The Kat Trap (10 page)

“No. But she gutted him real good. He’s up in ICU.”

“And where’s she at?”

“I think she out on bail,” she said.

“Humph,” I grunted, shakin’ my head.

Three more roaches came out to play. She saw them and started smashin’ them with her hand, cussin’.

“Fuckin’ roaches! I don’t know why the ho next door don’t fumigate her place. She’s the only bitch in the buildin’ that acts like she tryna keep ’em as pets.” She caught my facial expression. “I don’t know why you twistin’ ya face up,” she said, washin’ her hands at the sink. “You act like you ain’t ever seen a damn roach.”

She reached under the sink and pulled out a can of Raid, then started sprayin’ along the side of the cabinets, then ’round the back of the counter. The smell started to make me dizzy and sick to my stomach. I held my breath. She put the roach spray back,
then started rinsin’ pots and pans. I watched her as she pulled down a bowl, rinsed it, then started crackin’ six eggs.

“Who you cookin’ all them eggs for?” I asked. Before she could answer, a caramel-colored, hairy-chested, curly-haired nigga all tatted up, came into the kitchen, wearin’ only a pair of flimsy gray sweats. He had that fresh-showered smell goin’ on. The nigga’s arms were chiseled and he had the nerve to have a damn six-pack. I peeped his long dick bouncin’ and swingin’ and knew the nigga didn’t have any drawers on. Ugh.

The muhfucka coolly walked up on my moms and planted his thick lips on hers. The nigga didn’t even speak, and I
knew
he saw me or at least
heard
us in here talkin’. I watched their tongues dart in and out of each other’s mouths, like I wasn’t even in the fuckin’ room. He grabbed her ass. How fuckin’ disrespectful was that shit? If I didn’t clear my throat the two of ’em mighta started fuckin’ right there. They stopped and he put his arm around her. My moms blushed, fixed her robe that had conveniently come untied, then said, “Baby, this is my daughter, Kat. Kat, this is Jawan, my fiancé.”

Fiancé?
I almost fell outta my fuckin’ seat. I spoke to her last week and was there two months ago, and she not once said shit ’bout havin’ no damn fiancé. She held up her hand to show off her ring finga. No wonder I didn’t see it before. It was a tiny-ass, marquise-cut diamond ring ’bout the size of a pebble. What the fuck! I squinted my eyes and glared at her ass. She shrugged, then went back to fixin’ her mystery man his breakfast.

He smiled, flashin’ a chipped tooth. “So, this is my future stepdaughter. I heard a lot ’bout you. Baby, you didn’t tell me she was this fine,” he said, walkin’ over and extendin’ his hand. I stared at him real hard, then at his hand. He had a tattoo of a panther with beautiful green eyes on his forearm. He was definitely younger
than her, probably ’round late twenties or early thirties, I guessed. Humph. Oh, trust. I made a mental note to find out what was really good with his ass on the streets.

“It’s Katrina,” I said, with much ’tude. “And I haven’t heard jack ’bout you.” He dropped his hand. “How long you been fuckin’ my mother?”

“Kat!” she yelled. “Don’t start ya shit today or you can get ya ass up outta here. Baby,” she cooed, like a damn silly-ass, dick-whipped schoolgirl. “Don’t pay her ass no mind. She can be a real bitch sometimes.”

He chuckled, lickin’ his lips. “Nah, it’s all good, baby. I can tell she’s a real feisty one. Ya mom and I been
fuckin’,
as you put it, for a minute.” He walked back over and planted another kiss on my mom’s lips, then looked at me and winked. He slapped her on her ass. She giggled. I twisted my face. “So I guess we’ll be seein’ a lot of each other.”

“I wouldn’t hold ya breath,” I said, rollin’ my eyes. My moms shot me an evil look that said,
‘Bitch, say one more slick thing and this muhfuckin’ hot fryin’ pan goes upside ya skull.’
She started cuttin’ and dicin’ up onions, tomatoes, and green peppers, then shreddin’ cheddar cheese.

“Your breakfast’ll be ready in ’bout ten minutes, baby. You want something to drink?”

He cut his eyes from me and turned to her. “That’s cool. Yeah, bring me some orange juice. I’ll be in the living room watchin’ TV while you and ya daughter shoot the shit.” He looked at me again, smirkin’, then walked out.

“And why couldn’t he get his own drink? He was standin’ his ass right by the refrigerator.” I spoke loud enough so the nigga could hear me. “Instead of plungin’ his dick in and outta ya, he should make his ass useful and take out that trash.”

She clenched her teeth. “Kat…don’t…start. I mean it.”

I ignored her. I tried to count the number of niggas she’s had in my head, but lost count after number fourteen. Growin’ up, e’ery six months to a year or so, she was in love with another nigga. Then when shit fell apart, she’d be somewhere balled up in a damn corner or locked up in her room cryin’ over his ass. I swore I’d never be like her.

Like a puppet, she bounced around the kitchen fryin’ up bacon ’n shit. She lowered the fire on the stove, then got a glass from outta the cabinet, rinsed it, went into the refrigerator and filled it with orange juice, then took it to him. I was too fuckin’ through!

Okay, the nigga was fine, but I didn’t give a fuck ’bout that. I didn’t like him. Somethin’ told me he was no fuckin’ good. A bitch like me could peep a no-good muhfucka from a mile away. The only thing I wanted to know is where the fuck she met him and how long she’d been with him. As pretty as my moms is, for some reason she always liked niggas who had issues. Issues gettin’ a job; issues keepin’ a job; issues with drinkin’; issues with cheatin’; issues with gamblin’; issues with child support; issues with the law; issues with keepin’ his hands off women; and the list went on. Issues, issues, issues…that’s all she ever seemed to attract. Her pussy was a wet magnet for fucked-up men. And e’ery one of the niggas she picked up off the streets, she had to carry. Movin’ his ass in, feedin’ him, puttin’ money in his pockets, cleanin’ his ass up. She’d always put a nigga and his dick before me any day. Dumb women like her really made me fuckin’ sick. Moms or not, as bad as I hated to admit it—no matter how hard I’ve tried not to—I had very little respect for her. And I was really startin’ to like her less and less.

“So tell me. How old is he?” I asked when she came back into
the kitchen. “He looks young enough to be ya son. Don’t tell me you robbin’ cradles now.”

She sucked her teeth. “Shut your mouth. He’s old enough. That’s all you need to know.”

“Humph. Well, what back alley did you find this stray in, and how long he been sniffin’ around? Better yet, does the nigga work?”

“That’s none of your gotdamn business. I don’t question who you fuckin’, so don’t you dare go there with me. I’m the mother, not you. And don’t forget it.”

I took a deep breath, bit down on my bottom lip. Moms or not, I was ready to bring it to her ass. I tilted my head, raised my eyebrow. “Is that so,” I said, smirkin’.

“What the fuck you mean ‘is that so’? Bitch, don’t get beside ya’self.”

Bitch?!?
I stared her down. “And don’t you come out ya face callin’ me out my name. I mean just how I said it. Take it how you wanna.”

She stopped flutterin’ her ass ’round, slammin’ her hand on her waist. “Kat, I never put my hands on ya fresh ass, but I’m tellin’ ya right now…keep it up and I’ma beat your ass for everything I didn’t. You hear me?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

I knew sayin’, “whatever” was gonna crank her up. She hated it. But she started the shit, so it was only a matter of time before it got hectic up in this piece.

“‘Whatever’ nothin’. I’m a split second off ya ass, Kat. I done warned you. For once, why can’t you just be happy for me, instead of hatin’? You act like you jealous or something.”

I laughed. “Jealous of what?”

“Of the fact that I got a man and you don’t. That for once in
my life I’m happy. This is why I didn’t tell your ass about him, ’cause it’s always the same bullshit with you.”

“Are you serious? You sound real delusional. I ain’t jealous of nothin’ you got, especially a man you fuckin’. If havin’ a man is what makes you happy, then good for you.” I laughed at her, which I knew was gonna set shit off more. “You need help, sweetie. Real talk. ’Cause if havin’ a man lay up on you is ya definition of happiness, then you can have it. And hatin’ is the last thing I do,
trust.
I know ya track record when it comes to men, boo. And it ain’t a good look.”

“Bitch!” She yanked the knife off the counter and pointed it at me. Yep, this is how she comes at me. “I don’t know where the fuck you get off thinkin’ you can talk to me any way you want. Don’t have me fuck you up in here.”

Okay, so she never beat my ass growin’ up, but verbally she’d get at me like I was a grown-ass woman, like I was a bitch on the streets. This is the kinda shit that kept me doin’ me. But pullin’ a muthfuckin’ knife out on me was some new shit. And on some real shit, she was really pushin’ my patience. I got up. It was time for me to get the fuck outta there. “I’m out,” I said.

Her nigga was lampin’ on the sofa with his big-ass feet plopped up on the table and his hands down in his sweats, watchin’ some movie. He looked over at me and grinned. “Aiight, pretty. You be safe out there.”

I igged him. “Bum-ass nigga,” I mumbled. But obviously not low enough ’cause just as I unbolted the first two locks, she came runnin’ outta the kitchen like a madwoman.

“And, Kat, don’t bring ya ass back ’round here until you know how to talk to me.”

“Get real,” I snapped, facin’ her. “You pull a fuckin’ knife on
me, and wanna…you know what? Fuck it. I’m out. You ain’t gotta ever worry ’bout me comin’ through this rathole again.”

“Listen here, I’m ’bout sick of ya nasty-ass attitude, you ungrateful bitch. I mean what I said: Until you can respect me and my man, don’t bring ya snotty, black ass back ’round here. I let ya ass get away with murder growin’ up. I shoulda beat the shit outta ya smart ass a few times, then you wouldn’t be up in here talkin’ outta the side of ya neck at me, like I’m one of them bitches out on the street. That’s what the fuck I shoulda done.”

Ugh! Here she goes with this
‘I shoulda beat ya ass’
shit again
. She sounded like a damn scratched record. And it was gettin’ on my last muthafuckin’ nerve. I finished unlockin’ the rest of the bolts, then swung the door open, but before I walked out, I read her ass. Fuck what ya heard. She had it comin’.

“No, what ya shoulda been doin’ was bein’ a damn mother instead of chasin’ behind sorry-ass muhfuckas who either used ya or beat ya damn ass. Like the nigga right there,” I said, pointin’ in his direction. “I don’t give a hot flyin’ fuck what you do, ’cause ya right. You a grown-ass woman, and you can fuck who the hell ya want. But you got ya facts twisted. Don’t ever think you’ve been a damn mother, ’cause that’s one thing you’ve never been.”

“I kept a fuckin’ roof over ya damn head!” she yelled. “And I made sure ya ass had food to eat. You never went hungry. You always had a place to lay your ungrateful-ass head. And when you wanted to take ya ass ’cross the river, I signed the papers and it was my muthafucking money that fronted ya shit, so don’t fucking tell me what I’ve never done for ya selfish ass.”

Oh, now we on this shit again,
I thought. I slammed the door. Yes, we were gonna have it out for once and for goddamn all. I’d held a lotta shit in, and it was time she knew how I felt. Just how
fucked up I thought she was. And I already knew if she raised up on me, this would be the one time I’d forget my manners and fight her like a chick from the hood. Keepin’ it real, I wouldn’t really straight-up duke her; she was still my moms. I’d remove my earrings and straight-up windmill her ass. And if her nigga wanted to be all up in the mix, then today was his lucky day. He was ’bout to get an earful. And if she even looked like she was gonna put her hands on me, he’d get to see firsthand how a live bitch rocks. That was my word.

I started clappin’. “So, what you want, a fuckin’ medal? Yeah, you got my spot for me, but it was with
my
fuckin’ money, so don’t go there. And, yeah, you kept a roof over my head, but you kept bringin’ crab-ass muhfuckas up in here, too. If they weren’t layin’ up on ya dumb ass, they were beatin’ their dicks droolin’ over
me
. And from what I can see, ain’t much changed. You still stupid when it comes to a nigga. Like when I told ya ass that ya fuckin’ man was comin’ into my room, you acted like I was makin’ the shit up. You believed that muhfucka over ya own daughter, talkin’ ’bout I was probably shakin’ my ass ’n titties up in his face; that I probably wanted him to fuck me. How the fuck you think that made me feel, huh?”

She stood there, lookin’ at me like she didn’t know what the fuck I was talkin’ ’bout. “Kat, get the fuck out right now! I mean it. Get…out…before I forget you’re my child and beat you the fuck down like a bitch in the streets.”

“Bitch,” I yelled. Yeah, I called my own mother a
bitch
. Oh, fuckin’ well! What little respect I had for her as a mother was deaded the moment she pulled a knife on me. “It’s obvious you
forgot
I was your child the moment you gave birth! So fuck what ya neglectful ass talkin’. You never gave a fuck ’bout me. The only thing you ever cared about was keepin’ ya fat pussy wet, real talk.”

Her nigga got up from off the sofa and grabbed her before she could run up on me. “Come on, baby, calm down. Don’t.”

She tried to break free. “No, Jawan. Let me go. This bitch done got too grown, callin’
me
a bitch. I don’t know who the fuck she thinks she is. But it’s time I brought her down a notch, and stretched her on her back.”

“Chill, baby. She’s probably upset ’bout not knowin’ ’bout us gettin’ married.”

“Nigga,” I snapped, “I don’t give a fuck ’bout you and her gettin’ married! I already know what time it is with ya bum ass. As soon as you run through her money, ya ass’ll be ghost. And she’s too fuckin’ blind to see it.”

His jaw tightened. “I’ma let that shit slide, outta respect for ya moms.”

“Nigga, please! You don’t really want it.”