Page 74 of Hellcat Barbies: Imani
“Yes, but why he do that?”
“He’s a mean and nasty man but don’t worry about it. We’re leaving. You want to go with me to my baking class; we’re making cheesecakes tonight. You okay with that?” I tell him trying to sound unbothered and calm but I’m neither of them. I’m pissed off and disgusted.
“Yea, I wanna go,” he says and I look over and see Mase is gone.
So, I look into my rearview and see that he’s back in his ride. He starts it then revs his engine back-to-back, louder and louder.He’s on some bullshit for real.So, I buckle my seatbelt and tell DJ to buckle his as well. Then, I pull out of the gas station. Mase follows and he is right on me, leaving no space between us. If I slam on my brakes, he’ll crash into me.
I don’t like this shit, at all. This lame ass nigga is on some fuck shit for something that happened months ago at a race. Everything that happened that night was in reaction to his inappropriate ones. Daymir knocked his ass out because he decided to act up after losing a race. He should’ve taken the lost and his fade from Daymir on the chin. Cornering me at a gas station and following me this damn close is too damn much. Losing or getting laid out for acting like a fool isn’t this serious.
“You got your iPad?” I ask DJ, preparing for whatever is about to go down. Mase is still on my tail and he’s actually narrowing the tiny space between us. In a second, I’m gonna try to pull off from him and lose him, but I don’t want to alarm DJ. I need him preoccupied on his iPad with headphones canceling out any noise.
“You gone tell my daddy?” he fires back.
“Tell him what?”
“That I took it to school,” he says in a low voice.
“No. I won’t tell. Do you have it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Then, take it out and put on your headphones,” I encourage, smiling to ease his concern.
DJ pulls his iPad from his backpack, powers it on, then puts on his headphones. As he does, my eyes dart from him to my rearview. Mase is still on my ass. I quickly change lanes and he’s still on me.
Shit! What the hell is he up to?
I look back over at DJ and he’s already caught up on one of the games Daymir allows on his iPad.Good.Now, I can drive like I want without scaring him because I got to get Mase off my ass.
When I see that the right lane is basically clear, without signaling, I grip my steering wheel, dart over into it, and floor it. My engine roars and I take off but so does Mase. His NISMO engine revs and he mimics my move. He’s right on my ass.
It’s after four now and traffic is starting to get thick, too thick for this shit. I’m already going 67mph in a 45; I need more speed to lose him and clearer roads to do that safely. In about three more blocks, I can take Kings Road. I would typically take Kings on some mornings when I was running late and needed to make up time to get to the hospital on time. There’s a long stretch with no stop signs.
As quick as I can, I switch lanes, speed pass two cars, then merge back into the right lane just in time to make a sharp turn on Kings. My baby rides so smooth that DJ doesn’t even feel the quick turn. The NISMO isn’t as smooth as my baby because when he makes the sharp turn after me, his tires screech and I can hear his engine when he shifts gears. Seconds later, he’s back on my ass, hugging my rear so I speed up, pushing my baby to 80mph.
Mase’s driving skills seem to have improved a little since our race and when I speed up, so does he. The two-lane road is thankfully clear so I decide to push my baby a little more to ditch this clown. However, he speeds up and pulls alongside me. We’re running neck and neck at damn near 100 miles per hour. My nerves are on ten. I’m not alone. It’s just not me and my baby. I have a passenger. DJ, and this isn’t a street race. Mase is playing a dangerous game and I don’t like this shit at all.
After glancing over at DJ, I turn back to Mase. He’s closer, the divide narrower, and the smirk on his face has turned into a cruel ass smile. Without warning, he swerves, his tires screeching as he slams into my side.
“Shit!” I cry, completely blindsided.
His metal is shrieking on mine and I fight hard for control of my baby but I’m losing, bad. The unexpected impact sends us skidding. My baby slides across my lane, sparking and smoking, before my front tires bite into the shoulder. I regain control on my steering wheel, slam my brakes, reach my right arm out to shield DJ, and we finally come to a hard stop on the grassy embankment.
“What the…shit! DJ! Are you okay?” I cry out, voice shaky and loud.
He doesn’t say anything; he just shakes his head feverishly as he removes his headphones. His head raises and he starts to look around. My hand moves to my chest and I exhale, trying to calm my pounding heart.
My emotions are all over the damn place. I’m thankful that neither one of us is hurt. I’m grateful that I didn’t slam into anybody or another vehicle but my blood is boiling.
This bitch ass nigga really just ran me off the road and could have killed us.
What the fuck!
With shaky hands, I call Daymir. Everything that I’d been suppressing since first seeing Mase’s NISMO parked behind mine at the gas station up until he ran us off the road surfaces the moment that I hear Daymir’s voice. All I can do is cry.
“Beautiful! Beautiful! What’s wrong?” he rushes out, alarmed by my frantic sobs.
Three hours later and the thick vein on the left side of Daymir’s neck is still throbbing and that menacing look is still on his face. My poor car has been towed to Dax’s Auto Repair and looks like she’ll be out of commission for a week or two. DJ is fine, full of the delivered dinner from Redmond’s Soul Food, and fast asleep in his room. My hands have stopped shaking, my heartbeat has normalized, and my body is starting to relax, thanks to a much-needed long hot shower and two 500mg ibuprofens. I’m lying in Daymir’s big bed waiting on him to join me.
