“I said Shivana baby. What you think I’m talking about? You stupid? … I’ll stay on your phone if I want to stay on your phone! You ain’t payin’ the bill no more you jailbird … you heard me … I called you a jailbird ’cause that’s exactly what you are … This bitch is Nakesha Murray, asshole, and you got my friend pregnant! Now what the hell you gonna do about it?”

She did her damage, then threw the phone at me.

“Leroy … it’s Shivana. Don’t listen—”

“Vana! This you? Who the fuck you got in my house? Who the fuck she think she talking to? I’m gonna break her neck … And what the fuck she mean yo’ ass is pregnant?”

“She was just playing …”

“No I wasn’t!”

“She better be. You bet not be pregnant… I don’t need this shit right now. I don’t need …”

“I know. I know … She was lying. I mean, I thought I was, but I’m not.”

“See, this what I’m talking about. Little silly young girls. That’s why I ain’t never take you nowhere. Don’t you know what I’m going through in here? I’m dying, Vana. I’m dying. Y’all gotta help me get out of here …”

“What he sayin’, girl?”

I ignored her.

“I know. I know you going through a lot. I’m not pregnant. She was just playing a joke.”

“Well I’m gonna make sure Renelle don’t pay you tonight ’cause y’all joking just cost me money.”

The phone went dead.

Red. All I saw was red. The black leather couch faded into the wall like blood oozing out onto a clean white floor. In my head I peeled Nakesha’s skin away to the meat. I charged her like I was a bull. Slammed her against the glass end table with its cheap, hollow, scratched, gold tin legs. The plastic black table lamp flew to the side. The table’s legs bent like spitty toothpicks under her weight, and the glass crashed against her back. She was screaming and crying, but not swinging. I put my hands around her neck and squeezed. She struggled, but she wouldn’t kick or swing. She wouldn’t even raise her voice. Softly, she begged.

“Let me go, Shivana … Stop it.”

I hit her head against the wall as glass crunched under my feet. The back of her head seemed as tough as the rubber soles of my shoes, because she wouldn’t even make the closemouthed hiss that usually followed a newly registered pain.

“Kick me!” I shouted. “I’ll let you go if you kick me.”

“No!”

“I said kick me, bitch! Do it… you owe me now …”

“No … I’m not doing it,” she sobbed.

“Well I’m not lettin’ you go then …”