Turner Project Chick

1. Auflage 2013
ISBN: 978-1-62675-002-9
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 217 Seiten

In the 10th anniversary of A Project Chick's original release, Nikki Turner, the New York Times Bestselling author, will take readers back to where it all began. This is A Project Chick exactly as it was written and edited 10 years ago, just as authentic and original but in digital form for the very first time.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Turner, Nikki

Leseproben

1

Another One Bites The Dust

Tressa weaved in and out of the slow moving traffic, swiftly trying to make her way up the Powhite Parkway. She watched the clock on the Pioneer tape deck like a hawk, every minute on the minute. She was fully aware time was not on her side. She looked ahead and noticed all the red brake lights in front of her, traffic had come to a screeching halt due to the construction of trying to add one more lane to the highway. Frustration was setting in as her twin boys both started to cry at the top of their lungs. Meanwhile, nothing was moving ahead of her. Lord, if I can just make it up to the Glenside Drive exit, I can hop off and take the scenic route home.

While sitting in the same spot for three minutes, almost one quarter of a mile away from an alternate exit, and after splitting one little Huggie juice evenly between the twins to try to quiet them down, Tressa never thought twice about hopping onto the median strip to get to the exit. The unpaved median strip was very uneven because of the construction, Tressa hit bump after bump. When she came to the end of the exit, she was unsure about which way to turn, left or right. I guess I’ll go right, because if I get on the main road, there will be plenty of traffic from the people who are avoiding the construction on the highway, plus there will be less lights.

A quarter mile away from the main road, Tressa could feel the bump, bump, bump, while going on a heavy shake, and then heard a loud roaring noise, on top of the twins crying, coming from her late model BMW station wagon. The car was slowing down as she steered to the side of the road. Shit !!!! She opened up the door and walked around the car. The back passenger tire had a flat.

“FUCK!!! A fucking flat!” She screamed.

When Tressa screamed, she startled the babies and they automatically stopped crying. She shook her head and stomped around to the driver’s side to get her cell phone so she could call her extremely, possessive, domineering, controlling, obsessive, deranged, jealous, boyfriend and childrens’ father, Khalil, only to realize that as of yesterday, she didn’t have a cell phone. Why? Because psycho Khalil broke it because she missed one of his calls when she was trying to put both of the twins in the car. It didn’t matter that she would call him right back. Not to mention that this was the second phone in the past month he’d broken and had to replace. Just last week, he broke her other cell phone while arguing with her about one of his “other” women that she found out about.

Now ain’t this some shit? This is some motherfucking shit!!!

Now, Tressa was no “Soccer Mom”, and if she had to be judged as one, she’d be considered the prissiest one the Soccer field would ever encounter. She had smooth, unblemished mahogany skin with a beauty mole over top of the right side of her lip. Her shoulder length black hair was always covered up with some type of flawless weave, in which the color, length and style, at any given time, were subject to change at least once a week. Wearing hair weaves was a skill she had mastered. Though she mostly dealt with hair on the track, she somehow learned how to run her fingers through her hair as if it was her natural hair. Tressa was 5’7", with long firm legs and a very shapely frame. Although she had just given birth to twins only twenty months before, childbirth had no bearing on her body. She possessed not one stretch mark, cellulite, roll or piece of flab on her entire body. It actually improved the size of her already firm B cup breast, and took her to a well-desired D cup. With that in mind, she purposely wore shirts that showed off her cleavage. Tressa naturally had a voluminous butt, which could stop traffic on any given day. With the combination of the way her hips fit right in with her small 27-inch waist, which actually enhanced her butt, she was declared a “brick house” at the early age of fourteen. Though Tressa was simply beautiful in the face and could have plainly pursued a career in modeling, her trademarks were her brick house shape and her lip-gloss, which gave her the sexiest lips in Richmond.

Tressa didn’t work, but she dressed everyday as if she was going to a job, heels and all, while pushing the baby carriage. She never left the house without being picture perfect. Her hair and makeup were on point, and whether the outfit was casual or formal, her appearance was put together as if she was a contestant in a beauty pageant.

Motherhood was a natural for Tressa. She handled those two chubby boys like they weighed 2 pounds each. Though she was only twenty years old, she was very responsible for her children. She took them everywhere she went, mainly because she didn’t have a choice. Psycho Khalil was not standing for anyone looking after his children except their mother. It was another one of Khalil’s ulterior motives. He felt if he stuck her with two young babies, gave her a station wagon to drive, an extravagant lifestyle and a phat engagement ring for her left ring finger, no one would want her. He thought, “What man in their right mind is going to want to even try to touch this ready-made family?” However, his role as husband and “daddy dearest” only applied when he was in the privacy of their home. Other than that, she was a single mother dressed up to look like a wife. That was one of the things in her life that she had no problem with, being a mother to HER kids.

Tressa wanted to be everything to her boys that her mother was to her, before being taken away from her. She could remember the last time she laid eyes on her mother. She was fifteen years old. It is a scene she tries to block out of her mind, but she recalls it when she needs to draw strength in order to be strong for her twins.

Tressa popped the trunk to get the spare out to change the tire. She hoped that she had some sneakers, by chance in the trunk to change into, but in all actuality she knew she didn’t. Shit, I knew I should have bought those Hurriache Nikes I seen in the damn mall. Nope, instead, I bought those Via Spiegel sandals. I just had to have those, didn’t I?

She tore the trunk up looking for the spare tire only to remember that Khalil had removed the spare tire, because he felt she didn’t need another guy to change the tire. That’s what he’d do. Tressa was sweating after taking all her bags, plus that heavy double stroller, out of the car. She was mad, frustrated, pissed off and had gotten dirt on her clothes from the flat tire. To top it off, her weave was sweating and getting out of place.

This nigga is so damn stupid. Now look at his kids and me, out here on the side of the fucking road with a damn flat in this prejudice white-ass neighborhood! I have no spare, no cell phone, and plus it’s getting dark. Now what kind of SHIT is this?

She shook her head first, sighed, took a deep breath and grabbed the stroller and started to assemble it. Once it was assembled, she pushed it around to the passenger side of the car and grabbed Lil Hadji out of the car, strapped him into the stroller and did the same thing with Lil Ali.

Ali, the more outgoing one asked. “Mommeee were we going?”

Hadji looked to his mother to answer his brother. Tressa kneeled down, and explained. “Baby, our car broke down and we have to go get help. So, mommy’s going to need you to be really good, and when we get to the store, I’ll get you a snack, OK?” Both boys agreed by shaking their heads and smiling.

Tressa grabbed the Gucci bag that she used for a diaper bag and her Gucci pocketbook to match. But before she put the pocketbook across her shoulders, she reached into it, grabbed her switchblade and put it in her pocket, and started out on her quest to the gas station. She kept telling herself that it wouldn’t be long before they got there. She began singing the Barney Song “I Love You, You Love Me” to the kids to make them feel more relaxed and to make the time go by. The kids began to sing with her.

She continued to sing as she thought to herself, God, please give me the strength to leave this simple man. God, you know I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Lord, please get this nigga out of my life. I don’t care if you make him get locked up, or make him just flee.. Pleeeaasse just let him find someone who can suck his dick so good and make him forget about us. I don’t even care about the money no more. I know this ain’t what you want for me Lord. Please Lord.

Her thoughts were broken within minutes when a few passerbys slowed up to ask her if she needed a ride. The first was two white men, they were a little too pressed to help. Her first thought was, could they be the KKK in disguise? Shoot, they were driving a white S-10 pick-up truck. The next was a man who looked like he could be either one of two things, cracked out or schizophrenic.

“Hey yo, you need a ride?”

“No, thank you, I am just going to this house just right up ahead.” Tressa said calmly, while grabbing her switchblade.

The third car, a spanking, brand new Range Rover with thirty-day tags on it, drove pass and pulled over up ahead of her. He parked on the side of the road, cut his car off and she saw him step out. He was a sharply dressed brother, if she must say so herself. He was wearing a chocolate brown silk suit with some light brown Ostrich skin shoes, with the belt to match. Without a doubt, he was dressed as clean as the board of health! By no means could his appearance...