The Kat Trap by Cairo

to give me a headache. A bitch needed a blunt! I reached into my Gucci bag and pulled out my stash. “Hand me a light,” I said, lettin’ out a deep disgusted sigh.
    “Oh, bitch, what…you too good to smoke with us?” Tamia asked.
    Chanel tossed me her lighter.
    “Basically,” I said, sparkin’ up.
    “Since when?” she asked with ’tude.
    I eagerly took two pulls, then held the smoke in my lungs before lettin’ it swirl up into my nose, and out of my mouth. Okay, this was startin’ to remind me of that game Truth or Dare. See, a bitch who ain’t ready to face the truth would rather be dared to do some off-the-wall shit, instead of facin’ shit dead-on. But a real live bitch is gonna give ya ass the truth and even take the dare as a bonus. Tamia’s raggedy-ass ain’t gonna do either ’cause the ho ain’t real with hers.
    “Since I don’t know where ya nasty-ass mouth’s been, that’s when,” I answered, blowin’ smoke up into the air.
    “Bitch, and I don’t know where yours been either,” Tamia stated, cuttin’ me the evil eye. “But that ain’t never stop us from blazin’together before. And now you wanna be on some new shit. Fuck ya snotty ass, then.”
    “Ya right. You don’t know where my mouth’s been. But you ain’t never heard no shit ’bout me either. You, on the other hand—”
    “Wait a minute, bitch!” she cut me off. “What the fuck is you tryna say? You ain’t heard shit ’bout me.”
    “Humph. We mighty defensive, aren’t we?”
    “I ain’t defensive ’bout shit,” she snapped.
    “Ain’t that special. Word on the streets is you got herpes,” I said, takin’ a long pull from my blunt. Everyone in the room almost chocked on their drinks and smoke.
    “Get the fuck outta here,” Chanel said, coughin’ and wavin’ the thick smoke outta her face. “Where’d you hear that bullshit?”
    “Naheem called me last night and said some nigga up there got peoples on the bricks sayin’ she gave it to ’em.”
    “Fuck that lyin’-ass nigga,” Tamia said defensively. She poured herself another drink. “He don’t know what the fuck I got.”
    I eyed her. “Well, what do you have?”
    “The same shit you got, bitch. Fuck is you talkin’ ’bout, tryna come at me on some bullshit. I’m real with mine, bitch.”
    “I seriously doubt it, ho!” I yelled at her. “You can say whatever the fuck ya want. But like I said before, you ain’t never heard no shit ’bout me from no niggas or bitches. Believe that. But you, bitch, ya name has always been all up ’n down the streets. Ya name was floatin’ all through the projects, ho. And you know it. So, please! You the one who had to start fuckin’ with them Queens and uptown niggas ’cause most of Brooklyn had already ran up in you. Then when ya name started floatin’ outta them niggas’ circles, you crossed over the water and started fuckin’ Jersey niggas. So, bitch, don’t even clown. If the Centers for Disease Control ever got word on how much dick mileage yapussy got on it, and the number of nuts dumped up in it, they’d have ya ass up on the Most Wanted Hoes list, so you can front if ya want.”
    “Fuck you, Kat!” She slammed her drink down onto the table. “You act like ya ass is so fuckin’ on point. You got dirt under ya nails and rug burns on ya back, too, bitch.”
    I laughed. “Uh-huh, I sure do. But I don’t have blisters on my pussy, bitch. See, the difference between you and a bitch like me is I know how to move. And, you, you real sloppy with your shit. Because you rockin’ a few labels now don’t mean shit ain’t still poppin’ off ’bout ya nasty ass. But I tell ya what. Since you so real with yours, ho, how many niggas used ya fuckin’ throat to plant their nuts in, huh, you dirty bitch?”
    “That’s none of ya muhthafuckin’ business.”
    “Oh, really?” I asked. “Since when? It never stopped ya ass in the past. Now all of a sudden who ya fuckin’ ain’t nobody’s