Clarke really didn’t have time for this shit. He didn’t want to appear edgy, but he couldn’t stop thinking what would happen if Kelsa came home early. While he was anxious about getting her out of there, Persha had the nerve to try and get all sentimental. Clarke didn’t want to set her off again, but he needed her to shower quickly and get the hell out.
"Okay, well, look here, why don’t you go do your thang and then we can make plans to hook up later? We’ll talk about all that."
"Really?"
"Yeah, just go hop in the shower. A brotha may even join you," he teased.
After she finally went upstairs, Clarke walked into the kitchen and flicked off the light. He didn’t usually make mistakes like that, but he figured his mind was just slipping with all this stress he was working with.
He was anxious to get Persha out of the house. She had no idea what he was going through. He figured once he got her out, he’d shower, make breakfast and then get in the bed and wait for Kelsa to come home. That’s exactly what he did.
When Clarke and Kelsa woke up later, Clarke was thinking about taking Kesla out to Galveston. He didn’t really want to do that either, but lately she’d been acting funny too.
Not knowing for sure why she was suddenly tripping, he figured any nice gesture might put him back in her good graces. He did know one thing. He knew that he had had to have a talk with Persha. They were wrapping up her third week at his house and she hadn’t said shit about her insurance payment. Either they were going to pay for her condo or her money from her 401K should be coming through. Their little arrangement was wearing him out.
After straightening up the already clean kitchen, he walked out to the living room. The pre-dawn light had made him feel even sleepier. He stretched out on his leather recliner and made himself comfortable.
He jumped when, what seemed like seconds later, his eyelashes started tingling. First he swatted toward the distraction. When he felt wet lips pressed against his, he woke to find Persha standing over him buck naked.
"Damn, is a brotha dreaming or what?" he said, rubbing his eyes.
"I just wanted to show you what you missed out on last night and give you a taste of what’s to come later," Persha said as she fell to her knees. Clarke proceeded to adjust the chair to an upright position. Clarke quickly dropped his pants and underwear and put his limp manhood in her mouth. In a few seconds his member sprang to life and he eased back to enjoy the pleasure.
"Damn, Shorty!" He put his hands on her head to pull her in closer. "Ssss, this is what I’m talking about." He closed his eyes and released a moan.
Caught up in the rapture, neither heard the door unlock. By now, Clarke’s brain was talking to his manhood and both wanted Persha to keep sucking harder and harder. Her jaws may not have been that strong, but she was getting the job done.
"What the fuck!" a voice yelling startled Clarke and Persha.
After that, everything seemed to happen so fast. Kelsa dropped everything she was holding at the door. Clarke pushed Persha back on her bare behind and jumped up with his pants at his ankles and his erection pointing stiffly forward. He had been caught with his pants down… literally.
~ Persha
"OMIGOD!" Persha gasped, using her hands to cover her breasts and the rest of her body.
"What the fuck is going on in here?" Kelsa yelled. "Who’s this ho in my house? You sorry ass bastard! How dare you bring some nasty hooker into my fucking house!" Kelsa was screaming and Persha was looking around for something to cover her naked body.
Clarke tried to move toward his wife, but his pants prevented him. He took a step and fell, landing flat on his face.
"I don’t believe this shit! Oh lord, I knew something was going on! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! Oh, I’m about to kill somebody." Kelsa started pacing back and forth near the front door.
"Baby, Kelsa, wait. Kelsa, I can explain!" Clarke stuttered. "I swear, I can explain, just wait." He struggled to get up, but his pants were all twisted around his ankles, almost pulling him back down each time he moved.
"Bitch, if you don’t get your skank ass out of my fucking house, we’re gonna have some real big problems up in here. Shit! Where’s my gun? Where is my fucking pistol? I don’t believe this shit right here in my own fucking house!" Kelsa said as she started opening up end table drawers and closet doors, frantically searching for something. Each time she moved, Clarke tried to follow her but fell over, still not having pulled his pants up.
Persha knew she couldn’t make it upstairs to the guest bedroom where all of her clothes were; her purse and her car keys. Everything was up there. What was she going to do? Maybe she could get close to the closet near the front door to grab a jacket or something. That’s what she’d do. She really had no other choice. She had to give it a try.
She took a deep breath and moved toward the door, but suddenly, Kelsa stopped what she was doing and dashed toward her.
"Nah ah, bitch," Kelsa said, "get your nasty ass out of my house. Don’t even try to grab cover now! You wasn’t thinking about that when your nasty ass was sucking my husband’s dick!" Kelsa opened the front door. "Get the fuck out!" she screamed as she shoved Persha outside.
Outside with no clothes on, Persha didn’t know what to do. She glanced around using her hands to cover her breasts and mid section. She was beside herself. How was she going to make it to her car? She didn’t even have her keys. At the front door she struggled to cover her body with her hands. She could still hear Kelsa cursing up a storm. Soon she heard a few crashing noises. When she heard a pop, she took off running.
Kelsa must’ve found that gun she was looking for, Persha thought. And while she loved Clarke, his ass wasn’t worth dying over.
Next door, Persha grabbed two trash can lids and made her way down the street. She used them to hide her body. As the sun was bright now, and the neighborhood was starting to come to life, she started crying. She couldn’t bare the thought of people seeing her like that.
What the hell was she going to do? She didn’t have on any clothes, no money to use a pay phone, no nothing. She was naked with two plastic lids covering everything she had.
Looking back toward Clarke’s house she wondered if she should go hide in his car. Quite surely he’d be leaving soon as mad as Kelsa was. Giving up on that idea, she sat on the curb next to her car and started thinking.
When two cars passed by and honked, she started crying again. The second car came back by a few minutes later and the driver rolled his window down.
"Hey ma’am, are you okay?" a good-looking white man asked.
She ignored him. "You need help? Where are your clothes? What happened?" Still behind the wheel, he stopped his car in the middle of the street. "Ma’am, what’s your name? Did someone hurt you? Can I call someone for you?"
Persha tried to block him out, but he just kept asking questions.
"Do you live on this street?" the driver continued. "Were you visiting someone?" By then people had started looking out their windows.
Feeling very alone and afraid, she decided if she was going to do anything, she’d better make her move. She eased up from her spot and used one of the lids to slam against her car window. She’d rather show her ass than her breasts, so she held one lid in front of her bare body.
"Ma’am!" the man screamed. "You can’t do that! Hey, who are you? Is that your car? Why don’t you have on any clothes? If that’s your car, why don’t you use your key?"
The glass wouldn’t break. A few minutes later, Persha looked up the street to see Clarke running out of his house. He was only wearing his boxers.
At his car he fumbled with his keys, finally he jumped into the car and started it up. And a few minutes later he was backing up.
"Whew!" Persha sighed. He was finally coming to take her to safety with him. But her heart began to sink when she saw him back out, turn the other direction and take off.
Soon, Kelsa ran out of the house with the gun in her hands yelling, "You dirty fucking bastard!" She then fired two shots toward the moving vehicle.
One bullet shattered the back window as Clarke’s car screeched down the street. When Persha saw Kelsa looking down the street she ducked down behind her car’s wheel and started begging God to spare her life.
Two seconds later, she heard the man’s car take off. She wasn’t sure which way he had gone, but she looked around the wheel to see Clarke’s front door still open. She didn’t know what to do. The white man was gone and she needed to pee. She shut her eyes tightly and started praying again.
This time when she opened her eyes, she peeked around the tire and saw Kelsa walking down the street toward her with the gun still in hand.
"You’re next you stupid bitch!" Kelsa yelled. "You like to fuck with married men, huh? Well, I’ll fix your hot ass."
"Oh shit! Oh, shit," Persha mumbled to herself. She couldn’t move. She didn’t know what to do. There she was hunched over, hiding her naked body behind the wheel of her car and a woman with a gun was hunting her down.
Persha started crying. She knew she’d one day have to pay for what she had done, but she never imagined she’d die like this. She couldn’t move.
"I know your skank ass is out here, you nasty bitch," Kelsa shouted.
Persha didn’t dare peek behind the wheel again. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew Kelsa was coming. She heard her walking. Persha started praying.
"…Before I lay me down to sleep, I give you Lord my soul to keep-" Persha prayed.
"Bitch, it’s too late for that now!" Kelsa said.
When Persha opened her eyes, she was looking up the barrel of Kelsa’s gun.
"OMIGOD!" she cried, dropping the lids and using her hands to shield her face.
"Even he can’t help you now! You should’ve thought about that before," Kelsa said.
As Kelsa was about to pull the trigger, Persha started peeing, right there, on herself, in front of her boyfriend’s wife. The sudden in ability to control her bladder stopped Kelsa in her tracks.
~ Clarke
When Clarke pulled into Antwone’s driveway, he was still a bit rattled. He couldn’t believe Kelsa actually fired shots at him. What if one of those bullets would’ve hit him? He looked around to make sure her crazy ass hadn’t followed him. When he was satisfied she hadn’t, he jumped out of the car and darted toward the Johnson’s front door where he began knocking.
Standing there barefoot in his boxers, he wondered why the hell no one had answered. And look at his car! Now he had to worry about replacing the back window. He knocked again and then pushed the doorbell.
A few minutes later, the door swung open and Antwone’s wife, Michelle, was standing there staring at him.
"Ah, Clarke? What happened?" she asked curiously. "Why don’t you have on any clothes? Is everything okay?" She looked around the driveway.
Bitch, do you think everything’s okay if I’m at your fucking front door damn near naked? Clarke thought.
"Ah, is Antwone here? I really need to speak with him," Clarke said.
"No, he took Junior to the sporting goods store." Michelle stood there looking at Clarke.
"Well, ah, you mind if a brotha comes in to wait for him?" he asked, trying to hide the irritation in his voice.
"Oh, I’m so sorry! Of course. Yeah, come on in." She let him into the house, then walked out a couple of steps to look around.
"You didn’t say why you’re out here with no clothes on," she said, finally closing the door behind her.
"Yeah, I need a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. I’m sure Antwone must have something I can fit into."
Shaking her head, as if she was snapping out of something, Michelle rushed to the back. "Oh, yeah. I’m sorry. what was I thinking? It’s just strange, that’s all."
Yeah, I’ll bet it is. Just go get me some clothes and shut the fuck up, Clarke thought to himself.
As soon as she was out of sight, Clarke walked over to the window and started looking out of the blinds. He didn’t feel like having any more drama. So far the coast was clear. He released a sigh of relief and waited for Michelle to come back into the living room.
"Okay, these were all I could find," she said, returning into the living room holding up a pair of old jeans and a Moorehouse University sweatshirt.
"I’m sure Antwone won’t mind if you borrow this." She reached over to hand the clothes to Clarke then leaned against the entertainment console.
After taking the clothes and inspecting them, Clarke looked at Michelle. "I guess I’ll have to make these work," he mumbled.
"Well, Clarke, you still haven’t said what happened to you. You get robbed or something?"
Without answering her question, he made his way to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He couldn’t believe she was asking all those damn questions. She had to know he couldn’t stand her stupid ass.
Antwone’s jeans were too short and way too damn tight, but what could he do? He squeezed his large body into the sweatshirt and took a deep breath before going back into the living room.
When he walked back in, Michelle was gone. Feeling sudden relief, he looked around for the remote and tried to think about his next move.
The front door opened before Clarke could turn the TV on.
"Jesus! What the hell happened to you?" Michelle exclaimed. "Do you know your entire back window is shattered into like a million pieces? Are you okay? You need me to call the police? Where is Kelsa? Is she…Oh GOD! Is she hurt?" Michelle rushed over to the kitchen and came back with the cordless phone in her hand.
Clarke rolled his eyes and prayed Antwone would be back soon. Before she could dial, he put his hand up to get her attention.
"Look, Michelle, you need to chill. It ain’t nothing like that. Kelsa’s cool, and actually, I don’t feel like talking about this right now." He dismissed her by turning on the TV and easing back on the sofa.
Michelle walked closer to him. "Clarke, you come to my house nearly naked with no shoes and your car window shattered, and now you’re saying you don’t want to talk about it?"
He wasn’t in the mood for any neck twisting, hand waving lectures. He just wanted to sit back, wait on his boy and think about what his next move would be.
Leaning back on the sofa and closing his eyes, Clarke wanted her to disappear. Wasn’t any way in the world he was about to put her all up in his business. Sometimes he wished women would just do what they were supposed to do and shut the hell up. He felt they only needed to be seen in the kitchen or in the bedroom, certainly not heard. Ever!
A few minutes after her last comment Clarke opened his eyes to find her still standing there. This time, with hands on her hips, waiting, like he owed her some kind of explanation.
"Okay, let me have it. Or am I gonna have to pick up the phone and call Kelsa?"
Shit! He didn’t know why she was tripping on him, the very last thing he needed was Kelsa knowing where to find him, what if she came over there with the gun?
He slowly eased up. He sighed, rubbed his bald head twice from the back to the front and then focused his gaze on Michelle.
"Look, now’s just not a cool time. I need to relax. When’s Antwone coming back? What’s his new cell number again?" Clarke asked.
Casting a skeptical look at him, Michelle didn’t budge.
"I’m the one asking questions here buddy. Now are you talking or what?" she demanded.
Finally figuring he would get nowhere with her, he eased back onto the sofa again.
"What did you do?" She pressed, acting truly concerned.
After a few moments and still no response, he heard Michelle walk away. He opened his eyes when a feeling of relief washed over him. Soon he started staring off at the ceiling. He was hoping she’d stay gone until Antwone came home. And as soon as Antwone came home, he’d talk to him about controlling his woman.
How the hell did I get myself into such a mess? Clarke thought as he closed his eyes again. He figured he’d be in a better position to think things through after resting a bit. But seconds after his eyes closed, he suddenly jumped up from the couch.
"Why isn’t Kelsa answering the phone if you didn’t do anything to her?" Michelle said as she stood in front of him with the phone in her hand. "If you killed her, you can not hide over here!" Clarke rolled his eyes. "Did you know one out of every four women is killed by her lover, boyfriend or husband? And if Dateline NBC calls about this story, I’m gonna have nothing but good things to say about Kelsa. You need to know that now so you won’t be shocked when you see me on TV talking about all this." Michelle shook her head. "Then I’m gonna testify against you at your trial. You need to know that too," she snapped.
"Dammit, Michelle! I didn’t kill anybody!" Clarke shouted.
She sat down across from him as if they were about to have a a deep conversation. "Oh, well, that’s good because we’re not harboring any fugitives over here. And I mean that!"
"Don’t you need to cook or something?"
She cocked a skillfully arched brow up and her face twisted. "What?" she asked.
"I was wondering if you didn’t have something you needed to be working on, besides me, I mean. ‘Cause I really am not in the mood to talk."
"Well, why don’t you get in your car and go to where ever you came from because I need to know what is going on. I don’t want you bringing any drama over here to my house. We don’t need any distress in this family, and nothing good can come from whatever you’ve got going on. I just don’t want it in my house."
Her house! Wonder how many bills she pays around this mug, Clarke thought as she looked around.
"Why can’t you tell me what happened?" she pleaded, using a softer tone.
"Michelle, Kelsa and I got into it! There! You happy? We had a fight and I thought it was best if I left because I don’t feel like going to jail."
"What! You guys had a fight? What happened? Why didn’t you have on any clothes? And what the hell happened to your window?"
"Okay, see a brotha gives you a nibble and you want to take a huge bite. Just let it go. I don’t feel like talking about it."
"Well, how do I know you didn’t kill her and cut her body up in small pieces and bury her somewhere? How do I know the police didn’t shoot out that window as they were chasing you away?"
"You don’t!" Clarke snapped. "You also don’t know if it’s a good idea to get me all worked up again because you don’t know if I may be capable of doing whatever I did all over again, now do you?"
"You don’t have to go getting all dramatic. I was just trying to find out what’s going on." She got up from the couch as the front door opened.
Antwone walked in behind his son. "Damn, Dawg, who was playing target practice with your car?" Antwone asked.
"Yeah, that’s the million dollar question," Michelle said, looking at Clarke.
"Man, am I glad to see you!" Clarke said as he got up from the sofa and helped his friend with the bag he was carrying.
"What happened? And shit, are those my clothes you wearing, damn dawg. You in bad shape," Antwone said, frowning.
"Yeah, but he all of a sudden forgot what happened."
They both looked at Michelle. Before Clarke could say anything, Antwone pushed his son toward his mother and said to Michelle, "Why don’t you help him with this stuff in his room?"
She looked at Clarke, then at Antwone, rolled her eyes and took her son by the hand.
Clarke and Antwone walked outside to inspect the damage to his car. During that time, Clarke walked Antwone through the incident. He told him everything except about Persha living in his wife’s house. When the story ended, Antwone was still shaking his head.
"Dawg, you’re more than welcome to the carriage house for as long as you’ll need. What are you going to do anyway?"
"I don’t know yet, man. But thanks for the place."
"It’s the least I could do. After all, It doesn’t have to be a bad thing that you were thrown out, or actually not even thrown out, but chased away."
"Yeah, man, thanks for not getting all bent out of shape because of Persha."
"Hey, dude, you’re allowed to have a little dip on the side. Besides, you know how we do it. We ain’t all emotional and wrapped tight like women," Antwone said, flashing his brilliant smile.
"Ain’t that the truth," Clarke said.
They walked around the car one last time, then stood staring at the damage.
"Whassup with Michelle? She sure had a million questions before you came in. You think she’ll figure it out with me being so close?"
"Man, if her ass ain’t got a clue yet, what makes you think she’ll suddenly wake up?"
"Good point," Clarke said, extending his fist out for a pound. "Damn good point dawg."
~ Persha
"Drop the gun!"
Persha couldn’t remember a time when she had been more relieved to see the law. But minutes had passed and Kelsa was still pointing the pistol right at her face. Hadn’t she heard the cop? And why didn’t the cop shoot her since she didn’t follow his instructions? Persha looked at the officer praying he’d feel threatened and shoot Kelsa in the back, leg, arm or hell even in the head.
"Ma’am I need you to drop your weapon. Now!" the cop ordered Kelsa.
Okay, that’s better, Persha thought. But maybe she’s just one of those people who need to learn by example. Shoot her ass! Please!
When another patrol car pulled up, Kelsa looked around. She then looked back at Persha.
Persha had never seen so much hatred in anyone’s eyes, and certainly not directed at herself. Persha wanted her to drop the gun more than she wanted anything else.
Soon, the officer gave his warning again.
"Ma’am, ease down slowly and drop the gun. Put your hands on top of your head."
Finally, Kelsa did what she was told. She then just stood there staring at the officer. When it appeared that she was out of harm’s way, Persha used her lids to cover her body as she got up from the ground.
"Okay, I don’t know what’s going on here, but we’ll need to go downtown to get statements," the officer said, removing his hand from his holster.
Still holding the lids as shields, Persha was confused.
"Go downtown? Why?" Persha cried. "I wasn’t the one with a gun pointed at another person. Shouldn’t you arrest her, not me! That’s attempted murder!" she insisted.
Officer number two walked up to the commotion after he had urged on-lookers to go back into their homes. When he walked over to where Kelsa stood, he looked at the first officer and said, "Why doesn’t she have on any clothes?"
His fellow officer just shrugged his shoulders. "I don’t know. When I pulled up, this one was holding a gun on that one over there." The officer pointed. "That’s how I found her. I think my slicker is in the trunk if you want to give it to her."
"But I didn’t do anything," Persha cried.
"Calm down ma’am. We’ll get to the bottom of this," the first officer on the scene assured her.
When the second officer got the slicker for Persha, she grabbed it out of his hands before he could even extend it to her.
"Thank you so much!" she cried. After putting the rain coat on and buttoning it up, she was ready to tell her side of the story. But before she could begin, the stranger in the car stepped forward.
"Officers, I’m the one who called," the white man who had tried to help Persha said.
The officer pulled a small note pad from his pocket and started asking questions while the man spoke.
"Well," the man started, "I saw this naked woman trying to break into this car. Then this one…" He pointed at Kelsa. "She shot at a man down the street and then came looking for her." He looked at Persha. "I was trying to help her because I figured something was seriously wrong, but she wouldn’t talk to me. When I heard the shot fired, I knew I’d better call for help."
"Yes, sir, and thank you. We actually received several calls," the officer taking notes said.
Persha listened to the stranger’s version of the story, then raised her hand. "Can I speak now? I don’t want to go downtown. I didn’t do anything. So I shouldn‘t have to go to jail."
The first officer looked at her and said, "Ma’am, we’re all going downtown. So you can speak now or you can speak later. But either way, we’re going downtown to get to the bottom of this."