing him the brown bag. His eyes lit up when he looked inside. “Shiddd baby girl, you done blessed a nigga.”

“Enjoy that.” I hopped in my truck, started up the ignition, and rounded the corner until I found a parking spot that didn’t look suspect. If you parked on the wrong block, you could bet ya windows would be busted, mirrors missing, and if you were gone long enough, your car would be sitting on the ground.

I sashayed my wide hips past the dope boys who were outside chilling, drinking, and shooting dice. Another day in the hood, I thought. The cat calls didn’t faze me. None of them were on my level, to say the least. My biweekly paycheck was probably what they made in a month. And that was if they had a good month.

As an accountant for one of the biggest hotel franchises in New York, I should have stayed away from the hood, but I liked to pop in and out. Reminds me of the good days when I grew up on food stamps and free lunches. It wasn’t always pretty, but my mama made a way for me, my sister, and brother.

“Hey niece, I knew that was your pretty ass coming through here. Can’t no one rock that blonde cut like you, boo.” My aunt popped her tongue like the chicken head she was. Fifteen years my senior, we grew up more like siblings than aunt and niece. She was my girl, and I’d go to bat for her ghetto ass. Now my cousins, they were a different story. She had a few of them running through these projects, two of whom their daddies took.

“You know me,” I gave her my best around the way girl stance. “You down to drink and talk shit?”

“What that fine ass nigga of yours did now?” She knew I came to her for advice and to vent when it came to Marcel. My mother didn’t want to hear my mouth about his ass anymore. After the first few times I caught him doing some shady shit, she washed her hands when I took him back. Did I blame her? Nah, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t salty that I couldn’t speak to my mama about him.

But Belinda was closer in age and knew how these hood niggas acted, so nothing surprised her.

“Chile, he’s cheating, but this time, I’m done. I swear.” I took the contents out of my bag, making my drink and shaking it around for the perfect mix. “I can’t keep doing this shit.”

“And can’t.” She swung her shoulder length box braids out of her face. “You’s a bad bitch. He should be happy that you even gave his ass the time of day. You can have one of them rich ass Wall Street sugar daddies,” she laughed before pouring some E&J in her tumbler. Her extra long polka dot nails weren’t hard to miss.

Belinda was the epitome of ghetto. Her denim shorts were a size too small, hugging her slim frame, and had her cuff on full display. She knew what she was doing wearing the white tank without a bra. I laughed to myself when I took in her attire. Her style of dress wasn’t what I’d indulge in, but that’s what set us apart from each other. I was from the hood, but I didn’t carry myself nor look like it, and that’s why my mama hated when I came back.

“I know, but lesson learned, right?” I took a sip, finding a spot on the bench near the playground.

“You damn right, and you don’t just walk away. Nah… You make that pencil dick muthafucka pay for wasting all these damn years of your life, and you only got a ring and no baby. The fuck!”