Vicious Is The Name That They Gave Me: A Philly Story (9 page)

“Well, fuck it, it was self-defense,” Kassidy said.

“No, it’s not ‘fuck it’. We have to clean this up. Retta go get something to wrap her body in. Vicious, you try to find something to clean the blood up with and look for bleach. Fuck, fuck, man. What were you doing here?” Chanelle asked yelling at the dead girl. Everyone did what they were told. I could hear more people coming in the house. I went to find bleach.

“What happened?” I heard a guy ask.

“No man! Who did this to Dymond?” a girl asked. Their voices were unfamiliar. I found the bleach and walked back over to everyone was standing. My eyes began to get watery.

“Wait a minute! I know this isn’t Dymond from Dollah house! What are you talking about? And she is related to Tori? Kassidy wanted answers. Everyone wanted to know the answer. It would not matter, she was gone.
Because of me. She is dead because of me. How could I ever live with myself for doing this type of shit? Could I even do it again? I don’t think I would be able to make it in this squad.

“Yeah, it is. What happened?” one of the girls asked.

“Obviously she got shot. Can’t you tell?” Kassidy said arrogantly.

“Oh, shit. This is Tori’s sister,” a girl from out of nowhere said.
Where are these people coming from?

“Yeah, it is her sister. How it happened?” one of the girls asked. As I was about to answer, Kassidy decided to.

“She got caught in the mix. We were told no one would be here. We came in and they started firing, so we fired back,” Kassidy lied.
Why is she lying? Why won’t she tell the truth? I should tell the truth and repent for my sins so I can be delivered.

“Damn,” Retta said shaking her head.

“Hold up, first of all. Why was Dymond even here to begin with?” Chanelle asked.

“That’s what we need to find out,” Kassidy said.

“All of you give me minute,” I told them and walked into my bathroom.

              I walked into the bathroom and fell to the floor. I began to cry. I covered my mouth so no one could hear me. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be a murderer. I don’t want to be a robber. I continued to pour out my tears. I felt like dying. That should have been me on the floor, not her. I wanted God to strike down on me. I wanted God to send me to hell with my mother. I don’t belong on earth.

“Vicious, we have to go,” I heard Kassidy shout. I tried to get myself together to head out. I couldn’t. I need more time.
God help me. I’m so sorry God.

Chapter 10

Kiyah

              That dumb bitch. That fucking dumb bitch messed up my face.
Watch what happens when I see her
.
I’m going to fuck her up.
I hate it when Tonya tells me to fight people and it ends up being the wrong person. Tonya needs to do this shit herself. She can’t be orchestrating shit and be unorganized with it.
What the fuck?
Come to think about it. Tonya does not do anything herself unless she is getting high or fucking someone.
Spoiled heifer. No, she’s not spoiled. She’s fucking lazy.
She does not drive herself anywhere, someone always drives her. I was sitting on the couch watching TV when my sister, Paris, came in. She slammed the door so hard the pictures fell off the wall. And it was my favorite picture from when I graduated college.
What the hell? I worked hard for that degree.

“Well damn Paris, slam the door a little harder so all the pictures can fall,” I joked. She didn’t respond.
Uh oh, what now?

“What’s wrong Paris?” I asked her as I watched her poured herself a shot of Vodka. Every time she drinks that means something bad happened with a dude. If she just slams the door alone that means something happened with a bitch. But if she slams the door and takes a drink, that means something happened with a dude and it involved a bitch.
I already know Dollah did it. I just want to know who the bitch is.

“I can’t believe Darius. I can’t believe that nasty son of a bitch going ‘Oh my God he makes me sick. Look how good I look. Look how fucking good I look and he’s going to fuck some other bitch. As good as I look I should be the only bitch he is fucking with. I can’t believe that sorry ass niggah. I hope he gets herpes,” She said angrily.
Um, sweetheart, must I be the one to tell you? If he gets herpes more than likely, you’ll get it too. I’m just saying.
Honestly, it does not matter how good you look and I keep telling Paris that. You can look good as shit and he is still going to mess around.
What is she not getting? Your pussy is not the only pussy he wants.

              Darius, I mean Dollah, is known for sleeping with girls all over town and Paris knew that shit.
So I want her to stop acting surprised, because she knew from the jump he wasn’t shit.
What Paris did not know was his whereabouts. I told Paris Dollah is sleeping around. Dollah even told her he is sleeping around. The girls he was messing with even confronted her. You found proof on his phone. You found condoms. The girls even showed you proof.
So if that is not enough to prove to you that your man is everybody’s man, then what is? What you want is to be broadcast on the news? You want to be on Maury and have his ass lie to you while the test results confirm he is lying? Fine let’s go on Maury and I will be the good ole loud sister telling you your man isn’t shit. What you want a private investigator to tell you he is cheating? Show you pictures?
Paris thinks because her pussy is so good and she looks like a dime piece, that shit is persuading a niggah to be faithful.
Not if he isn’t shit. I keep telling her this.
She really thinks a niggah that isn’t shit will go all out for her. I don’t know where she is getting that information from but she needs to take it back and start over with men.

              Just like how you would call a girl a whore, you might as well call Darius that too. I heard he was seen in a gay bar with a gay dude grinding on his lap. I’m not surprised. I told Paris he is a fruitcake. She would get mad and not speak to me.
Like I care if she gets an attitude; it’s not my niggah you hear that is in a gay bar.
I tried to tell her plenty of times, he isn’t going to change and she would not listen. She would reply by telling me that I was jealous. Jealous? Jealous of you?
No.
Why would I be jealous of you? Why do we have to be jealous when we are trying to help a family or friend out? Why is it called being jealous? It couldn’t be we were looking out? No, no, because some think we are trying to hate them. The last thing I would hate is a girl being cheated on. Paris does not have anything going for me to hate her. But for the record it’s not my niggah doing me wrong; it’s yours.
Hhmm. I’m about to preach. Somebody say Amen.
It’s your niggah sleeping with you and thirty other girls.
So fall back.
Love hurts and so does the truth. But some females including Paris’ retarded ass, need to let a niggah that isn’t good go. The ones that hold on to the ones that are bad end up bad, beat up, and with scars everywhere They also have black eyes, busted lip,
domestic abuse and shit and on top of that cheating.
Why would you want to walk around covered up because that same one you have profound your love for, your soul mate, your everything mistreated you.

              At times it is hard to leave and then there are times when some girls don’t want to leave. It’s like they are already caught up or too deep in. I should say.
Like Paris for an example. She swears she is getting the best of it.
I feel like she is blinded by the light of freedom and his ass. What is wrong with some of these girls? Is the money that good? Is the dick that good? It’s the same ole excuses.
Oh, I love him. But does he love you like you love him? He’s my baby’s father. Chances are that your child is not his only child. I’m just saying.
As long as their ass comes home and they are number one. But half the time they do not come home, like Dollah’s sorry ass. Dollah does not come home to Paris every night. And Paris is not number one, she’s more like twenty something. That is how many girls Dollah sleeps with.
That niggah is a whore! But I’m hating, smh.

              I look too fucking gorgeous and my status is too high to be with a sorry ass niggah. I don’t care how much money he has.
I make my own money niggah, so what are you saying?
I just can’t get down like that and from the stories I hear,
where is Jesus?
Especially on the news, nearly every day. And on CNN, its twenty-four hours of it along with their usual news feed. Boyfriends beating their girlfriend’s ass. A pregnant girl being killed by her boyfriend.
We are carrying your seed and you are trying to give us third degree burns and shit. What the hell?
Girlfriends fuck up their dudes too. They probably deserved it. But I wish a dude, my dude, would try me. I am licensed to correct a niggah. And I will correct him.
Bitch, I’m going to shoot your dumb ass. I wish my niggah would put his hand on me. I’m emptying the entire clip in his ass. And I don’t care about his sisters, because I’m going to shoot their ass too if they want to get out of pocket. He should have never put his hands on me. I was defending myself.

              I don’t know what it is with Paris. Why doesn’t she leave? But some females think they are in love. Maybe that is their definition of love.
Who knows these days?
If you are walking around and your whole face is fractured, that cannot be love.
I’m sorry, it’s not. What, he thought you were a robber entering your house?
It’s not love if you are getting your ass beat every damn day. Fucking stab his ass and defend yourself. It’s not love if you are being forced to have sex or go down on him. And it’s definitely not love when he is cheating.  I’ve seen my sister cry herself to sleep so many times because what she thinks is love is not love. It’s actually hurting her. I’ve seen my sister go through an abusive relationship. One night, I had to call my cousins and we went over there and rocked the shit out of her ex-boyfriend. He put her in the hospital. All that nonsense is temporary. That shit does not last long.
But hey, what do they say? They like bad ass niggahs.
Oh okay, I am going to let you be great.
I had to bring myself back to reality. I went into a daze thinking about everything that happened with Paris.

With everything that happened, Paris probably will not leave. She’s not that smart when it comes to guys. I stared at Paris with thoughts going through my head. Paris, you are so dumb.
Ugh, you’re my sister but you’re still dumb.
What is he giving you? He is giving to other girls all over the city and tri state area.
So I honestly don’t even know why she is mad.
Let me try and act like I care.

“So what happened this time?” I asked as I put the bag of ice over my busted lip.
That bitch fucked up my beautiful face.
I love my sister. I hope one day I won’t see her in the hospital with a cord in her body, breathing by life support. And the doctors are convinced she is in a vegetable state. I don’t want to see her struggling waiting for some niggah to rescue her. I want her to get up and say, “Fuck this! I’m going to get my own.” But I still have Paris back. I can’t just sit back and watch her destroy her life. I don’t care how many times she pushes me away, I still come back. I will never give up on her.

“I called his phone, right, and some bitch named Chanelle answered the phone. She said she is his wifey and if I ever call his phone again she’ll fuck me up.” “The bitch doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know I will travel and go fuck her up. Whatever I want I take,” Paris said.
Paris shut up and stop lying. You aren’t going anywhere. You are going to call our cousin and we will all go up there. She’s too funny.

“Did you say Chanelle? You mean Kassidy’s sister?” I asked. Everybody was out for Chanelle and Kassidy. They were on everybody’s wanted list.

“Yeah, why?” she asked.

“I was supposed to fight Kassidy’s ass for Tonya. I end up fighting the wrong girl and she whipped my ass,” I admitted. I can admit she got me.
I don’t know how I let some little girl whip my ass.

“Oh, yeah! Everyone was talking about that girl that’s doing time. And she was with Kassidy,” Paris stated.

“Yup. She’s definitely getting it,” I added.

“I know that girl. Her name is Nelly. I went to school with her cousin, Ceyanna. There’s just a lot of shit going on,” Paris said refilling her glass. “Umm, excuse me, who busted your lip?” she asked laughing.

“You didn’t hear me when I told you the girl whipped my ass?” I reminded her.

“Oh, the girl you thought was Kassidy, right?” she asked laughing.

“It’s funny, huh?” I asked her.

“It is. You never were the type to get your ass beat. It would be you having to come whip their ass. Never you though,” Paris stated. She was right. I never got beat up. I was always beating someone up.

“I think her name is Vicious,”
That retarded ass name.

“Vicious, what type of name is that?” she asked.
Hell if I know.
“So what are you going to do about Kassidy?” Paris asked.

“I’m going to fuck all of them up. It’s a wrap,” I answered pouring a glass of vodka.

              Paris and I started talking about our profits and what our plans are for the rest of the week like close loyal sisters. Paris and I always bonded. Yes, we would argue, but make up at the end of the day. I know some sisters do not get along, but I am grateful that my sister and I do. Because at the end of the day, she is my everything and I am hers. There is no one else. Our parents didn’t want us. So we made a promise to always stay together. In the middle of Paris talking, Jay and Camille walked through our front door. We grew up with Jay and Camille around the way. They were like family to us.

“You won’t believe what just happened!” Jay asked breathing heavily.
Well damn, hi to you too.

“Calm down girl, what happened?” Paris asked.

“Do you remember Dymond, Tori’s sister?” Camille asked.

“Yeah, what about her?” I asked.

“She was shot,” Jay said.

“By who? Who shot her?” Paris asked.

“She got shot by Chanelle and Kassidy. They busted into a house where she was,” Jay explained.

“Oh, shit,” I said. “Chanelle and Kassidy shot her?” I could not believe what I was hearing.

“They got it coming,” Paris said.

              We sat there thinking about ways to get at Tha Philly Ridahs.
What a nut ass name.
They swear they are untouchable. They swear they are the “
it” bitches.
Just because they have more resources and goons than everyone else that does not mean anything to me. They stroll down the street and people will get quiet as if they are scared of them.
I don’t know why.
I remember when we all use to hang out with each other. I remember we all were friends at one point in life. We were all from the same neighborhood and went to the same school. When we got to high school, people did a three sixty. Chanelle thought she was better than everyone else because she always had money. Niggahs were always in her face. Ever since she started that dumb squad, thirsty bitches tried so hard to be a part of it. Chanelle and her squad got invited to all the parties and threw a majority of the parties around town everyone wanted to be a part of. All of us came from down south and once we got to Philly, things changed. She pretends as if she never fucked with us before. The next time we reunite, it’s not going to be the same.

“All I keep hearing is Tha Philly Ridahs this and Tha Philly Ridahs that. The Philly Ridahs can suck my dick if I had one,” Jay said angrily.  We had a squad of our own. We don’t need to name our squad. We can be creeps as well. Show up and show out. We can find out who the heavy hitters are around town and rob them too. We can make money just like they can.
They aren’t doing anything we can’t do.