This Christmas

(Not So) Silent Night.

December 24th, 2014

Paris.

"Now, who do you love?" Khalil asked, after he opened the backseat of my grandpa's Chrysler for me and I climbed in. He threw my bags in the trunk, then leaned on the car, earning the side-eye from my grandpa, who was sitting next to me. This car was Papa's pride and joy, and it took a lot of work for him to get it.

"You, baby." I leaned in my seat with my head out of the window so we could kiss. "I'll always love you," I repeated, lying through my damn teeth. I didn't love Khalil at all. I wasn't too sure of what love was, but I knew that it wasn't supposed to leave your skin bruised.

"Don't you forget that, aight? I'll see you later." People in the car took that as an affectionate statement, but I knew better than that. That bitchnigga was warning me not to even look at another man that wasn't a family member, and reminding me to be grateful to be out of his sight for as long as I was about to be. After that, he walked back into the house, and my dad drove off.

"Tell me again why that luh' boyfriend of yours isn't coming, Paris?" My grandma Lynette asked me from the front seat, while she 'put her face on', as she called it. At 60 something years of age (almost 70), she still looked pretty good to me.

"He has to work the rest of the week," I lied. "And he doesn't want to have to take off work, cause he only has 'x' amount of vacation days left before it's not paid time off. He said he wanted to use it for another time." The lies just kept flowing out so effortlessly, I almost believed them.

"Hmm. He wanna shack up wit'chu, he needa show his face more often," my daddy stated. He was never a fan of Khalil because he didn't come around the family as often as he liked, but for god's sake, my mama was a street hoe turned almost wifey to druggie back to housewife, so I'd be damned if he judged me.

"Alright, whatever," I mumbled, opening up my phone and checking my Instagram. The car ride to this damn lodge wasn't gonna take all day, but I still took my time scrolling down my timeline. It felt good to not have Khalil looking over my shoulders, even controlling who I followed and what I liked.

Instagram got boring after awhile; same bitches wearing the same clothes, same niggas doing the same poses showing off their Gucci or Louis belts, blah blah blah. I ended up closing my eyes and falling into sleep. Shit, I was so exhausted from this week, and I didn't even know it until I was out cold.

"So you not gone let me see my fuckin' family, Khalil, on Christmas? Are you serious? I never ask for anything!" I shouted up in his face. "Fuck the fact that you Muslim, I wanna see my family on Christmas."

"What about all'is?" He gestured towards all the shoe boxes, jewlery boxes, and boxes of clothes from him that I hadn't even touched yet. I felt grimy as fuck taking stuff from him, because it was always something he used for my 'forgiveness' after he did something heinous - fucked some other bitch, beat me, raped me in my sleep and had me crying myself to sleep.

"I ain't even ask for it! You took it upon yourself to get it!"

"Alright, so you wouldn't care if I took all this shit back to the stores, then."

I hesitated. "I didn't say all that. But I wanna see my family. Pleaase, Khalil," I begged, moving my arms and pulling on him. "I'll get on my knees and beg more, if you want! I don't even fucking careee, I just wanna see 'em!"

"I don't like them. They fill your head with bullshit every time I let you go around them, and I ain't allowing that bullshit no more. 'Go to college. Leave that nigga. Get a job somewhere.' I provide for you! I give you everything you need, the fuck you need a job or a degree for? I provide for you, you stay here and hold it down for me."