Queen Bitch: Part 4 (Bitch Series) (25 page)

Philly, 1993

"Please, Daquan, don't hit me again!" the young mother
screamed, covering her face in defense mode. She hurriedly
pushed herself away from her predator, sliding her body on
the cold hardwood floor.

"Bitch, get yo' ass back over here!" he barked, grabbing
her matted black hair and dragging her into the kitchen. He
reached for the hot skillet from the top of the oven, and you
could hear the oil popping underneath the fried chicken his
wife had been cooking right before he came home. "Didn't
I tell you to have my food ready on the table when I came
home?"

"I... I... I was almost finished, but you came home early,"
Teresa stuttered, "Ouch!" she yelled as her neck damn near
snapped when Daquan gripped her hair even tighter.

"I don't want to hear your fuckin' excuses. That's what
yo' problem is. You so damn hard headed and neva want
to listen. But like they say, a hard head make fo' a soft ass.
You gon' learn to listen to me."

"Please, please, Daquan, don't do this! Let me finish
frying your chicken and I'll never do this again. Your food
will be ready and on the table everyday on time. I promise!"

"I'm tired of hearing your damn excuses."

"Bang!" was all you heard as the hot skillet came
crashing down on Teresa's head. The hot oil splashed up
in the air, and if Daquan hadn't moved forward and turned
his head, his face would've been saturated with the grease.

But Teresa wasn't so lucky, as the burning oil grazed her
hands, as they were protecting her face and part of her thigh.

After belting out in pain from the grease, she then noticed
blood trickling down from the open gash on the side of
her forehead. But it didn't stop there. Daquan then put the
skillet down and began kicking Teresa in her ribs and back
like she was a diseased infected dog that had just bitten
him.

"Yo', Pops, leave moms alone! Why you always got to do
this? It ain't never no peace when you come in this house."
Genesis stood in the kitchen entrance with his fists clenched
and panting like a bull. He had grown sick and tired of
watching his father beat his mother down almost every
single day. At the age of eleven he had seen his mother
receive more ass whippings than hugs or any indication of
love.

"Boy, who the fuck you talkin' to? You betta get yo' ass
back in your room and stay the hell outta of grown people's
business."

"Genesis, listen to your father. I'll be alright. Now go
back to your room," his mother pleaded.

Genesis just stood there unable to move, watching his
mother and feeling helpless. The blood was now covering
her white nightgown and she was covering her midsection,
obviously in pain trying to protect the baby that was growing
inside of her. He was in a trance, not knowing what to do to
make the madness stop. But he was quickly brought back
to reality when he felt his jaw almost crack from the punch
his father landed on the side of his face.

"I ain't gon' tell you again. Get yo' ass back in your room!
And don't come out until I tell you to! Now go!" Daquan
didn't even wait to let his only son go back to his room.
He immediately went over to Teresa and picked up where
he left off, punishing her body with punches and kicks. He
seemed oblivious to the fact that not only was he killing
her, but also he was killing his unborn child right before his
son's eyes.

A tear streamed down Genesis's face as he tried to reflect
on one happy time he had with his dad, but he went blank.
There were no happy times. From the first moment he could
remember, his dad was a monster.

All Genesis remembered starting from the age of three was
the constant beat downs his mother endured for no reason.
If his dad's clothes weren't ironed just right, then a blow
to the face. If the volume of the television was too loud,
then a jab here. And, God forbid, if the small, two-bedroom
apartment in the drug-infested building they lived in wasn't
spotless, a nuclear bomb would explode in the form of
Daquan. But the crazy part was, no matter how clean their
apartment was or how good the food was cooked and his clothes being ironed just right, it was never good enough.
Daquan would bust in the door, drunk or high, full of anger,
ready to take out all his frustration out on his wife. The
dead end jobs, being broke, living in the drug infested and
violent prone city of Philadelphia had turned the already
troubled man into poison to his whole family.

"Daddy, leave my mom alone," Genesis said in a calm,
unemotional tone. Daquan kept striking Teresa as if he
didn't hear his son. "I'm not gonna to tell you again. Leave
my mom alone." This time Daquan heard his son's warning
but seemed unfazed.

"I guess that swollen jaw wasn't enough for you. You
dying to get that ass beat." Daquan looked down at a now
black and blue Teresa who seemed to be about to take her
last breath. "You keep yo' ass right here, while I teach our
son a lesson." Teresa reached her hand out with the little
strength she had left trying to save her son. But she quickly
realized it was too late. The sins of the parents had now
falling upon their child.

"Get away from my mother. I want you to leave and don't
ever come back."

Daquan was so caught up in the lashing he had been
putting on his wife that he didn't even notice Genesis
retrieving the gun he left on the kitchen counter until he
had it raised and pointed in his direction. "Lil' fuck, you un
lost yo' damn mind! You gon' make me beat you with the
tip of my gun."

Daquan reached his hand out to grab the gun out of
Genesis's hand, and when he moved his leg forward, it
would be the last step he'd ever take in his life. The single
shot fired ripped through Daquan's heart and he collapsed on the kitchen floor, dying instantly.

Genesis was frozen and his mother began crying
hysterically.

"Oh dear God!" Teresa moaned, trying to gasp for air.
"Oh, Genesis baby, what have you done?" She stared at
Daquan, who laid face up with his eyes wide open in shock.
He died not believing until it was too late that his own son
would be the one to take him out this world.

It wasn't until they heard the pounding on the front door
that Genesis snapped back to the severity of the situation at
hand.

"Is everything alright in there?" they heard the older lady
from across the hall ask.

Genesis walked to the door still gripping the .380-caliber
semi-automatic. He opened the door and said in a serene
voice, "No, Ms. Johnson, everything is not alright. I just
killed my father."

Two months later, Teresa cried as she watched her
son being taking away to spend a minimum of two years in
a juvenile facility in Pemberton, New Jersey.

Although it was obvious by the bruises on both Teresa
and Genesis that he acted in self defense, the judge felt that
the young boy having to live with the guilt of murdering his
own father wasn't punishment enough. He concluded that if
Genesis didn't get a hard wake up call, he would be headed
on a path of self destruction. He first ordered him to stay at
the juvenile facility until he was eighteen. But after pleas
from his mother, neighbors and his teacher, who testified that Genesis had the ability to accomplish whatever he
wanted in life because of how smart and gifted he was, the
judge reduced it to two years, but only if he demonstrated
excellent behavior during his time there. Those two years
turned into four and four turned into seven. At the age of
eighteen when Genesis was finally released he was no
longer a young boy, he was now a criminal minded man.