Domestic Situations

By Ingrid Mitchell

This is a novel of fi ction. It is not meant to depict, portray or represent
any particular real person. All the characters, incidents, and dialogue
are the product of the authors imagination and are not to be construed
as real. Any references or similarities to actual events, entities, real
people, living or passed, or to be real locales are intended to give the
book a sense of reality. Any similarity in names, characters, entities,
place and incidents is entirely coincidental. This is a novel for adults.
It contains derogatory language and adult situations. Welcome to the
world of uncut urban fi ction the way it really goes down in the hood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453589724

Ingrid Mitchell

Ingrid L. Mitchell was born in Brooklyn, New York, raised in the Bronx. She had a love for urban style novels dating back to the Donald Goinnes, Ice Burg Slim Era. It was these authors who she credits with the starting the urban fiction gifts of writing that inspired her and she brought urban fiction to the level we now see in present society. Born in 1957, she is the second to the oldest of nine children. Ingrid has traveled all over the world from Texas to Germany. Returning back to the United States to where she currently resides in Hinesville, Georgia. She is a mother of three girls and one boy. A hard workingwoman beginning at a very young age after her mother passed away of asthma. Ingrid has always retained a deep love for reading, as well as a heart desire for writing. Never being the one to be stagnated by her passion to express herself, she now expresses her outgoingness to the world. Haters gonna hate, and lovers gonna congratulate.

Book preview

Chapter 1

My Last

How many times do we have to go through this same old bullshit Ce-Ce . . . . Every time I turn around you fussing and complaining about the same old shit. You need to go sit your ass down somewhere cause I’m tired of hearing it, Travis said looking at her with a frustrating expression on his dark face.

Niggah I don’t give a fuck what you try-in to hear, if you don’t want to hear my mouth, you know what to do . . . . Get the hell out of my house cause I can do bad by my damn self, Ce-Ce said placing her hands on her very large hips, rolling her eyes.

Travis was so mad that he wanted to hit her in the mouth. He even imagined himself drawing back and giving her just what she needed. Which was a big fat knuckle sandwich with lettuce and tomatoes, please hold the mayo. But being the man that he was, and knowing that he didn’t hit women, he started walking towards her. A hint of fear could be seen in her eyes as he got closer.

Travis was a pretty big dude. 6 feet, dark skin, long dreads, and built like a baby Hulk Hogan. Compared to her 5 foot frame, caramel complexion, wide hips and soft everywhere else. As he drew even closer she raised her hand to ward off the blows she thought was coming. He just looked at her gritting his teeth so hard the muscles in his temple were standing out like headphones on the sides of his head. He brushed passed her and walked out the door slamming it so hard the front windows rattled.

Bitch!, Travis said, as he jumped behind the wheel of his beat up old car. As he was pulling out of the drive way he saw her in the rearview mirror shaking her little fist at him screaming Niggah you better find a damn job. I ain’t playing with you, I’m tired of this shit.

He was gone. Cruzing down the highways, leaving that drama behind.

Same damn thing, new day, constant theme. Bills steady piling, gas prices up, food and other necessities sky rocket.

Did she know that ah niggah was out here every day bussing his ass trying to find a job. Shit just wasn’t that easy . . . . If muthahfuckers wasn’t hiring, they just wasn’t hiring. What the hell did she expect me to do? Stick a gun at ah muthahfucker head and make em hire him? Travis though as he made a right at the corner. Fishing in his pocket for his last cigarette which was broke in the center. If it wasn’t for bad luck I would have no luck at all." He said to himself. Breaking the cigarette in half and firing up the part with filter, still attached.

It was a beautiful sunny day in Hinesville, GA. Spring Break and it was already eighty degrees like summer was already here. This was one of those kind of days when you would want to be laid up somewhere in a nice big pool, soaking up sine sun watching the girls stroke back and forth with barely nothing on. It was about three o’clock in the afternoon with nothing but blear blue skies in all directions and according to the weather man it was suppose to be like that all week.

Stopping at a light, he dug into his pockets to see if he had enough for a pack of cigarettes. Barely. And he would have to get the cheapest kind that he could find at that.

Times were hard. And it seemed like every which way he turned it was problems on top of problems. And Ce-Ce, man it seemed like every time he turned around she was running her mouth about something constantly getting on his nerves. But she was right. A niggah needed to get out and find some type of way to bring home the bacon, or before it was all over with he wouldn’t have a home to come home too.

This is what was laying heavily on his mind when he pulled off after the light turned green and nearly side swiped some jackass that ran the red light. You stupid son of a bitch! Travis yelled slamming on his breaks and blowing his horn. The man in the green Ford pick up truck didn’t even pause; all he did was stick his arm out of his window and gave Travis the bird.

Fuck you too yall Bitch ass muthahfucker, he screamed after the dude who was clearly out of eye shot. Shaking his head and mumbling to himself under his breath Travis continued on down Bradwell St. until he reached the mini-market on the corner. Pulling into a parking space in front of the store, he jumped out the car and strolled into the store in search of his less favorite brand of cigarettes. When he found what he was looking for he headed towards the counter to pay for his smokes. All of a sudden a big loud booming sound filled the entire store. He heard the sound of a body crying and woman screaming.

When he turned the corner of the isle a guy dressed in all black with a red and black bandana tied across his face was standing there with a double barrel shot gun leveled at his chest. Alright, yall muthahfuckers know what this is . . . . it’s a muthahfuckin stick up. Let’s not make it a homicide baby . . . . Everybody get butt naked and throw your clothes over here to me. The tall dark skin man with the slanted eyes ordered, waving his gun back and forth.

While he was busy collecting peoples clothing his partner, who Travis noticed for the first time was smacking an old white man upside the head with a big ass 45 automatic he was toting. Travis thought he was gonna to kill the poor fella. What the fuck are you deaf or something niggah? . . . . I said strip muthahfucker, the tall robber said pointing the shot gun at the center of his face.

Travis looked down into the dark holes of the barrels and saw his life flash before his eyes. He saw the flames erupting from the gun like a volcano over flowing with lava. He started taking his clothes off like he had the Holy Ghost or something.

He felt so embarrassed, standing there with nothing but his boxers and socks on, looking like a straight up lame.

All he had was about three dollars and some change in his pockets and muthahfuckers was about to take that. Damn! . . . . If it wasn’t for bad luck I wouldn’t have no luck at all, he kept saying to himself over and over in his head. This had to be one of the worst days of his life. He was already at the bottom of the pile. Down to his very last cents and it was being taken away from him.

Slowly his fear turned to frustration. And frustrations to boiling anger. And from anger to outright extreme hatred. He made a vow to himself that some how some where, some day, muthahfuckers were going to pay for taking his last.

As he though about it, he really wasn’t mad at these guys for doing what they did, his frustrations and anger was more aimed at the system that caused them to live like this. It was the way things were set up in society that caused situations like this to happen.

Good Ole Uncle Sam. Always there when you need him. Yeah Right

Fuck Uncle Sam, he thought. Ok ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your cooperation and your assistance. Nice doing business with you . . . . Taah-Taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, the tall robber said as the two bandits baked out of the store and were gone. The streaking of tires and the blue smoke from the burning rubber is all they left behind. Picking up the pack of cigarettes he dropped on the floor during the robbery he opened up the pack, took one out, grabbed a book of matches off the counter and lit up. Blowing a huge cloud of smoke in the air. Hey, no smoking I here, don’t you see the sign? the clerk behind the counter said. Travis looked at the man and started to spit in his face. Instead he just blew a cloud of smoke in his direction and with all the contentment he could muster up he said Fuck you bitch". Then he walked out the store, hopped in his car and burned some rubber of his own.

When he finally made it home several minutes later he walked into the house with nothing but his boxers and socks on still mumbling to himself. Ce-Ce was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of gin and seven-up when he came in.

What the fuck happened to your clothes? she said.

I got robbed.

You got robbed!!!?

That’s what I said didn’t I?

She just looked at him for several months then all of a sudden she started laughing uncontrollably. She laughed so had that tears ran down her cheeks and she nearly fell off the bar stool chair she was sitting in. What the hell is so funny? Travis said. Becoming angry because she seemed to think something was funny but he didn’t know what it was. How the hell did you manage to get yourself robbed? You’re probably the brokest muthahfucker in Hinesville . . . . What the hell they was doing practicing? She said slurring her words a little but still laughing holding her stomach. Travis just looked at her, seeing the picture in his mind again; thinking now would be the perfect time for that knuckle sandwich he’d wanted to give her. Instead he turned on his heels and went to go find some clothes to put on.

As he was walking through the house he could still hear her in the kitchen laughing.

Chapter 2

Abusive

Why you all up in my face woman . . . . What wrong with you . . . . you then lost your damn mind or something . . . . Don’t make me have to lay hands on you cause you know I will, Donald said. As he looked up at the pretty dark skin woman standing over him, pointing her finger in his face. Niggah you make me sick. All you do all day long is sit on your black ass and black ass and drink here . . . . I’m tired of taking care of your no good ass. It’s already hard enough as it is Malissa said. Sticking here little finger to the center of his forehead and pushing his head back causing him to spill his beer down the front of his shirt.

Bitch that’s it!, Donald yelled, pushing him up off the sofa and grabbing for her. Not realizing how drunk he was, he stumbled and fell, cursing and grumbling at the same time, trying to regain to his feet.

Niggah you better not put your got-damn hands on me . . . . I ain’t playing . . . . If you so much as lay a finger on me I’m a call my brothers over here to whoop your ass. Malissa said slowly backing away.

Bitch fuck you and your brothers . . . . They can come running around here if they want too and I’m a fuck around and bust a cap in they ass Donald said stumbling towards her.

Running to the kitchen, she pulled open one of the counter top draws and grabbed a very big butcher knife which she held over her head like it was a sword. When he came stumbling and staggering into the kitchen behind her she was ready for him.

What the fuck you think you gone do with that knife you got there bitch? he said slurring his words. Muthahfucker if you put your got damn hands on me you sho gonah find out. She said raising the knife even higher. Oh you a brave bitch today huh . . . . you wantah be a tuff guy right . . . . Ok, I got something for your ass, Donald said picking up a chair and slowly backing her into a corner.

You better leave me alone muthahfucker . . . . I ain’t playing with you . . . . Gone now for you make me hurt you, Malissa said. Swinging the knife at the legs of the chair. Don’t you holler now bitch, . . . . Its on now . . . . You wantah pull a knife out and threaten me . . . . fuck that shit. I’m bout to teach your ass a lesson you’ll never forget this time, Donald said finally boxing her all the way in with the chair. Seeing that she was in a passion to no longer swing the knife he rushed her and knocked the knife out of her hand.

Grabbing her by the hair, he begins dragging her through the house, forcing her into there bedroom, with her kicking biting and screaming all the way.

Donald wasn’t a very big man, only about a hundred and seventy five pounds but he still out weighted her by about eighty pounds which put her at a poor disadvantage. She was no match for his strength. Throwing her on to the kings-size he locked the bedroom door and bean unfastening his belt.

You gonah get it this time bitch . . . I’m bout to teach your ass, he said, drawing back and hitting her across the legs and arms with