Finessed a Dope Boy's Heart. Racquel Williams
to find employment and only go to work and home. Seeing that your crime was drug possession with the intent to sell, you are not to be around any drugs of any kind. Are you following me?” I asked to make sure that he understood. When he didn’t respond, again, I looked up into his face, and he hit me with a quick head nod to let me know that he got what I was saying. His eyes were so intense that this time, I sighed involuntarily before looking back down at the paperwork that I was going over with him.
“Now, you are being paroled to your mother’s house, a Miss Mary Greene, is that correct?”
Again, no answer. Again, our eyes met. Again, he nodded.
“OK, good. I can come to check on you at any time, without notice, and if I find anything that conflicts with the terms of your parole, you will be thrown back into jail to serve out the remainder of your sentence.”
Not waiting for him to respond, I handed him some papers to sign. After he finished, he gave them back to me. I handed him my card with my work cell number highlighted, and when he grabbed it, he held on to it long enough to make me look up at him again before taking the card and putting it into his pocket. I slid him what I called my “Welcome Packet” across the desk to avoid any more physical contact with him. I didn’t think that my panties could take another glance.
“Okay, Mr. Greene, you’re free to go,” I offered, practically rushing him out of my office. “Keep me posted on the job hunting. In one of those pamphlets are some places that hire felons, and they work with us with new releases. Oh, don’t you forget to call color code each day after 5:00 p.m., to see if your number is called. If it is, you need to report the next day and provide your urine.” I finished up before I stood, ready to send him on his way. He stood up too and stared at me all over. It kind of made me uncomfortable.
“What does a man like myself have to do to get with a woman like you?” he finally spoke, and the question that he presented made my heart skip a beat and my stomach flutter.
“First off, I’m a happily married woman,” I deflected. “And second, you’re out of line. I’m an officer, and you’re a criminal. There is no way in hell that we can have anything. Now, go on out of here before I violate you for crossing the line.”
“Oh shit, and you feisty also. Oh, you should check those panties. They probably in bunches by now.” He smiled and winked at me before walking off.
I quickly closed the door. The nerve of this punk! What did he know about the Victoria Secret thong that I was wearing? I hurried to my seat and calmed down my nerves. His picture was looking at me in the still-open file. I sat there and stared for a few seconds before I closed it and put it where the rest of the files were.
The rest of the day went by fast, and I was eager to get out of there. Once I got off the elevator on the first floor, I checked my phone and realized that my husband hadn’t called me all day. So, this nigga didn’t come home and hadn’t called either. I thought about calling him but decided to do it once I reached home. I stopped by the local Publix and grabbed a rotisserie chicken with some greens and mashed potatoes. I had a slight headache and didn’t feel like cooking. The kid and I could eat this for dinner. As for Rasheem, he could eat wherever the fuck he was at or eat shit. I was so angry with him that I could care less about him right now. Next, I stopped by the liquor store and grabbed myself a bottle of D’ussé. I needed something to calm my fucking nerves before I did something I regretted.
As I pulled up to the house, I spotted Rasheem’s truck in the driveway. That was very strange. He barely made it home for dinner, so why the hell would he be here now? I pulled into the garage and parked.
I walked up the stairs and into the kitchen. The house was quiet. I put the stuff on the counter, then walked over to the living room and kicked off my shoes. I sat down for a few seconds, but something kept tugging at me. I needed to confront this nigga. I got up and rushed up the stairs.
I heard the shower running, so I walked over to the bathroom door. His clothes were on the floor. I picked up his shirt and smelled it. It was sweaty but also smelled like perfume. Nothing that I recognized, but I knew it was some cheap-ass shit. It smelled like musk and stale pussy. I then picked up his polo drawers and could see visible come stains on the front. I heard the water cut off, so I hurriedly threw his nasty drawers down and cut the lights off in the room. Then I grabbed the bat that I kept behind the bedroom door and sat on the bed.
A few minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom, dick hanging and all. Any other time, that shit would’ve turned me on, but knowing that his dick had just been inside some random, trashy-ass bitch, it disgusted me. He was on the phone laughing and talking like he didn’t have a care in the world. I didn’t know if he didn’t expect me to be home, or he just didn’t give a fuck. But I was about to find out. His mouth dropped open as he saw me sitting on the bed.
“Ummm . . . Let me call you right back,” he whispered in the phone.
“Hello, husband, don’t hang the phone up. Is that her, the whore that you been with all night?”
“I’ll call you back.” He hung the phone up and started drying off.
I stood and hit him across his knees with that damn bat with all my force.
“Oh, fuck! What the fuck?”
I turned the light on so that he could look me in the face. “Damn, Mika, what the fuck you do that for?” He lunged toward me.
“Back the fuck up, nigga!” I hit his ass on the arm.
“You fucking crazy bitch! I swear, I’ma beat yo’ motherfucking ass!” he yelled as he tried to walk off.
“I don’t know where the fuck you going, but I told yo’ ass before, I’m not going to be with you if you around here fucking everything. You can pack your shit and get out, for real,” I said as I raised the bat again.
“Bitch, I done told yo’ crazy ass that I’m not cheating on you. I was working a case all night, that’s all. But, nah, you want to act all crazy and shit. I fucking love you.”
“Nigga, shut the fuck up. You fucking something, and when I find out, I’m going to demolish yo’ ass!” I yelled as I walked out of the room, leaving his ass there to tend to the bumps and bruises I left on his ass by his damn self.
I was too fucking heated. I needed someone to talk to, but it was too late to call my girlfriend, Lexi. She was the only one that I could trust with my business. As much as I loved Joy, if I told her, the whole office would know what the hell was happening in my household. She would mean well and want people to see how fucked up a person Rasheem was. But I knew that shit would backfire, and they would see me as weak and dumb as hell for staying with him for as long as I had. I’m sure that some of their asses already knew about the shit that Rasheem was doing, anyway. Hell, some of them might be fuckin’ his ass behind my back.
I sat in the living room awhile to cool off, then went back to my bedroom. Shaking my head, I stomped over, locked my bedroom door, and threw the bat down since Rasheem wasn’t in there. I was mentally tired and drained. Fuck, I had to work in the morning, and there I was acting a fool.
Half an hour later, Rasheem knocked on the door. Reluctantly, I let him in. “You know that was a business associate, and you acting like a jealous schoolgirl. What is wrong with you, Tamika?” this old, psychotic-ass nigga said.
I walked over to where his clothes were and grabbed them. “Nigga, you see these? They have a bitch written all over them. Your shirt smells like cheap-ass perfume that I would never wear, and these fucking drawers that I bought have come stains all over them. So, unless it’s a nigga you were with . . . Who’s the bitch?”
“You’re crazier than I thought,” he chuckled. “You going around checking my dirty drawers. Is this the kind of woman I married? You’re worse than these project bitches—”
“Rasheem, I don’t give a fuck about what you’re talking about. You’re a fucking married man, and you’re running around here like you single. If you don’t love me, why the fuck don’t