Killing Them Softly (7 page)

"Doesn’t matter."

And it didn’t. Not to her. A man gotta at least feel like he’s in control, even if he’s not. I could tell she was thinking about it though. I kept working and tried not to think about it. I closed my eyes and thought about all the times I’d massaged Taye’s shoulders after she’d had a bad day. I worked her shoulders, her neck, her temples, and then worked my way back down to her neck. I put my thumbs in the notches between her neck and shoulders, massaging her upper chest, and for a while, I lost myself in thoughts of Avonte.

I felt her hand touch mine, and she led my hand down. Before I could react, I had a handful of breast. It wasn’t much, but what there was, was all nipple. I squeezed it gently between my thumb and forefinger. She touched my other hand and led it down to the other one.

Sandra started unbuttoning the rest of the buttons on her blouse, and took it off while I continued playing with her nipples. She kicked off her shoes, unbuckled her jeans, and arched her back to come out of them.

I came to her and she threw her arms around my neck, and her tongue down my throat. Sandra undressed me as quickly as she could, and dropped to her knees. She took me into her mouth and sucked until I was hard. Then Sandra pushed me down on the couch and began fucking me like she hadn’t had a dick in her in a very long time. I stared into Sandra’s eyes the entire time, but my mind was on Avonte. I tried to put the thoughts of her out of my mind, and began to feast on Sandra’s nipples. When I began to feel her legs trembling on my thighs, I pushed harder. Sandra bore down on me and increased her pace. I could feel that she was about to come. She reached out and touched my face with both hands, and kissed me.

I closed my eyes and thought about how Taye used to ride me like there was no tomorrow. What the fuck was I doing?

"What the fuck am I doing?" I said out loud this time, as if I had been jerked back to reality.

Sandra got up. "I’m sorry, Devin." She smiled at me like the cat that swallowed the chicken. "I don’t know what came over me."

It wasn’t what she said. It was the way she said it—like it really didn’t bother her at all. The look in her eyes told a different story than the one coming out of her mouth.

"No, it was my fault. I got a little carried away."

"I think we both did," she said, smiling, picking up her clothes, and backing out of my office slowly.

We both laughed about it and agreed it shouldn’t have happened, and that it would never happen again. Both of us got our things quietly, and left. On the way home, I thought about what had happened. How I should have never put myself in that position. I thought about Avonte. The guilt came down on me hard then. I thought about telling Taye everything, but what would that accomplish?

I went to see our lawyer, Albert Weinstein, that next morning after I left Tyrone’s house, he was expecting me, naturally. He said that Tyrone planned to file for divorce, and that it would be a good idea for me to, "Obtain the services of another attorney to see over your affairs."

Then he told me that Tyrone had made provisions for me, and hoped that we could settle this matter amicably.

Ain’t that a bitch?

There he was talking about ending my marriage like it was just another business deal. I was about to say something smart, but Weinstein handed me an envelope.

"What’s this?"

"A check, my dear. You come see me on or about the first of each month, and I’ll have it ready for you. Or, I could have it sent to you via courier once you get established."

I opened the envelope and looked at the check. It was for twenty thousand dollars. I was about to be a bitch and say that it wasn’t enough, but then I did the math. That would come to little less than a quarter of a million dollars a year. I put the check in my purse and stood up. "You tell Tyrone that I’m sure we can conclude this matter amicably. I will let you know when I obtain the services of another attorney to see over my affairs."

"I’ll be expecting their call," Weinstein said as I left his office.

That same day, I rented an apartment and went shopping for furniture. Once I was settled, I gave Weinstein my new address, and that was that. Every first of the month, a courier arrived with my money. It didn’t take me long to get tired of being alone.

I got up, got dressed, and went to a nearby bar. I sat down on the barstool, determined to sex the first good-looking man that approached me. I had never done anything even close to this before, but I was able to rationalize it by convincing myself that I’d never been in a situation like this before.

It didn’t take long before one stepped up. I didn’t even ask him what his name was, and lied when he asked me mine. Before too long, we were leaving the bar and on our way to get a room.

I was on a mission, and nothing was going to get in my way. Once we were in the room and I had stripped him down, I began to wonder what this was going to accomplish. The answer was nothing, but I had taken it this far and there was no way to back out now. I used my tongue to make circles around his nipples then quickly flicked it over one.

"You are so fuckin’ fine," he said.

I thought to myself,
Whatever. Just fuck me so I can go.
He gripped my thighs with both hands, and pushed my legs open. He used his fingers to hold my lips apart, and slid his tongue inside me. My clit grew harder as he licked me with the tip of his tongue. Pussy eating definitely wasn’t his strong suit, so I pushed him back when I couldn’t take it anymore. I put a condom on him and straddled him. With my eyes shut, I rode him slowly; grinding my hips until he was deep inside me. At least he didn’t have a little dick.

After I got mine, I rolled off of him. I was ready to go. Before I could say anything, he stood, stepped up behind me, and motioned for me to move to the edge of the bed. He bent me over, and then entered me slowly. Then, he grabbed me by the shoulders and thrust himself farther inside. He began to pound furiously. It didn’t take long after that before I felt him expand inside me, and then he collapsed on my back.

He was breathing hard and patting himself on the back for the job he thought he had done on me. I didn’t have the heart, or care enough to tell him otherwise. I scooped my clothes and went into the bathroom. I showered quickly and got dressed. When I came out, he was lying on the bed, stroking himself. "Ready for round two?" he asked.

"Only in your dreams," I said, and headed for the door. This was a bad idea from the start. What I should have done was call Devin, except for the fact that I didn’t have his number. He did tell me where he worked, and now, more than ever, I was determined to find him.

After I left LA I went back to New York. On the bus ride across country, I slept a lot. But when I wasn’t sleeping, I thought about the fact that I had killed two more people. I told myself that both them niggas had it coming. Niggas shouldn’t have tried to cheat me, and they definitely shouldn’t have put they fuckin’ hands on me. That was some shit I wasn’t havin’.

But the shit was that I didn’t feel bad about the shit at all. I felt good. I felt like I did when I killed that nigga that beat my ass and raped me. Only difference was, this time I wasn’t on my way to jail for it. This time, I had enough fuckin’ sense to get the fuck outta dodge before the cops got on to me.

The long-ass ride did give me a chance to think about my temper. I knew that I was too fuckin’ quick to pull my blade and shove it in a nigga that crossed me. At the time, I had to ask myself what was so wrong about that. Niggas shouldn’t have been fuckin’ wit’ me. I replayed both murders over in my mind, and thought about what I coulda done different.

Nothing.

That was the answer I came up wit’. Bottom line, I have never taken no shit off nobody, and I wasn’t about to start. Niggas need to not be fuckin’ wit’ me, and I won’t have to kill them.

I hadn’t been back in the city for very long when I started rollin’ wit’ these two young ballers, Levon and Craig. Them niggas thought that I was so fine, and they were both kind of cute, so I let them share me.

The three of us were sitting on the couch smokin’ weed and drinkin, watchin’ a movie. Really we was doin’ more talkin’ and gettin’ fucked up then watchin’ the movie, but anyway, somehow they got to talkin’ about how much they wanted to see me dance for them. "Why don’t you get up and show us what you really about." I got up and started shakin’ my ass. I unsnapped my jeans and pulled them down a little, so they could see some of my ass. They started hollerin’ for me to take it all off. I wiggled out of them jeans and slowly peeled off the throng I was wearin’. "Can you make it slap?" Craig shouted.

"Hell yeah," I shouted back, and made my cheeks slap.

I turned around, kneeled on the couch, bent over and shook my ass. Levon quickly slapped my ass, while Craig ran his hand across my ass and down my thigh. "Damn, you got some thick- ass thighs, Qianna." I held on to the back of the couch and shook my ass a little longer, while they both felt my body.

I got up from couch and took off my blouse and bra, then sat down between them and put one leg over each of their thighs. Levon started feelin’ my titties while Craig just stared between my legs, like he had never seen pussy before. Levon started playin’ with my clit and squeezin’ my titties. Since Craig seemed so fascinated by my fresh Brazilian wax, I guided his bald head to it so he could get a closer look. He kissed one thigh and then the other, then he bit one cheek, and then the other. He stuck his tongue in my ass before he attacked my clit.

Levon kneeled on the couch and unzipped his jeans. I took him in my mouth. After a while, they switched places so I should suck Craig’s dick, but Levon didn’t seem interested in suckin’ no pussy. He pulled me up, bent me over the couch, and pushed himself inside of me. Craig got up and walked behind the couch, and put his dick back in my mouth. I fucked the shit outta them niggas.

After a while, they found out that I was a bitch with enough heart to do what needed to be done. We was all makin’ crazy money. I was really after one of ’em’s girlfriend, but that’s a story for another day.

Anyway, Levon decided that he wanted to put his hands on me, and then had the nerve to talk shit about it. "No, you didn’t just slap me?"

The bastard laughed and so did Craig. "Next time, bitch, I’ll do more than slap your bitch-ass."

"Next time?" I got my blade out of my purse. "Nigga, there ain’t gonna be no next time."

The fool was laughing so hard, high-fivin’ wit’ his boy, that he didn’t even see me comin’.

"See how you like this, bitch?" I swung my blade and cut him on his neck. It didn’t hurt him. It was such a small cut, but it was on his jugular vein. He didn’t even know he was bleedin’ ’til Craig told him.

"Yo, man, you bleedin’. I mean bleedin’ bad."

"Where?"

"On your neck. She fucked you up bad." Levon put his hand on his neck, and then looked down at his shirt, which by now was covered wit’ his blood.

"What? You want some, too?" I asked Craig when he stepped to me.

"I’ll kill you for this, bitch," Levon said, still holding his neck.

"Whatever," I said, and backed out the door.

"Let her go, man. You need to go to the hospital. We’ll get her ass later."

Well, they didn’t get my ass later, but the cops did. Since I’d cut him on the jugular vein, they charged me with attempted murder. The only reason he survived was ’cause he applied pressure to it right away. He testified that he had pressed so hard, for so long, that the paramedics had to literally pry his hands away. The doctor who treated him testified that he sutured off the jugular vein to control the bleeding, and since it was on the external jugular vein and not the internal, which is much bigger, and the carotid artery and vagus nerve were not damaged, he expected a full recovery. I took a plea and plead guilty to aggravated assault, and got sentenced to five years at Bedford.

On my first day at Bedford, I knew it wouldn’t be long before somebody tried me. I was ready for her. In fact, I wanted somebody to try me so I could make my rep, and nobody else would fuck wit’ me. It didn’t take long.

I had been there for a week, and was walkin’ across the yard when I passed by a group of white bitches, and one of them decided she wanted to holla. "That’s one fine nigger bitch there."

I turned around and went right at her. She was a lot bigger than me, but I didn’t care. "What you say?"

She stepped up. "I said you was one fine nigger bitch."

Before she got the word "bitch" out her mouth good, I was on her ass. It didn’t take long before the guards came and pulled me off her.

They sent us both to the hole. The whole time we was on lockdown, this bitch is callin’ me out. I mean yellin’ at the top of her lungs about how she was gonna kick my ass when we got out the hole. I didn’t even bother to answer her, but I knew what I had to do.

On the day the guard came to take me back to population, I had a plan. When I was leavin’, the guard told her to get ready ’cause he would be back for her next. After I was checked into my buildin’, I went right back out and went to the isolation unit, and waited outside for her to come out.

As soon as she was close enough to me, I rushed her. Before the guard could stop me, I had her on the ground and was poundin’ her in the face. When they finally got me off her, her face was bloody, and I was on my way back to the hole.

When I got out the hole this time, they made me talk to the shrink. Her name was Dr. Carol Goodwin. After a couple of sessions wit’ her, she told me that I had anger issues. "Let’s face it; anger is a fact of life. Our world is filled with violence, hatred, war, and aggression. Psychologically, many theories of human development focus on the infant’s struggle with anger and frustration, and the primitive fantasies of aggression, guilt, and reparation that result from these feelings. In essence, we grow up with anger right from the beginning of life."

"So what all that mean to me?"

"That anger is a natural human emotion. It’s nature’s way of empowering us to ward off our perception of an attack or threat to our well-being."

"I know what you sayin’. Somebody come at me, I just go off."

"The problem is not anger. The problem is the mismanagement of anger. Mismanaged anger and rage is the major cause of conflict in our relationships with other people. I suggest that you take an anger management class."

"What the fuck is that?"

"The term anger management commonly refers to a system of psychological therapeutic techniques and exercises, by which someone with excessive or uncontrollable anger can control or reduce the triggers, degrees, and effects of an angered emotional state. One technique for controlling anger is finding agreement with another person, rather than conflict. The use of deep breathing and meditation can be used as a means of relaxation. As the issue of anger varies from person to person, the treatments are designed to be personal to the individual."

Since I didn’t have shit else to do, I took the class and really got into it. It taught me a lot about myself, and the source of my rage. I learned ways to deal with my anger like, takin’ a timeout and counting to ten before reacting, or puttin’ some space between me and the person I’m angry with.

"Once you’re calm, express your anger. It’s healthy to express your frustration in a non-confrontational way," Dr. Goodwin said. "Stewing about it will only make the situation worse."

She told me that I need to think carefully before I say anything. "Then instead of focusing on what made you mad, work with the person who angered you to resolve the issue."

"I don’t know about that one, Doc. You run up on a mad mutha fucka, they ain’t tryin’ to hear, let’s work it out."

"I can understand how that might be the case, but you could use ‘I’ statements when describing the problem. This will help you to avoid criticizing or placing blame, which can make the other person angry or resentful, and increase the tension between you."

"Like what?"

"For instance, say, ‘I am upset you didn’t help with the housework this evening,’ instead of, ‘You should have helped with the housework’."

At first, I didn’t think none of that shit was gonna work, but Doc told me to at least try some of the techniques we talked about, and I would see that they work. She said that I shouldn’t hold grudges. Try to use humor to release tensions. "Lightening up can help diffuse tension," Doc said. "Don’t be sarcastic though."

I laughed. "Why not?"

"It can hurt people’s feelings and make things worse. And I strongly recommend that you practice relaxation skills. Learning skills to relax can also help control your temper. Practice deep-breathing exercises, or repeat a calming word or phrase to yourself, like ‘Take it easy, Qianna’."

I tried some of the shit she told me, and it worked. Now I’m not gonna say that I was an ideal inmate after that. I still got into my share of shit, and got wrote up for shit almost daily. But I did manage to stay out the hole the rest of the time I was there. I did all of my time, and now, I’m out. And I swore to myself that I was never goin’ back to jail ever again. This time, it’s gonna be different.