That Girl Is Poison

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Authors: Tia Hines

BOOK: That Girl Is Poison
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That Girl Is Poison
Tia Hines
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Prologue
“Ouch!”
“Just be quiet! I'm almost done, I think.”
“You're hurting me! It hurts!”
“It's supposed to hurt. Now shut up!”
I closed my eyes, wishing this nightmare would soon come to an end. The pain beyond pleasure, it was horrific! My pelvis pulsed, and my vagina screamed. I tried to lock my legs to take away the pain, but it wasn't working. I was too scared to yell, as his threat of making this more painful had frightened me.
“Don't move! Stop moving! Shit!” he whispered unpleasantly in my ear.
“Oooouch!”
He slapped me across my mouth to literally shut me up. The palm of his hand had the stench of a musty skunk, and it made me nauseous. I tried to make myself throw up, but I couldn't concentrate hard enough.
He kept forcing himself inside of me as I lay there lifeless, sobbing, my tears soaking his pillow. I wanted to close my eyes but in the weirdest way I thought if I did my life would be over. I thought I was going to die. So I watched my rapist take control of me, all the while anticipating when this violation would be over.
I watched as he closed his eyes, enjoying himself at my expense, while I lay there helpless, a stranger to this world of intercourse.
Then the pain. Oh, the pain. It increased as this child of a man began to ram his short stump-of-a-pencil penis in my other hole, where I was sure pleasure didn't lie. He started going crazy like he was having a seizure, while I lay there, eyes all bugged out, in pain and scared.
All of a sudden the pressure eased up. Then I felt moisture as he withdrew himself from me, still covering my mouth and now gripping my neck with his other hand.
“You better not tell anybody about this, because I swear I'll get you! You better not tell! This is our secret, understand?”
I responded quickly, shaking my head up and down slowly, hoping not to piss him off any further. He released my throat, uncovering my mouth, leaving me on the bottom bunk like a crushed can unfit to be recycled for a measly five cents.
I lay in a nasty wet puddle that, after a while, became a dried-up dirty stain on the sheet. My virgin temple had been violated on all grounds by a boy twice my size and three years older. He left me with soiled panties and a secret never to tell.
 
 
That wasn't the first time a man-boy predator, or whatever “Godly” creation of the human race, put his hands on me. My first time experiencing what I knew was supposed to be a loving, passionate, intimate feeling was the worst, and the second time didn't make it any better, because I had caught an STD. It was nothing big though, just syphilis, which cleared up in a few weeks.
The third time I had sex, I got hit with genital warts. Damn! No doctor could cure that! Yeah, go ahead and say it, “Damn! Either she is a dirty bitch, or she is messing with some dirty nuccas,” because all of the above is correct.
Yup, that fourth time of sexual healing, I got pregnant, and the prince charming that knocked me up gave me HIV. Yeah, that's right, HIV that causes AIDS, the deadly, incurable disease. I'm still standing though. No deadly turns over here. Not yet, at least. And, hopefully, not until I infect some people.
That's right. I'm handing down the virus to the young, dumb, and stupid. What? You think something's wrong with that? Gimme a break! If the cigarette companies can legally kill people with their deadly ingredients, then passing on something that was given to me is perfectly permissible.
It ain't my fault that people are too naïve and not health conscious. Bet you can't even remember the last time you had a checkup or, better yet, an HIV test. Got you thinking, huh?
Oh yeah, by the way, my name is Desire, and I'm a sixteen-year-old on the grind, about to take you on a journey. I suggest you buckle up because you're going on a serious roller coaster. This is my story, my song. My desire to burn.
Chapter 1
The evening after my sixth grade graduation, my mother decided she didn't want me anymore. How nice, huh. I was devastated that day, which I remember very clearly.
Graduation commenced, and everyone went back to my uncle's house. My mother had told me she would be leaving me for an hour or two to set up this big surprise for me at home. I was anxious and excited.
I quickly came down from that high. I got a surprise all right. The surprise of her not coming back. I practically stayed up all night waiting for her to come get me, but she never showed. Uncle Frank had to break the bad news.
He wheeled in the living room as I sat up on the couch, anxiously flipping from channel to channel, thinking what my big surprise could possibly be.
“Desire, I have something to tell you.”
I directed my attention to Uncle Frank. Hearing a tremble in his voice, I had a strong feeling that whatever he was about to say was going to be bad.
“Your mom . . . she's . . . she, ah . . .”
My eyes quickly watered, and my first thought was death. I thought my mother was dead, y'all. I had a horrific picture of her being killed in a car crash or something. I don't know why I thought the worst, but I did. The image disappeared quickly though when my uncle got his words out.
“Desire, your mother is not coming back for you.”
“What about my surprise?”
“There is no surprise, baby. Your mother lied.”
I sat there not really processing what was being told to me, stuck on the “no surprise.” “So there's no surprise?”
“I'm sorry, Desire.”
I sat mute for a bit, looking down at the floor. Then I looked up at Uncle Frank.
He must've noticed the confused look on my face. “Desire—”
“Why'd she lie? I didn't ask for the surprise. She just told me she had one.”
“I know, baby, but—”
“Just forget the surprise. When is she coming to get me?”
“Desire, that's what I'm trying to tell you. She's not coming back to get you. You're going to live here now.”
My eyes teared up. “She's not coming to get me?” I whispered aloud.
“No, honey, I'm afraid not.”
Teardrops hit my cheeks. “I'm—I'm going to live here?”
“Yes, your mother left town.”
“And when she comes back, I'm going home, right?”
“Desire, she's not coming back.”
There it was. The moment of truth that nearly knocked me to my knees. My mother had skipped town and left me behind.
I didn't mind much because I loved my uncle and his wife, especially his wife. Both of them treated me like a princess. Every time my mother and I went to visit, Aunt Linda always had something for me. She was the sweetest thing. Until I started to live there.
Uncle Frank remained the same, but my sweet ol' Aunt Linda turned into the bitch from hell. She was so mean to me, her gifts couldn't even be cherry-coated on Christmas. Why and how she did a 360, turning into the wicked witch overnight, was beyond me. It was bad, though. She put the
h
in hate.
Uncle Frank tried to make up for her wicked ways, but it wasn't enough to overcome her evilness. She needed to down some holy water from Jerusalem because, I swear, she was the Devil's daughter and I was her slave.
I was eleven and cleaning house like I owned a maid service minus the employees. I had to do everything. It was crazy. The lady was trippin'.
My Fridays were set out for me. I'd get up, go to school, come home, and literally become the live-in maid. I hated it. I mean, yes, I understood that chores teach responsibility and cleanliness, but there is a difference between being taught responsibility and being treated like a slave.
She can swear up and down she was preparing me for the real world and teaching me responsibility, but come on, who was she fooling? I mean, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that she was just being a mean old lady. Not saying that Auntie Linda wasn't smart because, no doubt, she was. She knew exactly what she was doing, and I say it was plain cruelty. She had strict rules, a nasty tongue, and a quick backhand.
But getting back to Friday, I had to sweep and hand-mop the kitchen floor, bathroom floor, and the living room floor. In addition to that, I had to dust the living room and everything in it, vacuum the four bedrooms, change the sheets on all beds, make sure the dishes were washed, and put away all the laundry. Can you imagine that happening every single Friday?
And, God forbid, I ask to do something without doing my chores. All hell would break loose. I barely could go anywhere anyway, so what was the point? Most of the time I was a homebody. I was allowed to go outside in the front yard but not outside the gate.
Then there were times when I was allowed to hang out at Jen's house. It was mostly trying to get there on the weekend because, since it was summer time, Jen went to overnight camp during the week. I must say, though, it wasn't always hard getting to Jen's house. It just depended on Auntie Linda's mood, and you know most of the time, her mood was shot to shit.
I remember this one particular Friday night. I went downstairs all happy-go-lucky to ask Uncle Frank if I could go over Jen's house.
“Uncle Frank, I finished my chores. Can I stay the weekend over Jennifer's house?”
“Sure, I don't see why not.”
“Well, I do, and the answer is
No
! You stayed over there last weekend.”
“Naaw, that was two weekends ago.”
“Two weekends, three weekends, it's the same thing. You ain't going. The answer is No!”
You don't know how bad I wanted to rip Auntie Linda's tongue out. Who told her to mind my business? I wanted to curse her out, but I remained respectful and stayed in a child's place. I did not follow up the conversation with a why-I-couldn't-go, or pop an attitude. I simply went into my bedroom, laid on the bed and cried. It was one of those hurtful cries too. You know, the one where you're shaking and you take the quick three breaths, and then exhale slowly. Yeah, it was that type of cry.
I lay there sobbing for about ten minutes, thinking, maybe if they heard me going at it that long, they would change their minds and let me go. My plan didn't work though. I was left up in my room to drown in my own tears. Oh well, I got over it quickly.
I built up a few courage balls and worked up enough nerve to go back downstairs to ask again. I was being bold now, 'cause, usually, once my aunt said no, that was that. There was no asking again. But, for some reason, I failed to take no for an answer that night. I guess I wanted to go that bad. Shoot, for what happens when I get over there though, I should have stayed my ass at home.
But, anyway, when I went back downstairs, my aunt was in the kitchen. My uncle was in the living room by himself.
“Uncle Frank,” I begged, in almost a whisper, making sure Auntie Linda couldn't hear, “can I please go over Jennifer's house?”
“What did Linda tell you, Desire?” Uncle Frank asked in a you-know-better tone.
“She said no but—”
“But nothing! You know when she says no, I cannot go over her head. You know better than that.”
“I know, but please, Uncle Frank . . . I did all of my chores.”
“No, Desire!”
“Pleeeeeeeease, Uncle Frank? What did I do?” I begged, questioned and cried at the same time.
“You didn't do anything.”
“Then why can't I go? She's supposed to be having a sleepover this weekend, and I'm going to be the only one not there.” Jennifer wasn't having a sleepover, but I had to say anything to get over there. I needed a breather from that hellhole I was in.
My uncle looked at me and sucked his teeth while I gave him the sad puppy-dog face.
“All right, go pack your bag. Hurry up!”
“Thank you, Uncle Frank,” I exclaimed, joyously hugging and kissing him.
“Yeah, yeah.” He smiled, just as happy as I was.
That was my Uncle Frank. Got to love that man. He did have my back sometimes. I wish he could have had it all the time, but you know that was impossible with his devilish wife and her hellish ways. Ugh, she stirs up anger every time I think about her.
But, anyway, I ran up the stairs to my room. My bag was already packed. All I had to do was grab my toothbrush, slip on my sneakers, throw on my coat, and lug my stuff downstairs. I was too happy to get out of the house. I pranced down the stairs with my overnight bag in hand.
“Where you think you going?”
Oh yes, Auntie Linda was on my tail, but don't worry, it didn't blow my high. “I'm going to Jennifer's house,” I answered proudly.
“Says who?”
“Uncle Frank,” I replied with a smile.
Auntie Linda stormed into the living room. “Frankie, you told this girl she could go over that fast-ass girl's house after I already said no?”
Uncle Frank put his head down, sighed aloud, and there went the arguing.
Arguing was the theme of the house, and guess who it was over? Me. It drove me crazy with all the yelling and screaming and this-and-that, going back and forth. No wonder I was damn near insane at the time. It was like there was no end to an argument always starting because of me. It made me feel like such an outcast.
I contemplated running away plenty of times, but at eleven years old, it remained just that, a thought. I had nowhere to go anyway, and even if I did have somewhere to go, I had no money. So what was the point? Besides, I didn't know the first steps of running away. All I knew was that Jen's house was my salvation, and I didn't want to do anything to mess that up.
Auntie Linda unwillingly dropped me off at Jennifer's house that night. You should have seen the look on her face. She was pissed, while I was smiling from ear to ear. She was so pissed, she didn't even wait for me to get in the house after she let me out of the car. I barely got my overnight bag out before she peeled off. It was cool with me, though. I was where I wanted to be, at my getaway spot, Jen's crib.
Let me tell you, Jen's house was the peace spot. The atmosphere there was refreshing. There was no cleanup, no attitudes, no frustration, no nothing. Her mother was a single parent raising only Jen and her fourteen-year-old brother. She was a charming lady to get acquainted with. I think that's why I loved it over there so much.
Her mother kind of reminded me of the good times me and my mom had when she was around. She often made me miss my mom, but then again, she made me want to forget her too. The memory was too painful. So Jen's mom ended up being the replacement.
I got to Jen's house that night around nine o'clock, the time I would have been forced to be in bed at home. As soon as I stepped foot in the door, my nose caught the aroma of brownies in the air. Oh, her mother's baking was the bomb. She sure did know how to treat a sweet tooth.
I threw my bag down and embraced Jen's mom like she was my own. Then I made my way to Jennifer's room to greet her. I caught her in the middle of playing dress up, and of course I joined in. Her mother was good for letting us mess in her clothes and dabble in her makeup. We pranced around that night as if we were America's next top models. To add to the excitement, we stuffed our faces with brownies, baked chocolate chip cookies, cheese Doritos, and drank pitchers of red Kool-Aid until our stomachs could handle no more. My stomach ached so bad, that night I could hardly sleep.
I woke up the next morning sick as a dog. I was vomiting, and I had the “runs.” Jen's mom gave me something to settle my stomach, while I vowed never to eat junk food again. I stayed 'sleep for pretty much the entire morning, until Jen's mom enforced shower time. There was no question about getting up then. I needed a good shower anyway, since I had been doing number three all morning.
I was first up for the shower while Jen did the routine wake-up thing—the brushing of the teeth and the washing of the face. I'd skipped that step, since I was first up for the shower. I figured I'd get my face in the shower and brush my teeth after. Nothing was wrong with that, right? I was still going to get what I needed done.
I slipped off my nightgown and pulled my underwear off. Embarrassment set in. I quickly hid from Jen's view and examined the seat of my underwear. Can you believe my eleven-year-old ass had shit stains in my underwear. Yes, disgusting I know, and the sight for me was worse, but hey, it's the truth. I thought I'd wiped myself good but apparently not. It was no big deal though. I discretely balled up my stained undies, tossed them in the corner, and threw my nightgown over them.
I hopped in the shower like it was nothing and was in there for about thirty minutes. That was probably the best shower in my life. Seriously, I ain't joking. At home, Auntie Linda was on that one-minute-shower rule. Have you ever heard of a one-minute shower? How the hell was I supposed to get clean on a time restraint that short? She was trippin', but it was another rule I had to abide by. I would get in, count to sixty while doing my do, and get out. But at Jen's house it was a different story. I took advantage of the fact that I could stay in the steamer longer, until Jen's mom threatened to make me pay the water bill. I got my black ass out of there after that. I didn't waste any time getting dressed neither.

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