Pointe of No Return: Giving You All I Got (7 page)

“But I want it, Papa.”

Papa wasn’t listening to shit she was saying. He wouldn’t be blessing her with the dick tonight. He was high and chilling and young Demi needed to get with the program.

“How many girls do you talk to?” she finally asked him. The silence they laid in was killing her.

Papa pulled on his blunt before reaching up to dip it in the ashtray, which caused Demi to have to get up.

“Why does that matter if I’m here with you right now?” he asked her.

“Don’t give me that here in the moment crap.”

Papa laughed. Demi had got him with that one.

“I’m serious,” she told him.

“I don’t talk to nobody, for real,” he answered.

“But why?” she asked.

“What you mean why?” He hoped this didn’t turn into an argument. The vibe was perfect and he wanted it to stay that way. “I just don’t. I’m focused.”

Demi wished there was more light in the room. She wanted to see his eyes, read his facial expressions, and study his body gestures.

“So, what are we doing if you’re so focused?” Demi threw air quotations around focused.

Papa asked, “Ain’t you focused too, don’t you start school soon?”

Demi told him, “yes.”

“Alright then, so we are both hustling right now.”

Demi wouldn’t correct him, although she definitely wasn’t hustling. She kept her mouth shut and lay back down. Papa strummed her spine with his fingers.

“It’s worth the wait,” she whispered.

Papa nodded. “Oh trust me, Demi, I know.”

He would capture her heart and her pussy right when she least expected it, and once Demi became his, well, that’s all there was to it.

5

“Is that shit supposed to look like that?” Papa stared at Demi’s big toe.

Demi pulled her foot back. She was so embarrassed and wanted Papa to get out of her face. Demi had an intense practice. No, intense wasn’t the best word to use. She had an “I’m going to kill myself” kind of practice. She felt like her mother was punishing her for being away from home so much. All week Dorane had been barging in Demi’s bedroom without knocking and waking her up way before dawn to stretch and run. Demi felt like she was being hazed. Her mother barked at her during her practices and constantly talked down on her.

You’re lazy Demi, jump up! You must want to be in the back of the line.

I would never make that move; you’re horrible.

Demi keep your head up while you leap, are you stupid?

Demi

Demi

Demi

Demi was beyond tired of hearing her name being called. As soon as her practice came to an end, she stormed out of the studio, not bothering to go in the house and get her cell phone or take a bath. She hopped in her car and since she normally left the keys in the cup holder, she peeled off in less than five minutes.

She went by Papa’s uncle’s house, but he wasn’t there so she made her way to his loft. Demi parked her car in the guest lot and took the steps to his unit. Already being familiar with the codes and such, Demi granted her own access into the loft. She was too scared to go up the steps and tell Papa she was there so she pulled out a blanket, one of the few things she purchased for the time she spent at Papa’s house, out of the linen closet and crashed on the couch.

Demi was now wide awake and fresh out of Papa’s shower and here he was staring at her bloody toe.

“Papa,” she said, in an irritated tone.

He ignored her and pulled her foot back to his lap and played with the dried blood around her toe.

“Ouch!” She winced in pain.

“What happens when you get old? Are you gon’ be able to wear sandals? Your feet getting ugly and you only eighteen,” he said.

Normally, Demi would have been offended, but she knew Papa was serious about his line of questioning and meant no harm. He was
really
asking her a question.

“My mom pops pills like candy. Her legs, hands, feet everything is always in pain, especially when it’s raining,” Demi told him.

“But I don’t want you to be like that, what else you wanna do?” he asked her, massaging her “ugly feet”.

“Nothing but dance,” she told him.

Papa didn’t understand just how serious she took ballet. They talked about it all the time, but she felt like once he saw her in action he would see where she was coming from. Dance was her life. Demi didn’t give a damn if her feet turned purple, she would dance until she couldn’t leap or twirl any more. Nothing else sparked her interest like the art behind creating a routine and bringing life to music. Dance was her therapy, her outlet from everything she was going through.

“Have you ever killed someone?” she asked.

Papa dropped her foot and got up. He despised her questions, and that she always came out of left field with them irritated him even more.

“Demi, what’s with the questions?”

“It’s just a question, why you gotta stop rubbing my feet?” she pouted and lay back on his pillows.

“You be using me, man,” he laughed, towering over her body and resting on her stomach.

“Move Papa, you’re heavy,” she complained.

Papa ignored her and kissed her nose, “You smell good.”

“I used your body wash,” she chuckled.

Papa shook his head. “You’re a mess.”

“Are you busy today?” she asked.

Papa told her, “not until my phone rings.”

“Well, can we go get some chicken and collard greens?” she asked.

“I’ll go get it, you keep rubbing them toes.” Papa smooched her lips and hopped up to throw something on.

Demi said, “Hurry back, I miss you already.”

Papa winked at her as he put last night’s jeans back on and tucked his gun.

Demi’s heart skipped a beat every time she saw him with that gun in his hand. 

“Be careful,” she told him.

Papa looked down at the gun and hated that she had to see him with it, but the truth was that the gun was a part of who he was. Hell, his name alone came from how he handled the glock.

Papa went nowhere without his gun. If his gun couldn’t come, then hell, he wouldn’t be going either.

“No need to worry,” he consoled her.

“I’ll always worry about you,” she said, looking down. Demi hated her feelings for Papa; she liked him so much. They spent so much time together and she was slowly turning him into her best friend, and the “B” word. Boyfriend.

Whenever Papa’s phone rang he would tell whoever was on the other line that he was chilling with his girl, so Demi assumed she was his “girlfriend”.

Papa put the gun on the floor and went back to the bed. He needed all fear to flee from Demi’s mind. Papa didn’t want her to be scared to be with him or always worrying about him. He didn’t live life like that. Demi always said shit like, “Be safe” which made Papa think she expected the worst to happen to him just because he told her he was heavily involved in the streets.

If Papa had to be nervous or scared about what the fuck he did then he needed to find another profession, because in these streets niggas died every day. Papa kept his gun tucked and his chin held high. He didn’t live in fear and although he wasn’t the most religious person, he knew God wouldn’t put anything on him he couldn’t handle.

“Look at me ma,” he told Demi with her chin in his hand.  “I’m the nigga in these streets,” he told her seriously.

Demi laughed because only Papa would say something like that. The line sounded as if it came from one of those movies he loved to watch while she read.

“Really, Papa?” she said.

Papa batted those long eyelashes, unknowingly, as he tried to get her to understand how serious he really was. Demi had no idea who she was sleeping next to at night. Papa was one the founding fathers of The Underworld. In the streets, that was big shit.

“I’m serious,” he told her.

Demi didn’t want to talk about that so she fanned him away. “Okay, I got you, you’re that n
igga,
” she said in a
Clueless
tone that only she could use, and Papa thought it was the sexiest thing ever.

Papa knew he couldn’t keep being around her in these sports bras and panties without bending her lil ass over. Demi told him it was his whenever he was ready, but Papa knew she was just caught up in the moment and talking shit.

“Let me go, the sooner I leave the quicker I can get back,” he said.

Demi chucked him the deuces and went back to icing her knee and nursing her toe.

Papa checked his surroundings before hopping in his truck. No one knew where he stayed, but he would never be caught slipping. The first day he thought shit was cool would be the day he got caught up. Papa returned a call since he was away from Demi.

“Why do you keep calling me?” was the first thing he said once the girl answered the phone.

Papa didn’t do that blowing my phone up shit. Whether he was laid up with Demi or not, he didn’t like aggravating females.

“Why haven’t you been answering?” Mocha asked.

“What do you want?” He ignored her question and asked one of his own.

“Papa, what’s up with you?” she whined into the phone.

He used to think her voice was so sexy, he didn’t know when that changed.  Oh yeah he did, that night in the Hamptons when he met Demi Westbrook.

Papa wasn’t stunting Mocha’s gold digging ass. He knew the only reason she was calling was to see why she hadn’t seen him in the strip club. It was no secret that Papa damn near paid all her bills and made sure she had no worries.

“Been busy. You know how that shit go,” he told her.

Mocha smacked her lips. “I wanna see you, I miss you.”

Papa rolled his eyes. “I’ll fall through,” he said, anything to get her ass off the phone.

“When, Papa?” she asked, knowing he was lying.

“You’ll hear the knock,” he said and hung the phone up.

Mocha was a good piece of pussy and she knew it. She wanted nothing from Papa, but dick and a few bands once the night came to an end. She didn’t know his first or last name and didn’t care to know it.

Papa made his way to the hood to pick up food for him and Demi. He wasn’t really sure why he stopped at the gas station to get a pack of Magnums, but he did anyway, just in case.

Once he made it back in, he called Demi downstairs so they could eat.

“You wanna use my phone to call your folks?” he asked her for the third time.

Demi told him, “No thank you.” She pulled the contents from the container and made her a hefty helping of food. Demi was famished and planned on cleaning her plate and licking her fingers afterwards.

“It’s about to rain,” Papa told her, with his mouth full of food.

“Does it kill you to swallow your food before speaking?” she asked. Papa opened his mouth and Demi cringed at the sight.

“Papa!” She covered her eyes as he erupted into laughter. “Not funny,” she said throwing a chicken wing at him.

“Aye, it’s niggas starving, don’t be throwing no food,” he scolded.

Demi ignored him and continued eating. “What’s that?” she asked, eying the gold package peeking from the brown paper bag.

“Condoms,” he told her. Papa would never lie or play her. Demi didn’t deserve that from him.

“For whom?” she questioned. Demi wondered when the time would come, but she stopped expecting it. In the meantime she enjoyed his company, but she made it obvious that whenever he wanted it, he could have it. In her heart Demi felt like she was more than ready.

“Apparently me, I’m the one with the dick,” he said.

“Yes of course. But are they for us or for someone else?” she asked, not knowing if she could handle whatever answer he threw at her.

“Ain’t nobody else,” he told her, reassuringly.

“You don’t have to lie,” she told him. Demi didn’t need to be pacified.

“You’re right, I don’t have to lie to you and I won’t,” he told her.

Demi asked her question again. “So are those for us?”

Her friends wondered what was taking Papa so long to bust her cherry.  They were all waiting on the text to hit their group message that Little Miss Perfect Demi was no longer a virgin.

Papa laughed. “Chill baby, you need some water?” he joked. Papa knew Demi’s lil hot ass wanted the dick, but the time would come when she least expected it.

Demi turned her head in embarrassment. She never wanted him to think she was being thirsty. Demi assumed that Papa considered her fragile, unable to manage her emotions, but she could promise him that wasn’t the case. Demi wouldn’t become some lovestruck teenager, or so she thought.

“Papa, do you take me serious, like do you take us serious?” she asked.

Papa bit into a chicken wing sprinkled with hot sauce. Demi and her questions. Never had he met a female who asked as many questions as Demi.   He couldn’t kiss her without her asking him if he liked the kiss.

“Yeah I do,” he told her.

“But why?” Demi pressed for more information.

“Ride the wave, Demi.”

Demi didn’t know what the hell “ride the wave” meant. Did that mean shut the hell up and eat your soul food? Was that a translation for enjoy my time and I’ll enjoy yours and when it’s over it’s just over? Or worse, did that mean this was a summer fling and once the summer came to an end so would their time together?  Demi wanted to scream from the top of her lungs
, I don’t want to ride the wave, I want to ride your dick.
But she knew she wouldn’t dare be so crass.

Demi Westbrook wasn’t raised to talk that way, but Papa brought out emotions and feelings she never knew existed. Even when they weren’t together and his low and husky voice was heard over the phone, Demi wanted him near. The way he answered the phone to check on her, it was all in his tone, his demeanor, and his character too. Demi loved him from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.

She didn’t care that he didn’t discuss his family with her, nor did she know if he was a dead man walking. Demi would unknowingly sacrifice it all to be with him, everything except dance. Over the past few weeks she had basically said to hell with her parents and their damn rules. Demi was over the social gatherings. Eating cookies and drinking tea with her mother wasn’t appealing anymore nor was having sleepovers in her parents’ room, watching movies and eating low calorie ice cream.

Demi would rather ride around with Papa, have dinner with Papa, lay in the dark and make out with Papa, and do other naughty things that somehow never led to sex. But still the fact remained that being with Papa was quite enticing.

Demi knew she was changing, she heard her conscious warning her that everything was transforming, but she tuned it out. She was enjoying herself, because come August her life would consist of dance, dance, and more dance.