Page 189 of Own It

I entered my home, and the nigga was right on my heels before I experienced what I imagined being hit in the back of the head with a hammer felt like. I knew it was his fist, though, and the reminder that he’d hit my mother hundreds of times with the same fists he’d sent grown men to the hospital with, enraged a nigga.

I pushed the pain from his punch to the back of my mind, whipping around to cock back and hit the nigga in his mouth.

Nate was no feeble old man, but he was still an old man at the end of the day, so my untrained punch sent him stumbling a bit. He eyed me in shock before we began to tussle all over my living room. I was sweating profusely in an attempt to defeat this big ass nigga as we went blow for blow. He was dazing me, I couldn’t lie, but my adrenaline was too high for me to bow out.

Tiring him out, I charged him, causing us both to fly onto the glass coffee table, him on bottom.

Securing my arm around his neck to stop his breathing, I spoke through clenched teeth. “I don’t know what the fuck you did to my mama, but I’m gon’ find out, you bitch ass nigga.” I adjusted my grip as he fought and struggled to remove my arm, eyes widening out of need for oxygen. “It was neither a stroke nor a heart attack, and that’s why you misspoke. I can’t prove shit yet, but I will.” Leaning down some to whisper in his ear, I said, “And when I do find the truth, me and my brothers gon’ murk you.”

I kept a hold on him for a bit longer then released his ass. As much as I wanted to kill him right here, I knew that would be foolish. It wouldn’t take but twenty-four hours for the cops to find out and toss my ass in jail. Rakim taught me that I had to think before doing shit, especially something as serious as murder.

I stood carefully, not wanting to get cut by the glass all over the floor, and waited as he did the same, breathing heavily and like he was about to die. I also saw the way his face was drenched with worry and anxiety from my words, letting me know I was on to something and not tripping.

I waited, expecting him to go in on a nigga or want another round since he’d assumed only Rakim could defeat him. Instead, he slowly but surely made his way out of my fucking house.

* * *

Days later . . .

I stirred awake, and it took me a moment to realize I was cuffed to the headboard of my bed. Shit was hazy since I’d gotten high before I passed out to go to sleep, unable to fall on my own with the thoughts of the past few days journeying through my mind on constant replay.

“I tried to help you, Son.” My father’s voice seemed to echo around the room as I shut my eyes to hopefully alleviate the thundering headache I was experiencing.

“Nigga, why the fuck I’m cuffed!” I snapped. “Hel—” I tried to scream, but he sent his fist into my face. That punch accompanied by the drug induced sleepiness and headache took me out slightly.

My California king bed dipped as he sat his big ass on it, wrapping his muscular arms around my calves.

I opened my eyes as much as I could, still groaning from all the painful sensations I was dealing with, to see Nate snatch the cap off a needle with his mouth since his hands weren’t free.

“This is gon’ feel good. Some shit you used to. This time, though, you won’t be coming back, Zaire,” he explained, and I did my best to try to wiggle free and scream, but it seemed like an arduous task at the moment. “We got enough fucking problems in our family, and I don’t need you poisoning your brothers’ minds with your psycho theories.”

I felt the needle prick the skin between my big toe and the second toe, making me whimper. Slowly, I started to feel as if I couldn’t breathe, making my eyes expand as I stared at my father who only smirked as he pushed every bit of the contents of the needle into my foot.

Panic set in as I began to struggle even more to catch my breath, causing my body to flail about since I didn’t have enough oxygen in my body to scream or ask for help, though I knew my father wouldn’t oblige me anyway. Not to mention, I didn’t have one neighbor close enough in this luxe ass neighborhood that would hear me yelling.

Tears escaped my eyes as I watched him stand next to my bed, me becoming more and more disoriented as time went on. Fighting became too hard after a while as my father busied himself on his phone and talking shit to me while I strained to breathe.

So, . . . eventually, I stopped, using my last moments on earth to beg God for His forgiveness and to protect my brothers from this monster that had not only killed the mother of his children but now his youngest by three minutes.

TWENTY-FOUR

josias

PRESENT DAY . . .

Inhaling on the blunt as I sat on the edge of my bed in only a towel, I closed my eyes. I’d always smoked here and there, but lately, since I’d been outcast from the world of Kasia, I’d been smoking three times a fucking day.

I was fresh out the shower and supposed to be heading out to pack the Godfrey Baking Co. truck, but I needed a minute to get high. The shit was shameful, but it was the only way I could cope with just being a fucking co-parent with Kasia.

As if I’d spoken her ass up, my phone started to buzz on my nightstand, pulling my attention from the scenery I’d been peeping out of my floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Hey, you good?” I answered promptly, almost choking in the process as I ashed the blunt.

“I am, actually,” Kasia replied. “Is this a good time, or should I call back later?”

“Nah, this is the perfect time, actually.” I waved the remaining smoke from my view as my stomach damn near somersaulted like a bitch.

I was praying she called to tell me she wanted to work on us. I wasn’t sure what the fuck reaction I would have, but clicking my damn heels was at the top of the list. A nigga was struggling.