King Divas (18 page)

W
hen we reach the house, I jump out of the car before Profit shifts the car into park. I'm in luck that the front door isn't locked because I have no idea where my purse or keys are at. I blaze straight to the bedroom and once again start grabbing all of my shit. The party is over and we can stop with all the charades.

I should have left days ago.
My sticking around has only made shit worse. My anger has blossomed into hatred.

Profit is silent when he enters the room, but I can feel his heavy gaze. It isn't until I've gathered all my shit out of the closet that I realize I'm hoping he will say something just so we can go for round two. I don't care what he saw tonight or whether I was wrong or if I'm too fucking high to process everything. It's still his fault and I hate him for it.

I start cramming shit into bags. My bags. His bags. It doesn't fucking matter. I move over to the dresser and start snatching my shit from there as well. All the while, Profit doesn't say shit.

It isn't long before his silence starts riding my last nerve. When I can't stand it any longer, I spin around and face him. “Are you just going to stand there?”

Instead of barking back, Profit pushes away from the door and storms away from the bedroom. “I'll call you a cab.”

His words are like a punch to the gut. More tears spring to my eyes, but I make sure that those muthafuckas don't fall.
Fuck him.
I return to shoving shit into bags. I race to the bathroom for my toiletries. It doesn't seem like I can move fast enough. But everything stops when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

“Shit.” I look like shit and quickly hand-iron my wild hair back down. But my eyes are dilated, red and swollen, there's still powder on my nose, and I have raccoon eyes from my smudged waterproof mascara.
Oh my God.
I try to fix it, but there's no fixing this.

I lean back against the wall and then slowly slide down to the floor, sobbing.
What have I done? What am I going to do? Where the fuck am I going to go?

Profit is tearing up the living room.

This is rock bottom.

I bolt straight up in bed.

Mason does the same thing, grabbing his 9mm from beneath his pillow, ready to blast the thing or person that ain't supposed to be there. He comes to his senses at the same time I realize everything was a dream.

“Fuck!” I fall back against the pillows and suck in deep breaths.

“Everything cool?” Mason asks, still alert and armed.

“Yeah. I-I'm . . .” Hell. I don't even know what to tell him. Instead, I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom.

“Willow?”

“I'm fine.” I wave off his concern. “Go back to sleep.” I enter the bathroom and close the door behind me. He must be wondering what the fuck is wrong with me, but I'm chalking this shit up to hormones. That's got to be it. I even try to review the dream while emptying my bladder—but it's pointless. None of it made any sense. I mean, why would Bishop be there? He's dead.

I reach for the roll of toilet paper and wipe.

My heart jumps into my throat. Why is there blood on this toilet paper? I try to tell myself that I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing. I quickly discard the toilet paper into the bowl and then snatch myself another long strip of Charmin from the roll and wipe myself again.
More blood.

I suck in a deep breath. “Don't panic,” I say, even though I'm already in the midst of a full-blown panic attack. I jump up and scramble to find a box of pads that I'm not even sure I have. Under the sink, the étagère, and the linen cabinet—nothing. That can't be right. I haven't had a cycle in six months. There should be something in this muthafucka.

“What the fuck are you doing in there?” Mason thunders. He opens the door without waiting for an answer and catches me on my hands and knees, looking behind the Clorox, Pine Sol, and Tilex. “What the—?”

I knock the shit out of the back of my head on the pipe under the sink. I climb out, glaring up at him. “What the fuck? Can't I piss in private?”

“You piss under the sink now?” he asks, confused. His gaze drifts over to the bloody water in the toilet bowl. “What the hell is that?”

“Will you get out of here? I'll be out in a minute.”

Mason's eyes get big as fuck. “Are you bleeding? Why the fuck are you bleeding?”

“I'm sure that it's no big deal,” I tell him, even though I'm not too damn sure of a damn thing my damn self. “I'm looking for some . . . some . . .”

“Some what?” he asks, frustrated.

“
Pads!
” My face heats with embarrassment. I don't discuss personal shit like sanitary napkins with anyone, let alone my man. And he's staring at me like I sprouted a second head. “Get out. I know I got some around here someplace.”

Mason snaps out of whatever trance he's in, grabs my hand, and snatches me off the floor.

I don't even have time enough to complain before he tosses me my clothes and hauls me out of the house. He drives me to the crib where Profit and Ta'Shara are shacked up.

“What the fuck?” Mason abandons knocking on the door to charge right on in.

We catch Profit in the middle of the living room, throwing a vase at a nearby wall.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mason thunders.

A startled Profit spins on his heels, whipping out his gun.

Mason quickly steps in front of me to block a potential shot. “Yo! Whoa!”

Recognition slams into Profit. “What the fuck?”

“That's what I asked you,” Mason says. “Put that damn thing away.”

Profit lowers the gun and apologizes.

I look around. It looks like a tornado blew through this muthafucka.

“You a'ight, bro?” Mason asks. “What got you so fucking heated?”

We step farther into the house. I close the door behind me.

Profit looks around like it's the first time he's seen the destruction. “Uh, it's, uh, nothing,” he lies.

“It looks like you're either handling some bullshit or some bullshit is handling you,” Mason comments.

His brother gnashes his teeth, but then gives the coffee table a good damn kick.

“Where's your girl?”

Profit rakes his hand through his hair as if that was a difficult question. “She's in the back.”

Mason cuts me a look and I know he wants me to go check on her.

“I'll be right back.”

He nods, but at the last second grabs hold of my wrist. “Make sure that you also ask her for those, uh—you know, for your situation.”

My situation?
“Yeah. Yeah. I got it.” I pull away, rolling my eyes. Shaking my head as I make my way back to their bedroom, I can't help but dread this coming conversation. The master bedroom door is open and the first thing I see are bags crammed with clothes all over the floor.
What the fuck?

“Ta'Shara?” I lean my head inside of the door. “Girl, are you in here?”

I hear someone whimpering or sniffling in the adjoining bathroom.
Aww. Shit.
I'm not in the mood to be dealing with another emotional female. I got my own damn problems. I stand at the door, weighing my options. I could tell Mason that the girl doesn't have what I need and book our asses out of here. But my conscience makes a rare appearance and tells me that I can't do that. The next thing I know, I'm huffing and rolling my eyes as I stomp my way over to the bathroom.

After one knock, I push open the door to see Ta'Shara sitting on the floor with her legs pressed against her chest and her head lying on her knees. She looks like a hot-ass mess.

“Are you all right in here?” I ask.

She lifts her head and looks at me. I know immediately that the girl is as high as a kite.

“What the hell do
you
want?”

My conscience poofs up in smoke. “The attitude is getting old,” I tell her.

She waves me off like I'm an insignificant fly buzzing around her head. “Go away.”

“Bitch, either you got a new set of balls or you got a fucking death wish.”

She looks me dead in my eyes. “No offense, but fuck you.”

“Okay. That's your last muthafuckin' one. Mouth off again I'll slice out your damn tongue. Got it?”

She keeps her chin up and her anger visible, but she's not dumb enough to call my fucking bluff. Finally she looks away. “What do you want?”

I spot a box of Kotex pads and snatch the bitch up without asking for permission. “Not a damn thing.”

She looks at me like I've lost my mind, but it'll be a cold day in hell before I ask this girl for a damn thing. As I storm back across the bedroom, I'm counting to ten.

“Wait,” she calls after me.

I pull up, but don't turn around.

“Have you and Profit ever . . .”

Slowly, I spin around. “Have Profit and I what?”

“You know.”

Suppressing the urge to curse her out, I take a breath because clearly the girl is in pain. Suddenly I remember all the times it tore my heart out as I stood by and watched Mason date one bum bitch after another before he finally bought a vowel and got a clue about our love. No matter how I feel about this girl, she's still new to this life.

“Listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once.” I wait until our eyes connect. “No. Hell no. And not even if he was the last brother walking.”
Ok. Technically that was three times.
“Profit is practically my annoying teenaged brother.”

She nods.

“Are you good?”

Ta'Shara hesitates. “The thing is I don't know whether he looks at you simply as his sister.”

The misery etched into her face tugs at me again. “He said it was a mistake,” I tell her. “I believe him. I don't know what that kiss was all about and to tell you the truth, I really don't give a damn. But let me give you a little sisterly advice about men. They fuck up—constantly. You gotta figure out whether you can learn to love him despite all of that. Now I'm not saying that you have to stand around and take it. At the end of the day, you got to do what's best for you. If you love him, fight for him. If you're not sure, you need to figure it out.” I glance down at her bags and then turn and walk out of the bedroom.

In the living room, Mason and Profit are sitting across from each other with their heads bowed. When I walk in, Profit lifts his head and looks like an abused puppy. Him and Ta'Shara belong together, but they probably have a long road ahead of them before they figure that out again.

“Everything cool?” Mason asks, spotting the box in my hand.

“Yeah. Let's go.”

Mason stands and then looks down at his brother. “Are you going to be all right?”

Profit nods.

“All right. You know that I'm here for you, little bro.”

Profit comes to his feet with a gloomy smile and walks us to the door.

“You know I'm always here for you,” Mason adds. The look on his charred face reads that he wishes he could fix whatever is wrong between the two young lovers, but he realizes that they need to find their own way.