Caught Up (21 page)

M
alik makes me feel safe. Simple as that. He makes me feel special. And wanted. And, with everything that has happened over the last week, Malik is all I need to get by, to survive. I haven't spoken to (or heard from) my mother since our fight. And I don't want to.

I don't even know if she's tried reaching me on my cell because I threw it in a fit of anger and broke it. Malik had to purchase me a new phone. Now I don't have any of my contacts. And I haven't been on Facebook to see if she's looking for me.

Knowing her, she is.

A part of me feels so bad. And knows that I am probably in deep trouble.

Then there's the other part of me that just doesn't care. Not right now, anyway.

Sasha was right when she said I needed to get my life. Well, guess what? That's exactly what I've been doing. Getting. My. Life. I have been having nothing but fun. Going to parties. Going to clubs. Shopping. And spending every waking moment with Malik.

He's been so supportive. He even got us an efficiency room two towns over because he said we needed our own space. Truth is, I overheard his mother telling him when he came back at two o'clock in the morning to pick me up that she didn't want me staying in her apartment. “She too young 'n' too hot in the tail. And she ain't gonna be nothin' but trouble. You need'a git you somebody yo' own age. And leave dat li'l girl alone.”

“Ma, you need to go 'head wit' dat dumb ish,” I heard Malik tell her. “Kennedy ain't gonna bring me no heat. Her momz threw her out 'n' I ain't tryna see my girl out on da streets.”

His mother grunted. “Mmph. You need to call DYFS 'n' let dem deal wit' 'er.”

“Chill, ma. Ain't nobody callin' DYFS on nobody. It's all good. We outta here, a'ight? I already got us a spot.”

“
What?
What you mean, you got y'all a spot? You still gonna pay this rent 'n' make sure me 'n' Mercedes got money to live off of?” I heard him tell her that he had everything covered, then the last thing I heard her say is, “I can't believe you gonna turn ya back on ya own family for that li'l uppity girl.”

“Yo, sexy, what you over there thinkin' 'bout?” Malik nudges me, taking his eyes off the road ahead of him. “You a'ight?”

I nod, looking over at him. “Yeah. I'm okay.”

“Oh, a'ight. Just checkin' on my baby. You seem like you kinda lost in thought.”

I shake my head. “No, not really.”

Truth is, my mind has been reeling back and forth between my fight with Jordan and the haunting words of Mercedes. Last night, as usual, I was left alone at Malik's mother's while he went out to make “a run” into the city with two of his friends. And, once again, his sister with her ole messy, mean self felt the need to corner me in the kitchen when I'd come out to grab something to drink out of the fridge.

“I keep telling you, silly girl, all my brotha's gonna do is use you up. Screw you up. And have you somewhere rockin' in a corner tryna slice ya wrists.”

I blinked, then scrunched my face up at her. “Why are you telling me this? Malik's your brother.”

She snapped, “I know who da
fuqq
he is. Do I look stupid to you?”

“No, not at all
.
”
But you sound crazy
, I thought as I stood there staring at her. “I'm just wondering why you would say mean things about him; that's all.”

She scowled. “Say
mean
things 'bout him? Girl, bye. I ain't said nothin' mean 'bout my brotha. But you too stuck on dumb to see dat I'm tryna school ya.”

She rubbed her swollen belly, then pulled a chair out from the table and sat. “Sweetie, all you ever gonna be to Malik is a young piece until he finishes runnin' all up in you 'n' guttin' you out.”

I cringed.

“Mercedes!” her mother yelled from the living room. “Leave dat girl alone!”

She snorted. “I ain't botherin' her. I'm tryna school her.”

“Well, don't school her! Leave her be! I don't feel like hearin' Malik's mouff 'cause you effen wit' dat girl of his. If she wanna be drunk in love over him, let her. She gonna have ta find out da hard way, like the rest of 'em; that's all.”

Like the rest of them
, I thought, wondering what she meant by that. When I asked Mercedes what her mother had meant, she simply smirked and said, “You'll find out soon enough.”

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to find out, but what I do know is, I need to know this: “Umm, how many kids do you have?” I finally ask Malik, shifting my body to face him.

He takes his eyes off the road for a split second to look over at me.

“I mean, I know you have a baby with that girl Hennessey.”

“Dat ain't my baby, yo.”

I raise a brow. “Say what? I thought you said she was your baby mother.”

“Nah, I never tol' you no ish like dat.”

I blink. I am certain that he told me that that night she showed up at the restaurant. I could have sworn he did. Okay, maybe he didn't.

“But I keep hearing you have other kids with other girls, too.”

Malik's face turns up into a scowl. “Who tol' you dis?”

“Your sister.”

“Dis
thot
,” he mutters, shakin' his head. “Listen. I got two kids, a'ight. A four-year-old and three-year-old. They both down south wit' dey momz.”

I give him a confused look. “So Hennessy's baby isn't yours, but you have two kids with someone else?”

“Yeah. Both my BM's live in Atlanta.”

“But what about Hennessey's baby?”

He reaches into the ashtray and retrieves a half-smoked blunt, slipping it between his lips. He presses the lighter, then a few seconds later lights the weed-stuffed cigar. Smoke quickly fills the interior of his truck.

“I already tol' you. It ain't mine. She keep tryna put it on me, but I ain't beat. I know wat time it is. She tryna get a come up, but it ain't gonna be on my dime. I mean, yeah, I smashed, but it wasn't 'bout nothin'. Dat broad's a freak. She let all my manz 'n' dey boyz run all up in her.”

He says this as if what he's telling me is not that serious.

His sister Mercedes's voice haunts me.
“. . . You prolly da dumbest ho he's been wit' so far . . . raw punnany is da only thing my brother is gonna ever love. He doesn't know howta love anything other than what's between yo' legs, li'l girl . . .”

I cringe at the idea of knowing that he's had unprotected sex with her, knowing she was sleeping around with other guys.

“And you're sure her baby isn't yours?”

He shoots me a look. “What I just say. Let it go. We got it in, a'ight. I ain't strap up. It is what it is.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Look. Just forget I even asked,” I say, folding my arms.

“A'ight then. Stop stressin' over dumb ish, yo.” He shakes his head. “You young broadz real wet behind da ears, yo.”

I shift uncomfortably, blinking. “Well, maybe you should get with someone whose ears aren't so wet then since you feel like that. I won't ask you anything else.” I turn my body and stare out the window.

I hear Malik sigh. He reaches over and lightly grabs my knee. “Yo, c'mon, baby. I didn't mean it like dat.” His voice softens. “It's just dat da past is in da past 'n' I don't want us to have to live in it, a'ight. Henney's baby ain't mine. But I give her a few dollars here 'n' there ‘cause I feel kinda bad for her. But dat don't mean I'm tryna claim her baby as my seed, yo.”

I don't say anything. I keep my gaze locked out into the darkness watching the buildings as they pass by.

He gently squeezes my knee. “I'm where I wanna be wit' who I wanna be wit'.”

I turn my head to look at him, then go back to looking out the window. Thinking. Wondering. Hoping. Desperately wanting to believe that I am—that I will always be—enough for him.

Silence fills the space between us.

What if Blaze was right? What if Malik really isn't right for me? Then what? I feel like I have given up so much of myself to be with him that I can't imagine being without him. And I can't imagine it not being right.

The truck stops at a stoplight.

Malik lights another blunt, takes a pull from it, then hands it to me. “Here.”

He pulls off when the light turns green. I take a deep pull from the blunt and release the smoke through my nose, then hand it back to him. It doesn't take long before I am feeling the effects of the marijuana. I am feeling much more relaxed. I settle back into my seat, laying my head back against the headrest.

Malik reaches over and grabs my hand. “Yo, we good, baby?”

I glance over at him through half-slits and nod. Then lean over and kiss him when we stop at another light.

He laughs. “Yo, my baby lit, huh?”

I nod, grinning.

A car in back of him honks its horn. Malik speeds off. Then reaches over and takes my hand again. He brings it up to his lips and kisses it. I close my eyes, lean my head back against the headrest again and smile once I feel warmth and wetness of Malik's mouth as he sucks each of my fingers.

“Mmm . . . you taste so . . . sweet.”

I smile.

And for the next three weeks, Malik and I become inseparable.

S
aturday night.

The place is packed.

The music is loud.

Marijuana smoke fills the air as guys walk around holding bottles of Ciroc and Hennessey in one hand while holding blunts up to their lips with their other hand. There's a group of girls passing blunts between them, while others are grinding up on guys on the dance floor.

The inside of my stomach trembles. And I don't know why. Something doesn't feel right. But I can't put my finger on it.

“Yo, Malik, my nucca, wutz good, yo?” someone yells over the music. I look to the right of me and spot a tall, brown-skinned guy sitting between two cute girls with really big boobs wearing skimpy outfits. He stands up, spreading his arms open. He's wearing a neck full of jewelry. He's real tall. Taller than Malik. And really, really cute. He kind of puts me in the mind of Kendrick Lamar a little, but a cuter version of him.

“Yo, whaddup, Que.” He rushes over and the two embrace in a brotherly hug, giving each other that pound-handshake-thingy they all do. “Long time no see. Where you been, yo?”

“Layin' low, my nucca. Watz good wit' you.” He glances sideways at me, and grins. “I see you still pullin' da honeys, yo. You sharin'?”

Malik laughs. “Nah. Not this one, my dude. It ain't dat type'a party.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the way Malik's friend is looking at me.

Malik turns to me. “Kennedy, this my manz, Que. Que, this my girl Kennedy.”

“Yo, word?” He smiles. “Watz good, ma? You got a twin?”

I give him a half smile, shaking my head. “Sorry. I don't.”

Malik wraps his arm around me, kissing me on the side of my head. “Nah, my baby's one of a kind, yo.”

“I can dig it.” He glances over his shoulder. “Yo, let me get back to these two broadz before they start gettin' restless.”

“No doubt, playa,” Malik says, giving him another one of those fist and shoulder bumps.

“Yo, you need'a come holla at me a li'l later, a'ight? I got some bidnesss I wanna holla at you 'bout.”

“A'ight, No doubt. I got you.”

I eye his friend on the sly, then ask him who he is. And how he knows him. Malik shoots me a look. Then catches himself from saying something when a dark-skinned girl wearing her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail that hangs down past her butt swishes her hips over toward us. She's wearing a pair of white booty shorts and a silver glittery, low-cut bra. I glance down at her feet and wonder how in the heck she's able to walk in those super-high platform heels.

“Heeeeey, Malik,” she coos over the music, ignoring the fact that Malik has his arm draped around me.

“Yo, watz good, Tasha. How you?”

She bats her fake lashes. “I'm good. Real good.” She licks her lips, then smirks. “But you already know dat.”

My body stiffens.

“Yo, dis my girl, Kennedy. Kennedy, dis Tasha.”

She cuts her eye at me and gives me the once-over. I open my mouth to speak and she rudely twists her lips up and turns her gaze back over to Malik. “I ain't seen you in a minute, boo. What you been up to? How my girl Mercedes doin'?”

“Crazy,” Malik says, laughing as he glances around the party. “But, yo, let me get movin'. I'll holla.”

“Yeah, you do dat.” She shoots me a dirty look, then says, “I know you still got my number. Use it.” She walks off. Her hips sway full speed as she moves through the crowd.

Jay-Z's “Open Letter” starts playing and Malik bobs his head from side to side. “Yo, let's dance.” Before I can object, he's pulling me onto the dance floor with him. Several songs later we are passing a fat blunt back and forth. And whatever nervous energy I had earlier is now gone. I'm feeling good.

Beyoncé's “Drunk In Love” starts playing and I pull Malik onto the dance floor. Whatever he had in that marijuana has me feeling like I can fly. I turn my back to Malik and he wraps his arms around me. I lift my hands up over my head, close my eyes, and get lost in the music as he grinds on me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tall, stocky guy with shoulder-length dreads and half-sleeve tattoos stalking over in our direction, but I don't give it any thought. I keep dancing, blocking everything out until the guy jumps up in Malik's face.

Words are exchanged.

Malik pushes me out of the way.

Then all I see are punches being thrown.

I look on at the scene in fear, confused, as other guys start rushing to the dance floor fighting.

I get knocked to the floor, and scream.