Free Ruthless by Cairo Page A

think I’m not keepin’ it straight up wit’ you?”
    I click into my browser, log in to my Virgin America account, then book another first-class flight to L.A. for six a.m., this Saturday. “I don’t know, Stax. Are you?” I pull out my credit card, completing my transaction.
    â€œCheck this out, Pash. I have no reason to lie to you. I ain’t ever been beat for lies, ma. I’d rather just say I don’t wanna talk about it than lie about it. Eventually the shit’s gonna come out so you might as well keep it a hunnid from the rip, nah mean? But since we talkin’ ’bout lies, riddle me this, Pash: how many have you told?”
    I blink. Surprised by the question. But the truth is, I’ve told enough lies to know that the more you tell, the more you start to believe them to be true. Like all the times I went out on dick patrol, sucking down a nigga’s nut, I lied to myself, trying to rationalize that what I was doing wasn’t cheating. That it was only a means to an end. That there was no real harm being done. That onceJasper was released from prison and sent to the halfway house, everything would go back to normal.
    It didn’t.
    I convinced myself that he’d never find out.
    But he did.
    Fact is, we all lie—for whatever reasons, some more than others. We lie to justify actions, to escape arguments, to spare someone else’s feelings, to avoid potential consequences, and even to manipulate. We lie to ourselves over and over, to protect ourselves from our own feelings. Still no matter what shape or form the lie takes on, it is still a damn lie.
    And for every lie told, there’s always a chance of getting caught, of being found out. Still…the best lies told are the ones laced with truths.
    And my truth is, I’m still lying…to manipulate him, Jasper, and anyone else I have to in order to get what I want, need.
    In the end, I know we all need to be accountable to the truth. The facts. Not the shit we’ve conjured up in our heads, convincing ourselves that what we’re doing or saying is right. Not the twisted distortions we’ve allowed to become our realities. No. We need to be accountable—at some point, be stripped down, to the naked truth.
    Whatever that may be.
    But for now…I’ll stay wrapped in lies. Stay enfolded in the pursuit of justice—my way ; one tortured body at a time.
    â€œI’ve told my share,” I admit. I hold my breath, waiting for a sliver of guilt to creep up in me. But there is none. So I press on. “Everyone has lied at least once in their life, even if it’s only to themselves, or to spare someone else’s feelings. Hell. Most people spend most of their lives living a lie.”
    â€œYeah, I feel you. But I try not to live that life,” he says, convictioncoating his tone. “I’d rather be hurt by the truth, than to be cut down by a lie.”
    I shift in my seat, wondering how many times Jasper attempted to wipe the images of me down on my knees with another nigga’s dick in my mouth out of his mind before he decided to have me kidnapped. I wonder how long he plotted, played it out in his head, before he finally executed his attack on me. I wonder how he stomached watching his boys, the niggas he broke bread with, take turns running their dicks into my throat. Or maybe he didn’t watch at all. Maybe he simply gave the order with strict instructions.
    â€œRemember, she’s not to be hurt…”
    â€œâ€¦ She’s pregnant…”
    I swallow back the anger rising up in the back of my throat. Fucking Jasper! “Hmmm. How noble of you.”
    â€œNah. It’s who I am.”
    â€œYeah, like grinning in my face, knowing what Felecia and Jasper were doing to me behind my back. But, whatever…it doesn’t matter now. The lines have already been crossed. And shit’s about to get messier than it already