Carl Weber - Baby Momma Drama

But Malek’s ego was damaged even more now. Not only was I not givin’ up the ass, I’d sent someone to beat him. Talk about humiliating! No wonder he seemed determined to make my life a living hell. Well, he obviously had the upper hand. All I could do for now was be as nice as possible to him. I’d have to talk to Derrick later on and see what he wanted me to do.

“Ah’ight, Malek. I can see you and me have a lot to talk about.” I spoke calmly. “But right now we both need to get some sleep.”

“No doubt I do feel like shit.” He rubbed his hand gently over his bruised face.

“I’ll get some sheets to put on the couch for you. In the morning I’ll take you over to the hospital so you can get checked out.”

“What? I ain’t sleepin’ on the couch.”

I knew he was gonna do that, so I was ready for it.

“Malek, they said you got broken ribs. What if I roll over in the middle of the night? I don’t want to hurt you. We shouldn’t risk doing any more damage till a doctor takes a look at you,” I explained.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Go get me them sheets. I’m about to fall out right here on your kitchen floor.”

I was so relieved to get away from him, even if it was only for a few hours until the sun came up. I got him settled on the couch and then went to bed, to toss and turn until morning.

“Okay, Mrs. Turner, thanks. Sorry to wake you at such a late hour.”

I watched Officer Ronald Burns hang up the phone with Ellen Turner, a counselor from the Phoenix House Rehabilitation Center. Officer Burns turned to me with a smile. I sighed impatiently as I waited for him to speak. Ron and I weren’t exactly friends. We were acquaintances through my buddy Joe. But right then I was hoping he considered me a friend, because I felt like my life was in his hands.

“Well, Dylan, it looks like your story checks out. You can go home right after I get the okay from my sergeant,” he told me. “Man, I’m not gonna lie. For a minute there you had me pretty scared.”

“Shit, you were scared? I was the one with the cuffs on. I thought I was going to jail.” I tried to keep my tone respectful.

“Hey man, I’m sorry about that. I was just doing my job.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ron. I know you were.” I offered him my hand, and he took it with a smile. “I just can’t believe I got caught up in some shit like this.”

“Who you tellin’? I damn near fainted when I saw my partner walk you outta that crackhouse. I’ll be honest with you. I thought you’d turned crackhead on me.” We both laughed, but not because anything was funny.

I’d been arrested about an hour before, or at least detained, as Ron put it, until my crazy story checked out. And when I say crazy, I mean craaaaazy. Thank God Ron was willing to hear me out and the people at Phoenix House Rehabilitation Center answered their phones, or I’d be spending the night in jail with the other people who got caught up in the midnight raid.

The whole night started when I got a call around midnight from Ellen Turner, Monica’s counselor at the Phoenix House Rehabilitation Center. Ellen had called to notify me that Monica had gone AWOL for the fourth time this month. If she didn’t return by eight in the morning, she’d be kicked out of the program.

It had taken just about every contact I had to get her into Phoenix House, and she was slowly but surely screwing it up. I had paid almost ten thousand dollars for her to get into the program, and Ellen made it clear this was her last chance. That was bad news. With the baby coming, I was desperate to keep Monica clean. It turned out she was more hooked on that stuff than I thought. She wasn’t willing to quit on her own, like she said, so I had to force her to get help for the baby’s sake. That was my child’s life she was messing up with every hit of crack she smoked. Unfortunately, she was so hooked she didn’t seem capable of considering the baby’s health. There was only one thing she cared about, and that’s what she went in search of when she left Phoenix House again.

When I got the call about her disappearance, I had a pretty good idea of where to find her. Either she was in the crackhouse on Washington Street, smoking crack, or she was on Halifax, selling her ass to get some money for crack. I decided to check out the crackhouse first, and I was right. But when I went in there to get her out, we both ended up in handcuffs. Now, thank God, I was getting ready to be released, but I wasn’t sure what was gonna happen to Monica.

“What about her?” I pointed toward a cell where Monica was sitting with about ten other women who’d been caught up in the raid. “Can I take her back to Phoenix? She’s pregnant.”

“No. We found paraphernalia on her, along with a couple o’ vials of crack. She ain’t going nowhere until she sees the judge in the morning.” Ron wasn’t so apologetic this time.

“Well, can I at least talk to her?”

“Yeah, go ’head. But let me give you a little advice first.” He turned his back to the prisoners and spoke quietly to me. “You’re a nice guy, Dylan. I know you wanna help her, but trust me. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want help. If I was you I’d get as far away from her as possible. It’s only gonna get worse. Look what happened today, and believe me, this is just the beginning.”

“I appreciate the advice, Ron. But I have to help her. Maybe she doesn’t want it, but that’s my baby she’s carrying, and I’m gonna do whatever I can to save my child.”

“Well, then, good luck to you, my brother.” He gave me a pat on my shoulder.

“Thanks. I’m gonna need it.” We shook hands; then I walked over to the cell and spoke to Monica. She was hunched over on one of the crowded benches. She didn’t look up, but she knew I was there.

“What do you want, Dylan?” she sneered.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’ll see you in the morning. I’m going home.”

She lifted her head and glared at me in disbelief. “You leaving me here? You’re not gonna bail me out?”

“They found drugs on you. You’ve gotta see the judge before they’ll release you.”

“Why? How come you get to go home?” She started yelling. “Didn’t you tell them that I’m with you? What the fuck is wrong with you, Dylan?”

“Of course I told them that. They don’t care. You had crack on you.” I tried to speak in a soft tone, hoping she’d lower her voice, but it didn’t help.

“Well, then, make them care!” she cried. “Don’t you care about the baby?”

She’d hit a nerve, and it took everything I had to control my own anger. Who the hell was she to ask me that question?

“I’m not the crackhead. So I should be asking you that. And stop yelling at me. You’re making a scene.” There was no use reasoning with her now. Shit, she was probably still too high to hold a conversation even if there weren’t a dozen other crackheads around to hear every word. “Look, I’m outta here. I’ll see you in court in the morning. Just pray they’re gonna let you back in the program.”

“Fuck you!” she shouted. “I’m not going back to no fucking program.”

“Yes, you are. Even if I have to drag your ass there. You’re not gonna fuck up my baby’s life.” With that, she jumped up and leaned against the cell bars to get as close as she could while she screamed the most hurtful words.

“It’s not your fucking baby, so leave me the fuck alone.”

“What did you say?” I could feel a rage building up inside me. I felt like everyone in the station house was staring at me.

“I said the baby’s not yours, motherfucker! Can’t you hear? Only reason I told you that it was is ’cause I needed a place to stay. And I knew you’d be stupid enough to let me stay in your house.” She was spitting as she spoke, shaking her head the whole time.