Stripping Asjiah II by Sa'Rese Thompson. Page A

an abortion. I‟m too far along, no doctor will touch me.”
“Then do that shit yourself.” LT‟s eyes were dark as coal as he stared back at her emotionless.
“Do it myself? Are you fucking serious?” Stacey quicklyput her coat on and got up, “I‟ll make sure to send Angel the ultrasound picture and let him know that it‟s yours.”
“Sit yo‟ ass down.” Grabbing her wrist he yanked her back into the plastic chair. “You ain‟t gonna do shit. Wanna know why?”
She snatched her arm away and turned her back to him.
“If you tell Angel what went down he‟s gonna put two and two together. Yeah, he may buy the whole I raped you bit for a second but then he‟s gonna realize that the only person who could‟ve told me about his connect was you. And then what do you think your dark knight is gonna do?”
Stacey‟s defeat began to settle in as her eyes started to create real tears.
“What‟s wrong baby girl?” LT‟s chair made a screeching noise as he slid it across the floor so that he was sitting directly in front of her.
“What, did you think I was gonna take care of you? Did you think I was gonna wife you once you told me you were pregnant? You didn‟t think I really liked you did you?”
“You weren‟t shit to me but a nut, a pretty piece of garbage that Angel dressed up in expensive, designer labels. I just wanted to see what that shit was hitting for, if it was as good as I thought it was.”
Stacey sat in silence as she tried to think of something to say but the only thoughts she was having were those of shame and humiliation. She had driven all the way up here thinking that her pussy would prevail and that he would succumb to her needs but instead she had stepped in an arena where there was no room for little girls and childish games. This wasn‟t the sandbox and she was no longer in kindergarten trading kisses for Twinkies, the stakes were much higher and unfortunately for her, she had just crapped out.
    T he correctional facility looked more like a detention center or a reform school rather than a prison. I was expecting dudes with bowl cuts and matching uniforms to jog down the street chanting some rhyme that repeated the phrase “sound off”.
    I didn‟t know the details of Angel‟s sentence, but I did know my brother didn‟t belong here. Prison was supposed to house hard core criminals; pedophiles, rapists; niggas like Cash.
    It was for embezzlers, arsonists, serial killers, murderers; people like my father.
Angel was none of those things. Sure, he sold crack and I could see why some might frown upon his profession but he had a legitimate reason for doing so. You may not feel that way, but just in case you haven‟t been paying attention; I really don‟t give a shit.
I don‟t have time to debate everyone‟s opinion of my brother‟s lifestyle; because someone is always going to have one, and just like assholes, they‟re usually full of the same thing that comes out of them.
It‟s funny how older people can turn their noses down at us and point fingers but they were doing the same things when they were younger.That‟s all they did was have sex and get high, where do you think all of us came from? Hell, the majority, if not all of Angel‟s clients had been junkies since the seventies. He simply became part of a phenomenon that was going to continue to thrive with or without him.
Unfortunately along the way a few people died due to the treatment he provided to aid their addictions; but if it wasn‟t from the rock candy that they smoked or shot into their veins, it was going to be by some other vise of their choice.
You see, my brother never really had one of those; a choice that is, he wasn‟t given a fair chance; he had to hit the ground running and if that meant cooking up coke in order to put food in his mouth, so be it. He wasn‟t like these wanna be dope boys out here who did it for the attention, the money, or because they thought it was going to bring them pussy by the