Array Ashley - Tale of the Murda Mamas

Miamor walked over to Young Carter. His silence was killing her. “Please, say something!” she begged.

Carter didn’t even feel himself react until it was too late.

Smack!

His rage took over, and he slapped her with such force that it sent her flying to the ground. She instantly tasted the salty blood that oozed from her busted lip.

Carter stormed over to the nightstand where he had stored his gun. Miamor’s eyes grew large when she saw him approach her with it in his hands. He loaded the clip and cocked it back, then knelt down over her. With tears in his eyes, he grabbed her hand forcefully. “Take the gun, bitch!” he mumbled through clenched teeth as he held the barrel up to his chest while she gripped the handle. “You wanted to get back at The Cartel that bad? Do you know how many innocent people you’ve hurt? Pull the trigger, Miamor. I am The Cartel! Now is your chance!”

Miamor lay beneath Carter with the gun in her shaky hands. “Carter, don’t do this!” she beseeched.

“Kill me, you grimy bitch! This is what you wanted. I told you I’d give you anything. You wanted this, so I’m giving it to you.” Carter was so livid that he was foaming at the mouth, and his grip was so tight on her hand that it felt like her bones would crush from the pressure.

Miamor had never let anybody test her or even speak to her in such a way. Carter was pulling her card, and her murderous instincts clicked back in slightly as she glared into his eyes. He was challenging her, calling her bluff, daring her to shoot him. This mu’fucka must not know, she thought as her nostrils flared. Miamor was like a pit bull. When she was docile, she was one of the most loyal and gentle creatures in the world. But when provoked, something inside of her snapped, and once she clicked on, it was very hard to turn her off.

Miamor’s finger wrapped around the trigger, but when she looked into the eyes of the man she loved, she could not bring herself to finish what she had started. Too many things had changed. Her heart wasn’t as cold as it used to be. “I can’t!” she wept. “I can’t!”

Carter snatched the gun from her and put it to her head, pressing it point blank range as his finger danced on the hair trigger. Hatred and betrayal was in the air as he contemplated ending her life. She had peeled away at his outer layers, the same way that he had done to her. They had penetrated each other’s souls, which is why her treachery stung so much. He knew that he should kill her. She deserved to die, but not at his hands. He threw the gun across the room as he arose to his feet. “Get the fuck out,” he said calmly, but Miamor didn’t move. Instead, she rolled onto her side as she cried. She was paralyzed in her grief.

“I’m sorry!” she screamed.

“Bitch, get out!” Carter repeated. His voice roared throughout the suite, and he showed no mercy as he dragged Miamor across the hotel room floor, disregarding her already injured body.

“Carter, no! Please!” she yelled as she fought him. She was fighting to stay in his life. With all of the energy she had left, she was clinging to him because she knew that once she let go he would no longer be hers.

By the time he got her out of the suite, he was sweating and out of breath and she was curled up in the hallway. “What am I going to do?” she cried while looking up into his face.

He showed no emotion, no sympathy, no love as he turned on his heels and re-entered the room. He snatched her phone up then tossed it into the hallway beside her. “I don’t give a fuck what you do, Miamor,” he said, the tone of his voice revealing his disappointment. “I’m done. You have got five minutes to call a cab. If you’re not gone by then, I’m going to finish this, and unlike you, I will be able to pull the trigger,” he threatened. He took one last look at her and shook his head in disgust.

She could see the hatred in his eyes. There was nothing left to say. It was over, and he had tossed her out with nothing. He slammed the door in her face, closing the best chapter of her life.

Miamor had never felt so low as she sat in the hallway of the luxury hotel, pleading with Carter to forgive her. Her ego and principles were thrown out of the window. When it came to matters of the heart, she was willing to look foolish and willing to swallow her pride if it meant that Carter would be with her. She cried her heart out to him through the closed door, but it never opened. He had shut her out of his life, and she had to accept it. She was physically and emotionally spent as she stood to her feet. Using the wall to hold her up, she made her way to the elevator. Her hair was wild, her face stained with dried tears, and she wore nothing but a bathrobe as she made her way out of the hotel. Stares and whispers surrounded her as her bare feet carried her through the lobby.

“Excuse me, Miss,” the maître d’hôte of the establishment rushed over to her with two security guards in tow. “I received a call from the Presidential Suite. I’m going to have to escort you off of the premises.”

The security guards grabbed her arms and she snatched them away. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, making an even bigger scene. She made it outside and walked as far as her feet would take her, but every step felt like a thousand. She was too fragile to make it on her own. She had exhausted all of her energy, and gave up as she fell to the ground to catch her breath, the hot pavement burning her skin. At this point, she felt hopeless. She had given up everything and had betrayed her girls trying to chase a dream. At least before she had them as her family. Now, all she had was herself.

Murder had sat in the car all night watching the hotel, waiting to see Miamor and Carter emerge. He was so close to her, and he wasn’t going anywhere until he brought her home, back to New York where she belonged. He cringed at the way Carter touched Miamor, and jealousy loomed over him like a dark cloud.

When he finally saw Miamor emerge from the hotel alone, struggling, and barefoot, he grabbed his gun and jumped out of the car and ran toward her. His baggy khaki shorts, white T-shirt and red fitted cap represented the complete opposite of what Carter’s poised demeanor did, but the two men had one thing in common. They both loved Miamor.

“Miamor!” he yelled, grabbing her attention.

Miamor didn’t even look in his direction. She heard a man screaming her name and instantly thought of Mecca. She looked around for something to defend herself with, but she could barely scrape herself off of the ground. She frantically tried to hide, but there was nowhere to go. Traumatized and too tired to put up a fight, she screamed when Murder finally reached her. It wasn’t until he picked her up off the ground did she realize that she wasn’t in danger.

“It’s okay, ma. Murder’s back. I’m gonna handle that nigga and anybody associated with him,” he sneered. “Word to my mutha', ma. I’ma cook that beef personally!

Miamor thought that her eyes were deceiving her. “Murder?” she called out as she touched his face. “It’s me, shorty. I got you.”

Relief washed over Miamor and she gave into her body’s urge to rest. She closed her eyes, knowing that she was in the arms of family, and that nothing would happen to her while he was around. It had been five long years since she had felt that safe. It seemed like a lifetime ago since she had felt the secure connection with Murder. But now that she had seen his face again, she realized he was still so prevalent in her life. Even with Carter, there was the constant threat of danger, but with Murder, there were no secrets. No lies dwelled between them. There was only trust.