A Bitter Love (available on AMAZON) FREE!!

LEE

I watched as Monique walked her fine ass out of the house, wearing these shorts that fit her a little too tight. I wasn't going to trip because I felt as though I needed to ease up a bit, I knew how I was treating her wasn't right. Yes, I am man enough to say that shit, but keeping my hands to myself is something I have a hard time controlling, and plus, I like shit to be handled a certain type of way. Monique knew what it was, she knew how I liked shit, and how I wanted shit to be handled.

When I first laid eyes on Monique, I knew she was mine. We were doing so good because she brought out the good in me, and somehow, managed to tame the beast that had been trying to escape for years. But after being in a relationship for so long, things start to change; you don't do all the things that you used to do, and you begin to slack on certain duties that are required to keep a relationship strong. Monique was mine, and I wanted her to obey me. She needed to submit to me because I felt like things would run way more smoothly that way. In the beginning, things were great, and whatever I told her to do, guess what? She did it with no questions asked, but like I said earlier, with time, you begin to change, and you begin to slack in important areas of the relationship. I never truly wanted to take it to the levels that I've had to, but that's the only way I knew how to get my point across.

Grabbing my beer, I walked over and plopped down on the couch, putting my feet up on the ottoman. Leaning my head back, I just relaxed. I was tired from putting in work all day. No, Monique didn't know what I was doing in these streets, and I wanted to keep it that way. I worked a real job part time, but most of my time, I was on the block trying to come up. No, I wasn't no King Pin type of nigga, but I was out here making some legit money. It caused us to live good and for people to respect me as King.

Sitting up a little, I brought the beer up to my lips, I guzzled down the rest, and rested my head back on the back of the sofa. I could feel myself slowly drifting off. I knew eventually my body would shut down, and before I knew it, I was out like a light

"Lee, bring your bad ass over here right now," my father called out to me. I was scared as shit because I knew he would be laying his hands on me because I had been acting up in class.

Too scared to even take a step, I inhaled and made my way over to my father. It was as if with each step I took, my heart sped up. You would think I would be used to this, but I wasn't. I was terrified of him, and even when I tried my hardest to do right, I would still get in trouble for something. He would look at me and it was as if my face alone made him want to beat me. The more he abused me, the more my heart broke, while anger and hate were slowly building up inside me.

"Why the fuck do you keep acting up in class? You are driving me and your mother crazy," he calmly said while looking me up and down as he sat in his favorite recliner chair.

Shrugging my shoulders because I didn't want to give him the wrong answer, I instead, chose to stay quiet.

Whap! My father had caught me off guard with a hard hit to the back of the head.

"Open your damn mouth when I ask you a question. Why are you shrugging your shoulders? Speak!" my father shouted as I rubbed the back of my head trying not to cry.
I was around seven or eight-years-old, but he beat my ass daily like I was a grown ass man.

I guess I didn't answer him fast enough because he raised his hand up, balled his fist up extremely tight, and punched me in the chest which caused me to fall back and hit my head on the corner of the glass table, triggering me to have a seizure. Everything after that was a complete blur, except for the painful screaming and crying that was coming from my mom.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Bolting up, I looked around as I tried to catch my breath. I felt the same way I did when my father punched me in the chest that day. Trying to calm down, I slowly breathed in and out. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans and got up so I could open the door for whoever was knocking on the other side.

Those dreams were haunting me, hitting me harder and harder every time I closed my eyes. No matter how hard I tried to bury the shit, I was always reminded of it by the dreams that came and in haunted me more as time progress. My father wasn't a person I wanted to dream about or even think about for that matter. The damage he caused me is some indescribable shit. Did I miss him? Hell naw, but I do wish from time to time that he was a better father to me, but hey, life had dealt me a fucked up pair of cards that I just had to learn to deal with day by day. I still remember the ass whoopings vividly, and the scars are still etched on my body, even though I tried to cover them with tattoos, but it didn't stop me from forgetting that they were there or the anger and pain that I felt damn near every day.

I was now standing at the door trying to get myself together, rubbing my hand down over my face, sighing, I paused one last time, then opened the door.

"Damn, my nigga. You didn't hear me calling you?" My homeboy Dillon said once I opened the door.

"Naww, my nigga. I ended up passing the fuck out," I told him as I headed back into the kitchen because I needed another beer or a shot after that bullshit ass dream.

I hated those dreams, but I hated my father even more for the shit that he did to our family. Why wasn't I born into a normal ass family that did normal ass shit? I had to be born into a family with a crazy ass man that went around beating his son and wife for a living. I remember my mom hating my father just as much as I did, probably more than I did because she had the misery of dealing with him longer. Whenever my mom would speak up for the shit that he had done to me, she would be next. I could hear her crying and screaming out as he abused her just because she decided to speak up on his wrong doings. I guess my mom finally got tired of him because that night after we came from the hospital, she put me in the bed, and next thing I know, I heard gun shots ringing throughout our house. Thank God we didn't have neighbors, or my mom would probably be in jail. The way she calmly walked into my room with a slight smile on her face, she looked so relieved, even though she had just committed murder.

Grabbing me in for a hug, she whispered in my ear, "You're safe now, my love."

She then began to pack up our things and that night, we left and never looked back.

As a child, I felt like she had just saved me from the devil and felt like I owed her so much because she really did save me because who knows how far my father was going to really take it? I honestly think he would have killed me and her if she wouldn't have never gotten him first. I never spoke on it, not even to her because how do you muster up the courage to sit and have a conversation with your mother about how she murdered your father? I would rather not even go there. I just let it go because I was happy about not having to go through that type of shit again. I also remember passing by our old house about a week later to see that it had been burned down, so basically, my mother thought out her plan when she murdered him that night. Back then, I was grateful for it, and I still am, but I feel like even though he's gone, that nigga is still finding a way to torture me through his grave.

"Say, my nigga, what the fuck yo' clown ass over there thinking about. A bitch?" My homeboy interrupted my thoughts which caused me to look up at him.

"What, nigga?" I asked as I scrunched up my face and my top lip curved as I mugged him. It was purposely. I just wasn't in the mood for the extra shit.

"You heard me. I was over here talking to yo' ass about hitting up the club and you were in a different world."

"Oh, my bad, my nigga, but we can hit up a club or two," I said not really giving fuck.

"Ok bet. Well, see you later, my nigga, and whatever female it is that has your mind gone, bruh, just let her go. I can already tell she is not worth it. Stick to Monique; she's a good look," Dillon advised as he got up to leave.

"You right, my nigga," I played along with what he was saying because I would never let him know about my past. I was a stiff ass nigga that gave out ass whoopings. How could I tell my nigga that I was getting my ass beat? But one thing for sure was that he was right about me needing to let the shit go. It was causing me too much pain that also caused me to be angry. And nobody is safe when I am angry.

After chopping it up a little more with Dillion, he finally showed himself out, and now I had time to get my damn mind right. That shit with my dad was secretly destroying me.