Crazy In Love With A Thug: Bari and Seven (4 page)

"Put 'em on," he ordered. I followed him to a black Mercedes truck. Before getting in, I looked at him suspiciously. "Does it matter?" He asked, reading my mind.

I got in on the passenger side and laid my head back against the seat. I was tired. I was freezing. I was still covered in blood. No matter what clothing I covered it up with, there was still another person's blood on my clothes. What had I done?

Chapter 11

I sat in the large circular marble tub, letting the water soak into my skin. I scrubbed my skin nearly raw in an attempt to scour away the previous few hours. Darshon called his brother at Trish's apartment to see if everything was okay. His brother said that he had to stop Trish from reporting me to the police by reminding her that she would be forced to reveal the whole story, even trying to make me dance naked in front of her friends. Other than a few bruises, a black eye and a split lip, she was fine, just mad. She told Darshon to tell me that she loved me and wanted me to come home and that she was sorry. She didn't want me to come home. She wanted my money to come home.

"You gon' stay in there all night?" Darshon asked, opening the bathroom door.

"How can you afford all this?"

"We'll talk about that later. Right now, you need to eat something, and I can cook my ass off. I know how to hook some shit up," he grinned.

"I'm not hungry."

He opened a glass cabinet and pulled out a thick royal blue and white towel.

"Come on, Bar," he said, holding it open for me to step into. I sat there looking at him. "Girl, come on, quit trippin'." I shook my head. "Okay, here." He held out the towel to me. I took it from him and waited for him to leave. "Bari," he began, sitting on the edge of the tub. "You're gonna have to trust somebody at some point. You're saying you're not going back to Trish's, where are you gonna go? What are you gonna do? I know you have money. Trish told us all about that, but you're only sixteen years old. You're gonna have to let somebody help you."

“Why do you want to?"

"Why not? See, that's the shit I'm talking about. Why does somebody have to have a motive for helping you? Somebody helped me when I needed it. Why can't I just pass it on?"

"People don't do that. There's always a motive. I'm not ever going back to Trish's, just like I said. I have my own house. I can buy my own car. And I know how to cook good, too, probably better than you do. I can take care of myself."

"Can we finish this somewhere else? Like downstairs. I gotta eat before I pass out or something."

"It's after midnight."

"Exactly." he said, walking out and closing the door behind him.

The bloody nightgown was in the garbage, along with the pink sweat pants. I dried off and put on the pajamas that Darshon had loaned me. I didn't feel like eating. I wanted to sleep. I walked down the stairs, and he was in the kitchen. I heard the clanging of pots and pans.

"I'm making breakfast. You're making dinner."

"What makes you think I'll be here at dinner time? I have to go home."

"To Trish's?"

"No, to my house."

"You can't live there by yourself. Those Child Protective people would be all over you."

"It's my house. I can live there if l want to."

I sounded more sure than I felt.

"Look Bari, I'm eighteen years old. I've been on my own since I was fifteen. It's not easy taking care of yourself."

"What do you think I've been doing for the past six months that I've been with Trish? Trish doesn't take care of me. It was like living alone. I was taking care of her, if anything."

"You have a job?"

"No. I've saved up every allowance my daddy ever gave me, except to buy birthday and Christmas presents. Other than that, my money went into my bank account. And my Big Mama and Paw-Paw always sent me money for my birthdays." He had a little smile on his face like I was an eight year old explaining how my ten dollars for mowing the lawn would feed a small African village. "I'm the one that paid for everything; Trish's hair, Trish's nails, Trish's clothes. That one almost broke me." I said.

He started laughing.

"Bari, if you're serious about being on your own, then make it happen."

"What do you mean?''

"Make it happen," he said, putting a plate in front of me that was piled high with scrambled eggs, ham, hash browns and toast. He set a glass of orange juice next to my plate then came and sat down at the table with me. "I was emancipated at the age of sixteen."

"You mean . . ."

"Yeah. See, my parents are really rich. They wanted kids at first, but when they decided we were old enough to leave home, they wanted us out. They gave us a lot of money. Like, they were paying us to leave their house. They loved us. They just didn't want the responsibility anymore. It was cool with me. My brother went through the same thing when he was sixteen. I liked it. I wanted to be on my own anyway. My parents bought me a house, kind of like a going away present. I lived in it until about a year ago when I bought this one. They come see me all the time. I call them. We're still a family. We just live apart. Do you understand?" I nodded.

For the next couple of hours I told Darshon my life story. I told him about Mama, Macy and Niecy, Big Mama, Paw-Paw, Marcie and Trish. I told him about Daddy's will, and the monthly payments that I would begin receiving immediately. I told him about the different properties, the businesses and the house.

"And then there's Trish. I'm afraid she might try to report me."

I told him about Trish's lawyer friend that said she would send me back to Mama.

"Why did you believe that bullshit? That ain't true. Those are your grandparents. You're old enough to decide who you want to live with. You're naïve, Bari. Maybe you're not ready to live on your own. You'd probably invite every homeless person you met to come home with you. You can't be like that here. This isn't Beverly Hills."

"I don't live in Beverly Hills."

"I know, Bari. I know," he said. "Let me ask you a question."

"Go ahead.''

"Why does it hurt you so much when people tease you about being dark?"

"Because it's true, I guess."

"There ain't nothing wrong with being dark. I'm dark. I love it. And I don't ever get no complaints. You have to learn to be comfortable in your own skin. You can't change your skin color. Only Michael Jackson can do that," he laughed. "Be happy with who you are. Besides, you know what they say, "The blacker the Bari. . ."

"The sweeter the juice," I finished for him. "My Big Mama taught me that."

"Yeah, but do you get it? The blacker the Bari? I just thought of that. The blacker the Bari," he repeated and started laughing, "That's cute."

"Darshon."

"Yeah?" He answered, snapping back to the present. "Will you help me?"

"Hell yeah, I'll help you. I'll even send you to a lawyer but only under one condition."

"What's that?"

"That you promise me you won't go trying to live in that house until your emancipation is legal. You don't want to end up in a foster home somewhere."

"A foster home? Can they do that to me?"

"Hell yeah, they can. Now promise."

"What will I do until then? I can't go back to Trish. I guess I can go live with Big Mama and Paw-Paw until then."

"No, you can stay right here. Then, when it's legal, you can move into your house."

"I don't think so, Darshon. Thank you though."

"Then forget it."

"Why should I live here with you? You're a stranger."

"You always bathe in stranger's homes? You always eat stranger's food? You always wear stranger's clothes?"

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean? Bari, you need somebody to teach you some things. You can't just decide to be on your own one day and then do it. You'll end up dead somewhere. You're too naive."

"How long will it take?"

"Are you in a hurry?"

"Yes, I am. I want to move back to my daddy's house. I hated living in an apartment. I hated living with Trish period."

"Then let me help you. You have to trust somebody."

"You just told me I'm too trusting. Now, I'm not trusting enough?"

"Bari..."

"Okay, but I have to let my Big Mama know where I am. And if anything happens to me, my Paw-Paw will kill you," I said seriously. "I don't have any clothes. I don't have anything. You have to go to Trish's and make her give you all my stuff."

All my stuff consisted of my clothes. That was it. There was no other sign of my existence there except for the twin sized bed and the small dresser. No pictures of me like there was of Trish all over the place. And none of my daddy either.

"And you have to take the bottom drawer of my dresser out and bring me that box that's hidden there. Those are all my pictures of my family. Please," I asked near tears at the thought of losing all my pictures.

They were the only real memories I had. I watched Darshon pick up the phone, then listened intently as he told his brother to retrieve the box but to leave the clothes.

"What am I supposed to do about my clothes?" I asked.

"We'll take care of it tomorrow."

I hate clothes shopping. Trish always picked them out. She said I had to be careful of the colors I wore because I was so black. If I picked orange, I’d looked like Halloween. If I picked yellow, I looked like a bumble bee. If I picked green, I looked like a rotten avocado. So she picked all the colors.

"I don't really like to shop for new clothes."

"What?" he looked at me in amazement. "All girls like to shop."

"I don't."

"Why not?"

"I just don't. I hate waiting in line to pay for stuff," I lied.

"Bari, you can't go through life tying every bad experience you've ever had to something in the present. You have to let go of the past if you really want to move forward."

I didn't know how to let go of my past. My past, most of it anyway, was the only joy I had ever known in my life.

"I can't.”

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"I'm not ready. My daddy is in my past. My sister is in my past. I'm not ready to let them go yet."

"You don't have to let them go. I'm talking about hurtful stuff." I nodded. "And if something bad happened just shopping for clothes, you can't carry that around forever. You have to buy new clothes at some point. And besides, I'm fun to shop with," he smiled.

I smiled back.

Chapter 12

"Do you like this?" I shook my head. "This?"

"No."

"You are trippin', Bari. This is Gucci. Nobody don't like Gucci. What about this?" I shook my head. "This one would look the bomb on you."

"I don't like it." It was a black wrap around jean dress by Calvin Klein. I picked up the price tag. Seven hundred. "As a matter of fact, I hate it."

Darshon started laughing.

"You're not supposed to trip off prices when somebody else is paying."

"I really don't like it."

"Well, I'm getting it anyway."

I followed him all over the store, then to the next and the next. He had at least ten bags already; jeans, shirts, shoes, shorts, dresses, skirts, underwear. I smiled to myself as I thought about how he blushed in the Victoria's Secret store.

"What size do you need?" The lady had asked. "Um ...ask her."

"Ma'am?"

"A size four."

"And your bra?"

"A size..."

"I'ma wait for you outside, Bari. You're still laughing at me?" He asked when I caught up to him.

That made me start laughing all over again.

"How old is your little sister?"

"Twelve. She has four years to live it up at home. But I don't know, they might let her stay. She's a girl. The only girl." I nodded. "Anyway, she thinks she's grown already. They'll probably be glad to see her little hoochie ass go. Can I see this on you? Try it on."

"I don't like it."

"Humor me."

"I don't care about you being entertained. No. I don't like it."

"She wants to try that on,” he told the sales lady as he stabbed his finger in a mannequin’s direction.

"No problem. What size?" She asked me.

I didn't answer.

"Bari, come on. You be trippin'. Damn, you be trippin'."

"Seven,” I stated.

The lady left briefly and came back, carrying an off-white, leather, micromini dress; the best of Michael Kors. While I was in the dressing room, I stole a glance at the price tag. One thousand two hundred. I smiled to myself.

"Damn," Darshon said when I walked out. "I knew that shit would look good. Do you like it?"

"It's too short.”

"No, it's not."

"Okay. Do you know how much this costs?"

"I don't care. I like it on you."

"Are we shopping because I need stuff or because you feel the need to see somebody play dress up? Besides, as soon as I talk to your lawyer, I'm gonna be gone."

"I know, Bari. I know."

"Why do you always say that?"

"What?"

"I know, Bari. I know."

He started laughing.

"Stop doing my voice like that! That's not how I sound!" We laughed our way out of the store. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes. I think so."

"You think so?"

"I'm not sure. Sometimes, I don't know I'm hungry until I start eating."

"You are crazy," he laughed. "But I guess that makes sense." His cell phone rang for the hundredth time. "Yeah, she's with me. No, she ain't going back, man. Trish is trippin'. Did you get the box for her? Alright."

"Did he get it?" I asked anxiously.

He nodded.

"He'll bring it by later. So, how do you like my house? What do you think of it?

Do you think it's cheesy?"

"No!" I laughed. "I love it. It's nice, and it's comfortable."

"If you're so comfortable there, then why are you in such a rush to leave?"

"I'm in a hurry to get my own life started, not to get away from you. I just feel like a lot is missing in my life. I'm anxious to find out what it is."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Do you?"

"Do you?"

"Just answer. Do you?"

"No."

"What happened? Did you guys break up?"

"I never had one."

“Never?"

"Never. What about you?"

"I had a girlfriend. She's with someone else now."

"Oh. Sorry."

"I ain't trippin'. So, what do you want to eat?" He asked, strapping himself into his truck.

"I don't know."

"Bari, every time I ask you something, you answer with you don't know. You're gonna have to learn to make decisions for yourself. Now, if you don't pick something, we're just gonna sit here."

And sit we did. Fifteen minutes passed then thirty.

"Will you just go someplace, please?"

"No. Make up your mind."

“I can't."

He didn't respond. He just sat there staring straight ahead. I reached over and turned on the radio. He turned it off.

"We gon' sit here, in silence, 'til you make up your mind. I ain't playing." Another thirty minutes passed. "Bari."

“I don't know!"

"Well, what do you feel like eating? It's not that hard."

"If it's so easy then you pick something.”

"That's not the point. The point is for you to have your own mind and make your own decisions."

"Okay. I know what I want."

"It's about damn time!" he said, starting his truck.

We made four stops on the way home. I could tell he was disappointed when we got back to his house, and he glared at me and slammed his door. I set the two bags I had in my hands, one from a Chinese restaurant and the other from a barbecue place, on the kitchen table. He dropped the pizza and the Mexican food bags next to the other two, then just stared at me. We went back out and made another trip to bring in all the bags of clothes and shoes.

"I can't believe you just did that, Bari."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't make up my mind."

"You're so used to your ideas for things being shot down that you've just stopped thinking for yourself."

"Well, when I live alone I won't have to worry about that, will I?"

He shook his head.

"That's not the point. The point is...never mind. You'll learn," he said. "And you owe me. You were supposed to cook."

"Tomorrow."

"Oh, you sure made up your mind about that one quick," he laughed. I acted like I didn't know what he was talking about. "What do you want on your plate?"

"Ribs, some Egg Fu Yung, a burrito and the pizza with the pineapple on it."

"Are you serious? You are gonna be so sick tomorrow. And do you see what I mean? You got four different countries sittin' on my damn table when you could have just picked one. That's ridiculous. And it's not good for you."

"Thank you father," I said sarcastically.

"Whatever,” he said irritably, then began to eat. I smiled. "What?"

"Nothing."

I was watching him watch me with all my taste of each culture.

"You jealous?" I asked.

"Hell naw!" He said, but I knew he was lying.

"Here," I said, putting a little of everything on his plate. "Hater," I mumbled.

"I heard you!" He laughed, then took small bites of everything on his plate. "Alright. You win.

This shit is the bomb!" We both laughed. "I guess you knew what you were talking about."

"I guess I did."

"But still."

“I know, Darshon. I know." I said seriously.

We looked at each other and started laughing.

"You got me." The ringing of the phone snapped us back to reality. "Hello? I don't think she wants to talk to you, Trish. I'll see." I shook my head. "Nope. She doesn't ...not yet," he said, dropping his voice down to where I could barely hear.

He hung up the phone, then sat looking at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. Look, I have to go out for a minute, but I'll be back in a little while."

"You can't leave me here by myself!"

"It'll just be for a little while."

"Where are you going? Why do you have to go now?"

"Bari, hold on. I have to go pick up your box."

"Why can't I go with you?"

"Because you can't. I'm going to Trish's," he snapped. "And stop asking me all them damn questions. I said I'll be right back."

He got up from the table, grabbed his jacket and snatched up the keys to his truck. He was gone just like that. I cleared the table, put left over food in the refrigerator, put the dishes in the dishwasher, then took a bath and went to bed.