Hate the Player and the Game

chapter 1

Hate the Player and the Game

PART  I

Chapter 1

Diamond

        I taught myself how to be a natural born hustler. I ain't have nobody but me. My whole entire childhood I had to fien for myself so I vowed never to be broke again.
    I was born and raised in Queens, New York. All I knew was Queens. I had never been to any other city or state as kid. My momma, Onicka Rosemont was a junkie and we lived in the worst rundown house anyone could ever live in.

"Diamond, honey. This house is beautiful." My momma said to me as we entered the three story, old house. I knew she was just trying to cheer me up, but it wasn't working. I could never forgive her for what she had done to me. My biggest, darkest secret of my life still haunts me and it was such a long time ago. I hated my mother, I hated her. I hated that she was so beautiful, but kept herself looking like shit all the time, I hated that she was on drugs and always chose men over me, and I hated that she had never really been a real mother to me.  I chose not to speak to her. I was only twelve and we had recently got evicted from our apartment in the projects, and this old house was the only thing that my mother could find for us to stay because the landlord didn't want money from her. He wanted something that his wife wasn't giving to him and that my mother was. We go up the stairs and she led me to the smallest, filthiest room. "This is your room". She says. There was a little twin bed with a dirty, stain-filled mattress, and a big, wooden dresser with it's drawers falling off of their hinges. I already wanted to run away, but as much as I always told myself that I was going to, I could never bring myself to do it.  My mother then looked down at me. "I know it's not much Diamond, but get used to it. It's our chill spot for now".

            Moving into that old house wasn't the only memory I had of it, but we will get to that later. Right now, I have to bring up my father. I don't really ever speak of him much. That's because he's deceased. He's been long gone before I was even born. Anyway, I hate him and I don't even know his ass. He was the reason that my momma was on heroin and smoked crack. He got shot up gambling. His stupid ass was always betting on something and then losing. He cost my mother her house that she had worked so hard for when she was working two jobs, he got their only car taken away, and my mother's life savings all went to my father losing a bet on a super bowl game. Now homeless and living in my grandmother's basement, I guess my mother fell into a deep depression so my father introduced her to drugs. Drugs, of which he was secretly doing on the side of gambling. It was supposed to be a one time thing, but my mother had gotten hooked. After my dad got killed, and my grandmother died, my mother found out that she was pregnant and that made her life even worse because she had no help or support to take care of a baby. That's right, I'm a crack baby, but I'm still a dime piece. Ain't shit wrong with me. I am Diamond Nayotti Rosemont, who just happens to be a bad bitch. Shit, with the body I have, I could beat any bitch at a wet t-shirt contest.

            It was the winter time of 1994 and I was fourteen years old. My house, I don't even want to talk about it but people ran in and out of there all the time. From the looks of it, people thought I had it all, but really, I had no more than they did. All the cute clothes, name brands, and shoes I had would trick somebody real quick and make them think that I was some type of spoiled little brat who's daddy would buy her anything; but no. My momma stole them damn clothes from her friends kids, or she either brought them from a booster. I didn't know how she came up with the money to do the shit, but hey, I wasn't complaining. Her theory was that "Real bad bitches stayed clean". Well what the fuck was that information to me when she's the one not clean, but still she was my momma and if she was willing to steal clothes for me and put me first, then I respected that although Supplying me with clothes was not going to feed me, love me, or be a real mother to me. I shook my head at that comment every time she said it because just when I think that my life can't get any worse, I always knew that living with momma was bad enough.