Pointe of No Return: Giving You All I Got (2 page)

There were a few people in the room, no more than ten. Aaliyah immediately went to who Demi assumed was her boyfriend and mushed him in the head. Demi went to the table of food and made her a small plate of food.

“Damn, you just going to come in here and eat without even speaking?” some asshole said.

Demi didn’t even bother introducing herself, she placed the plate of food on the table and removed the half chewed meatball from her mouth and sat it on the plate. She hated rude people.

The dude spoke up, “Aye, now you didn’t have to do all of that.”

Demi told him, “Please get out of my face, sir,” and walked off to rejoin her friends.

Malachi approached his homie. “Who is the pretty brown girl?” he asked.

Papa stroked his beard. “I don’t know, she mean as hell though, just like I like ‘em,” he laughed.

Malachi looked at the young girl and he definitely agreed with his brother, she was beautiful.

Demi took a sip of Nichelle’s drink and held her chest. “Oh my, what is that?” she asked.

“That’s that Henn dog,” Aaliyah said and laughed.

Demi told herself she didn’t want any more Henn dog so she took a seat on the couch and watched everyone interact. She wanted some of that food.

After staring at the girl for a few minutes, Papa ended up making a plate for the shorty, making sure he had everything she had on her plate prior to him getting in her business. He knew she wouldn’t accept it, but he would still try. That’s just how his demeanor was. Papa was cold-hearted and truly a bastard.

He grabbed a bottle of water out of the metal barrel that held ice and beers.

“Here ya go shorty, my bad,” he told her, holding the plate out.

Demi didn’t bother to even make eye contact with him. He didn’t even deserve her sight.

“Aah, come on, I been watching you eye the food table,” he said.

Demi huffed and crossed her arms.

Across the room near the pool table, Nichelle saw someone talking to Demi and she looked so uninterested. Nichelle chuckled and told Courtney, “Demi’s ass don’t play the radio.”

Courtney looked in the direction where Nichelle was staring. “Girl she sho’ don’t,” she agreed.

Papa wasn’t giving up so easily. “You must want me to feed you,” Papa said, and sat beside her.

Demi scooted over to the right.

“Damn, it’s like that, shorty?” he asked, feelings slightly crushed.

“Demi,” she said.

Papa couldn’t hear her though. “What you say?”

Demi looked at him with attitude all over her face. “My name is Demi, not shorty, okay?” she told him.

Papa flashed her a smile. She was so cute to him. “I like your name, is it French?” he asked.

Demi laughed. “Huh? No,” she told him.

What caused her to laugh was that he was dead ass serious.

“Demi, I’m Papa. Take this plate,” he commanded.

She was hungry so she decided not to protest anymore. Demi grabbed the plate and dived in. 

“What’s your real name?” Demi asked.

Papa was surprised to hear that question; nobody ever asked him that.

“Why?” he questioned.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not calling you Papa,” she said.

“Yes the hell you is!” Papa told her.

Demi rolled her eyes; his grammar was all off.

“You want a drink?” Papa asked. Demi told him she didn’t drink.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Eighteen,” she told him. Demi wasn’t about to be lying about her age or anything else.

“Damn, you a baby,” he said.

“How old are you, PAPA?” she asked sarcastically.

“Twenty-three,” he told her.

“Ooh, you’re so much older than me,” she joked.

Papa liked her. Not only did he think she was attractive, but her voice was sultry. It was obvious she was a fly lil bitch by the diamond earrings in her ears and the Cartier bracelet on her wrist, and she spoke well. Papa noticed everything about little miss Demi.

“Where you stay?” he asked.

“Jersey,” she told him.

Papa nodded his head. S
uburban baby,
he said to himself.

If Papa was still starving to get some money he would have robbed her ass real quick. Demi would have turned back around and Papa would have been gone with all of her shit, Chanel purse included. He could have given that to his cousin or sold it on the streets.

That wasn’t his life anymore and although he was a youngin, Papa was now seeing better days. Something he thanked God for daily.

Demi finished her plate and asked Papa, “Where is the restroom? I need to wash my hands.”

“I’ll take you, I don’t want nobody messing with you,” Papa told her.  Demi was a walking lick.

“I’m a big girl,” she told him.

“Yeah, I bet,” he smirked.

Nichelle asked Demi, “You good?”

Papa spoke up. “She’s going to wash her hands, fall back.”

Demi shook her head and told Nichelle she was okay.

When they left the room, Nichelle asked no one in particular, “What’s his problem?”

Damian laughed. “Who, Papa? Nothing.”

Malachi smiled. “If he
doesn’t
act like that then be worried.”

Nichelle found nothing funny at all.  Demi held her hands up in the air while they walked. “Right here.” Papa pulled her waist and pointed her body towards the door.

Demi washed her hands and scanned over her appearance.

“Who you trying to look good for?” Papa asked.

Demi looked at him and said, “Not you.”

Papa thought her little attitude was cute. “Not yet,” he shot back.

Demi rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’m ready, PAPA.”

Papa asked, “Why you keep saying my name like that?”

“Because I can’t see how other mature adults are calling you daddy.”

Papa laughed. “Not Papa like daddy, but Papa like popper. I stay popping off, baby girl.”

Demi had a blonde moment. “Ohhhh, well still, what’s your real name?” she asked.

“I might tell you one day,” he told her.

They walked back to the room to see that it had been cleared.

“Where did everyone go?” Demi asked.

Papa pulled a blunt from behind his ear and lit it. He pointed to the window. “Them ya girls right there?”

Demi looked and saw all of them sitting at the pool with their feet in the water. She took her seat on the couch.

“You not going out there?” he asked.

“Why aren’t you going out there?” she asked him the same question.

Papa said, “I’m chilling.”

He was never one that had to be around tons of people. Papa was naturally an introvert, but what he would soon discover was that he had met his match because Demi was too.

“Me too,” she yawned.

Papa asked her if she was sleepy.

“I’ve had a long week. Gym, practice, practice and more practice and I graduated today,” Demi told him.

Papa told her congratulations.

“Thank you. Oh my, I’m sorry I keep yawning,” she said, yawning yet again.

“You can get comfortable. I’m about to get high,” Papa told her straight up.

Demi knew she wasn’t about to fall asleep around a stranger, but she did lay her head on the edge of the couch and crossed her legs.

Papa smirked at how standoffish she was trying to be, but he wasn’t tripping.

“Your head look big as hell anyway,” he mumbled.

“Shut up ‘cause I hear you,” she told him.

Papa chuckled as he blew smoke out of his mouth.

Before Demi knew it she had fallen asleep and was then greeted by the sun blazing on her body. She opened her eyes and saw that she was laid out on the couch and her feet were in a man’s lap. Demi sat up quickly, and once she came to her senses she remembered where she was. The Hamptons.

Papa was laid back with his head on the couch, feet kicked out and his gun by his side. Although his brothers made sure everybody who wasn’t considered family was gone, Papa took no chances. His gun would be ready to blaze.

Demi shook him lightly. “Get up,” she said.

Papa stirred in his sleep and moved his head to the side before his eyes popped open and he saw a young Demi staring at him.

Papa said, “Beautiful sight in the morning.”

Demi hated that he was so smooth; this was something new for her.  Most times she could reject dudes before they got a word out, but this man here, he was putting the mack on her too hard.

“Where are my friends?” Demi asked.

Papa smirked. “Occupied.”

Demi knew what that meant; she was hungry though. Demi’s body was trained to eat at certain times throughout the day.

“Is there any fruit here?” she asked.

“We rented this house, I doubt it,” Papa answered.

He looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock in the morning. Why was she up so early?

Demi looked around and saw that the table of food was now gone.

“You good?” he asked. Demi was holding her stomach wanting food and wanting it now.

“I’m hungry, I need to eat,” she told him.

“Well, let’s go get you something to eat, but I gotta find my keys first.”

Demi was so hungry she wasn’t even tripping about riding around with a complete stranger.

Papa stood to his feet and left the room. When he returned he told her to come on and they went out the side door and around the house.

“You think I’m getting on a bike?” she asked.

You hungry, ain’t ya?” Papa spat.

Demi shook her head. Her mother would die a thousand deaths if she knew Demi was riding around with a man whose entire body was covered in tattoos, on the back of a motorcycle.

Papa handed Demi his motorcycle helmet and told her to hop on. Demi clung to his waist tight and whispered in his ear, “Please keep me safe.”

Papa smirked at the worry in her voice.

Little did Demi know today was the first of many “experiences” she would go through with Papa. She had reached the pivotal point of no return and like a moth to a flame, Papa wanted Demi and he planned on capturing her mind, body, and soul. Demi was what he needed and he didn’t consider their encounter by chance, it was meant to be. Demi would become his.

2

“Demi, what’s going on today?” her mother asked, after Demi’s third failed attempt at mastering a jump that seemed almost impossible. For Demi it should have been a piece of cake. Demi ignored her mother and told the pianist to start again. She closed her eyes and placed her feet in second position to begin again.

“Shit,” she mumbled.

Her mother was shocked. “Demi, was that a curse word?”

Demi was frustrated and not really focused today. On top of her mother getting on her nerves, she was cramping and trying to push through the pain.

“Mom, please get out. I can’t concentrate,” she asked kindly.

Demi was one of those humans that would politely curse you out, or be rude in such a professional manner you weren’t sure if you should be offended or not.

Her mother closed her kimono and picked up her chai latte and left her daughter alone with the pianist that they paid fifty dollars an hour.

Demi wiped the sweat from her forehead before dropping to her knees to stretch and take a few breaths.

She took her craft serious, very serious. While other people were headed out to run Saturday errands or shopping, Demi had been in her dance studio since seven that morning perfecting her craft, and tirelessly trying to master the art of dance. She knew that once she started Julliard she would have to work extra hard to prove that she was more than Doreen’s daughter. She had a style of her own and was prepared to prove herself.

After getting her mind back in the game and her eyes back on the prize, she stood to her feet and prepared to go again and again and again if she had too. Demi wasn’t a quitter and didn’t like failure, so she always tried her hardest to aim for success.

Hours later after the pianist packed up and said he had other sessions to get to, Demi lay on the floor tired as hell and quite sore and sleepy. Her back ached and her legs gave out minutes ago. She slithered her way to the mirrored wall so she could sit up, hoping to stand up and take a shower and a much-needed nap.

Demi turned around and sat Indian-style in front of the mirror. She stared at her face and hands and her crossed legs. She resembled the R & B artist, Ciara, with her defined muscles and toned body. Demi was tall like her father, but she possessed her mother’s competitive spirit. After years of braces and plenty trips to the dermatologist, Demi was like a butterfly that had finally come out of her cocoon. Her shoulder-length hair with honey blonde highlights graced her shoulders and her skin was free from tattoos and piercings. She was delicate in her own way. Demi didn’t knock anyone with those things, but she didn’t need them to be defined.

It was almost as if she had VIRGIN written in cursive across her forehead. Demi possessed an innocence so sweet that most people thought she was fragile, but she really wasn’t. She was strong, mighty, and confident. Demi Nichole Westbrook, future Prima Ballerina.

Demi limped back to the main house on the estate where her and her family resided. Her father was just coming in from playing golf and he saw Demi’s head stuck in the refrigerator.

“Hey kiddo, what you doing?” he asked.

“Trying to cool off,” she told him.

Her dad laughed. “Going to shower. Where is your mom?” he asked.

Demi told him she didn’t know and she headed to her room to run a bubble bath. As the tub filled with water and bath salts, Demi checked her cell phone for any missed calls and text messages. Practice was a priority so she left her cell in the house to stay focused.

              Demi saw several missed calls from her friend Briana and she immediately called her back, assuming that something had happened.

“Hi, you called?” she asked once Briana answered.

“Girl, that dude you was chilling with graduation night has been blowing my cousin up for your number. But I told her I had to ask you first ‘cause I know how you are,” she said quickly.

Demi wanted to ask, “How am I?” but she let it slip like she did the majority of the things her friends said that she found offensive and rude.

“Papa?” she asked to be sure.

“Girl yeah, he wants you honey. I heard he can’t stop asking about you,” Briana told her.

Demi blushed. It was refreshing to be thought of by someone other than her parents.

Briana asked was she still there because the line went silent.

“Yes, he can have my digits,” she finally answered.

Briana laughed. “Digits? Okay girl, I’ll pass the info along. What you doing tonight?”

Demi went to check on her water. “My mom is getting honored at some award thing tonight.”

“Aww. Okay cool, hit me when that’s over,” Briana said.

Demi told her okay and disconnected the call. She undressed and left the sweaty ballerina attire on the floor and slid her body into the steaming water.

Hot baths were a reward after a hard day at practice. Demi appreciated the heat and burning feel against her sore back and feet. She laid her head back, not even mad that she forgot to press play on her iPod. After a long week of practice and more practice, she welcomed the silence, needing the peace right about now. Tomorrow was Sunday, her only day off from the studio and she looked forward to doing absolutely nothing but laying in bed and resting her body, because come Monday morning it would be time to start all over again.

Her mother told her constantly that this summer it was do or die. She had three months to go from dancer to ballerina since she would be starting Julliard in August. Demi knew that the moment she had been waiting her whole life for was now approaching. So while her other friends would be ‘turnt up’ tonight, Demi would be in bed by midnight after the event with her mom. She didn’t mind sacrificing her spare time or a social life for the possibilities of one day walking in her mother’s shoes.

***

Papa strolled through his uncle’s house and went straight to the kitchen, being high and hungry was such a horrid combination.

              “You don’t see nobody sitting here, boy?” his uncle Andre said angrily.

He had raised Papa better than that, but the lil nigga refused to show manners.

“Hey,” he muttered and continued on his journey to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed the half-gallon of milk and an old butter bowl that was now used for any and everything they needed it to be. Papa filled the bowl with Fruit Loops and poured the milk over the cereal and then added a few cubes of ice.

His uncle walked in and asked, “What you doing over here?”

“Damn, is it a problem?” Papa asked him.

“Watch your mouth talking to me. You call first, I could have had a hoe, big booty naked in here,” he said.

Papa ignored his uncle. The man was talking crazy and it was too late at night to be dealing with his foolishness.

“I’ll call next time,” he told him, hoping he would go on about his business. Papa had a lot of shit on his mind and wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“You okay youngin?” his uncle Andre asked.

“We will talk when your lil company leaves,” Papa said and walked off leaving his Unc in the kitchen by himself.

“And pick up your damn pants, don’t nobody wanna see ya yellow ass!” he fussed.

Papa ignored him and walked into the room he called
his and plopped down on the bed with the bowl of cereal still in his hand.

The television was still turned on from the last time Papa was over here.   He technically still stayed with his uncle, but that was by choice. Papa had a studio loft that he could go to whenever he wanted, but he loved being in the hood.

Roberto Huffington, known as Papa on the streets, was a twenty-three-year old man who got it out of the mud, literally. Papa stood tall at six feet and three inches, his light skin compliments of his Cambodian mother, and his big full lips were strictly from his daddy’s side of the family.

              His parents did the best they could with Papa, but he was a bad little boy. Ever since a toddler Papa had been a force to be reckoned with. His father was embarrassed to ask his older brother Andre to come and chastise Papa, but it had to be done. When Papa’s mother was diagnosed with cancer and his daddy couldn’t deal with the death of his wife, he killed himself in front of Papa. It was safe to say Papa hadn’t been the same since.

Andre, his uncle, stepped up and took him in. Raising Papa was not an easy job and every chance he got he was beating Papa’s ass, but nothing ever worked. Papa was one of those kids that had to learn on their own, and after several trips to juvie, Papa decided it wasn’t for him.

After joining a gang and witnessing too many of his loved ones getting knocked right before his eyes, he decided that life wasn’t for him.

Papa buckled down and humbled himself. Sweeping floors at his uncle’s barbershop was the only money he had in his pockets if he wasn’t busting licks or robbing folks for their chains.

His life changed one day when one of Andre’s buddies, Polo came into the shop and took a liking to Papa. His life hasn’t been the same since.

Papa went from serving licks and dropping off packs to being the boss in a matter of six years and he had been getting money ever since.

Yes, the power was somewhat handed to him, but Papa put real time into that street shit. He had the heart for it and was loyal by default. His uncle didn’t raise him to be anything other than a soldier.

When Polo retired he couldn’t pick one person to pass his torch to, so he formed The Underworld, a ring of suitable leaders all from different walks of life, but the one thing they had in common was their love for money and ambition. Papa, Malachi, Sean, Roderick, and Nasir were a team, but each their own boss. No one answered to the other, but there was a protocol for everything they did.

Papa was the baby of the bunch and the hothead, but the rest of the men could agree that if shit popped off, Papa was the first one everyone called. It was something about Papa that people loved about him. He was rude as hell and sometimes loud and obnoxious, but they all knew that persona was a cover-up.

When Papa was home he was quiet, lighting candles, and smoking weed while chilling in the dark, vibing to the tunes of Erykah Badu, but he would tell no one that.

Papa ran his hands through his hair and made a mental note to call his cousin tomorrow so she could slide through and braid his hair.

Papa resembled the LA rapper, Nipsey Hussle, but he hated when people said that to him. He would quickly say, “Bitch, fuck Nipsey, I’m Papa.” He didn’t see the connection between him and the rapper, but anyone who was a real fan of Hip Hop, especially West Coast music saw that Papa’s creamy complexion, wide nose, small eyes, and long thick eyelashes were similar to Nipsey Hussle.

Papa finished the bowl of cereal and sat it on the entertainment stand and pushed his body back all the way towards the top of the bed. Today had been a cool day, he was just happy to finally be kicking back.

Once he heard whomever his uncle brought home scream his name, Papa looked for the remote to turn the television up. He and his uncle had sex all the time in the house, but Papa wasn’t in the mood to be hearing that shit, especially if he wasn’t getting any.

He stared at the text from his brother Malachi, relaying the message from his baby mama that young Demi wanted him to have her number.

He checked the clock and it wasn’t too late to hit her up. Papa knew he had to approach shorty the right way. She was different, but that’s what he liked about her.

Papa clicked the number and the option to call or send a text message popped up. He contemplated for a minute, but he wanted to hear her voice, not text. Papa held the phone to his ear as he pulled a blunt from his opposite ear and lit it.

She answered, “Hello.”

Papa smiled.
Damn, what the fuck I’m smiling for?
He thought to himself. “Young Demi,” he said, after he exhaled the smoke in his lungs.

“Papa.” She said his name so proper.

Papa couldn’t help but laugh. “Why you gotta say my name like that, ma?” he asked.

She laughed too. “Because that’s your name. How am I saying it?” She appeared oblivious.

“Are you busy?” Papa asked her, before getting into a conversation.

“No, I just made it home actually,” Demi told him, as she moved around her room undressing and preparing for bed.

“Oh word, you had a lil date or something?” he asked, hoping she told him no.

“Goodness no. My mom had an event and I went with her,” she said quickly. Papa was definitely satisfied with her answer.

“Fa sho’, fa sho’. What you doing tomorrow?” he asked her.

“It’s Sunday, not much.”

“We need to eat and do some shit,” he said, ready to see her again.

“What does “do some shit” consist of?”

“Movies or whatever you like to do.”

Demi thought about going on a date with someone like Papa. She thought he was cute in a bad boy, gangster way, but her mother wouldn’t approve.

“I’ll meet you somewhere,” she told him, not wanting him to come get her.

What Demi didn’t know was that Papa never took girls on dates so he didn’t know that normally when you ask a woman on a date you pick her up.  So, when she said she’d meet him somewhere that’s what he was used to anyway.