Damn phone. The melodic sound of the repeating gospel ringtone was more like the plague at this point. I couldn't help but chuck it at the wall and watch small pieces of the screen fall to the ground. My brother Rick called me 20 times after I told him what happened. I plopped on the couch and grabbed the unopened bottle of Hennessy that sat next to the lumps on the floor. I chugged about half of the bottle and passed out shortly after the high kicked in.
Damn kids. I was awakened by their obnoxious laughs as they played outside in the courtyard of my apartment building.
Better their banter than the soon-to-follow chaos. I reflected back to my motherless childhood and became overwhelmed with joy at the memory of playing hide-and-go-seek with my brothers in our four-bedroom home. Man, what I wouldn’t give to go back to the beginning. If I knew then what I know now I’d probably be single with a goldfish or some other low maintenance pet.

"Claire, are you home?

I was jolted back to reality as Rick banged on my door.

“I know you’re scared. Please open the door."

The knocking grew louder, but he eventually left. There was always a side chick. Always. I'm tired of it. Who raised these chicks to think it's ok to lay up with a man for a couple of hours just for him to leave and go home to his woman? Excuse the language, but these niggas are idiots! He's a damn riot.
He had her in my shower! Can you believe that shit? I’m sure her nasty butt rubbed up against my new purple loofah. My neighbor Mrs. Harvey - nosiest person to ever have graced the earth - called me while I was at the gym. I had reached my 30-pound weight loss goal and purchased new dresses and lingerie. Asshole and I were supposed to have a beautiful weekend getaway up north when I got the call. I left my gym bag, didn't wipe down the treadmill and flew out of there like someone's uncle during a trap-house raid. All I saw was blood.

I could hear his sorry ass apology now. “Baby please", he’ll say but none of that is going to matter. We've been together for 5 years. He proposed to me last month with my damn family and close friends in attendance. I was so ready to become Mrs. Wright, but I am tired! He cheated two years ago and I forgave him. We saw a counselor and he promised it would never happen again as we discussed wall paint and bedroom decor.

I knew there was someone new but never in a million years did I expect that fool to have a chick in our place. Could I have called my sister Taylor? Yep. Was I going to? No. She definitely would have handled it - without a doubt - but I knew what had to be done and I wasn’t afraid to do it.

It took 10 minutes of what is usually a 25-minute drive from the gym to my place. I pulled into the complex, walked into the building and down the long beige-colored hallway and paced for a couple of minutes to gather my thoughts. Was I ready to be a martyr for love? Go out with a bang, right? I heard them laugh and as I reached into my bag to grab my pistol, I heard something frighteningly familiar.

I had gotten into a bar fight with a guy about 5 years ago. He touched Taylor’s ass and I don’t play that disrespect shit. The 7 years of boxing lessons my dad enrolled me in paid off. I pieced him up and Tay has called me Bumblebee ever since. She even bought me a bumblebee necklace and charm bracelet for one of my birthdays.

I stood outside of my apartment door and became filled with anger, hurt and confusion as I heard the chick who screwed my fiance ask if Bumblebee would be home soon. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. I pushed it open and pointed my revolver at the naked bodies that stood in the kitchen and fired two shots…


Copyright © 2016 By Jasmine D. Rivers.
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