Page 36 of Certified Pressure 2

Moss Point

P ressure had just texted me letting me know he wasn’t far from the apartment and would be picking me and Zurie up shortly.

That alone gave me some relief because I was still moving around the room making sure my baby sister had everything she needed for tomorrow.

I laid her favorite blanket at the bottom of her bag, then double-checked the little stuffed bear she couldn’t sleep without, and made sure her hair ties and small toiletries were in a separate pouch.

She was sitting on the bed looking at me with those big eyes, quiet, because even though she wasn’t saying anything, I knew she understood this wasn’t just another overnight stay.

“Do you feel okay, sissy?” I asked softly.

Zurie nodded, tugging at her sleeve. “Yeah. You’ll be with me, right?”

“You already know I’m not going nowhere,” I told her, kissing the top of her head. “We’re going to the hotel tonight and in the morning, we’ll be at the hospital early. It’s all set up.”

She gave me a light smile, and it broke my heart how brave she was trying to be. Inside, I wanted to scream. No child should have to face something like this, but Zurie didn’t have a choice. And neither did I.

I heard the front door slam, and my whole body tensed because I already knew what time it was. His voice carried before I even saw him.

“I work all damn day and for what? You blowing my money again!” my father barked. His words dragged out and slurred, which only told me he’d been drinking heavy.

My mother’s voice fired back almost instantly. “What money? You don’t bring home nothing but your drunk ass and excuses. Talking about you work, please. You spend more time at that bar than you do at a job.”

It was the same cycle and same tired, nasty words.

I sat on the edge of the bed with my back to the wall, staring at Zurie who looked like she wanted to disappear.

The voices in the living room rose higher, bouncing off the thin walls, filling the space where peace should’ve been.

I hated that Zurie had to hear it, and that I had to hear it too, especially tonight of all nights.

I tried to tune them out. I told myself to keep packing, to keep calm, but then I heard my father say something that snapped every nerve in my body.

“Maybe if you wasn’t such a sorry excuse for a fuckin’ wife, I wouldn’t have to drink just to come back here!” he shouted, his words hitting hard and cruel.

And then she screamed back, “You think you some man? You ain’t nothin’ but a broke-down drunk who let his whole family down!”

I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. Enough was enough. I looked at Zurie, her lip trembling, and her hands clutched together in her lap.

“Stay here,” I told her, trying to sound calm even though my chest was burning. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Her eyes widened. “Plu?—”

“Stay put,” I repeated firmly, and then I stormed out the room.

The second I hit the living room, I saw them standing across from each other, yelling like the world revolved around their argument. I didn’t even think before the words flew out of my mouth.

“Shut the fuck up! Both of y’all!”

They both turned to me like I had no right to speak, but I didn’t care. My voice was sharp and louder than theirs, cutting through all that bullshit.

“You don’t even realize your own daughter has surgery in the morning,” I said, glaring at both of them. “You standing here arguing like you ain’t got nothing better to do. Y’all sick. It’s disgusting. She deserves better than this, and y’all don’t even deserve to be her parents.”

My father’s eyes narrowed. His face twisted with drunken anger. “Who the fuck you talking to like that? You don’t tell me to shut the fuck up in my house.”

“I just did!” I shot back. “And I’ll say it again because I’m tired of you. I’m tired of both of y’all! Zurie needs love, she needs peace, and all you ever give her is bullshit!”

That’s when my dad stepped forward, and his words came at me like knives.

“You lil’ bitch. You think you grown? You think you better than me?”

“Better than you?” I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “That bar stool got more value than you ever gave us. You ain’t no father. You ain’t nothing but a drunk with a big ass fuckin’ mouth.”

The words had barely left my mouth before he lunged at me. His hand came across my face so hard the sound cracked in the room. For a split second, I couldn’t breathe, my cheek stung like fire, and I couldn’t believe my own father just slapped me like I was some stranger on the street.

My adrenaline shot through me before the pain even sank in. “You hit me? You really hit me?” I screamed, and before I knew it, I was swinging back, shoving at his chest, cursing him with every word I had.

“You sorry-ass drunk muthafucka! You ain’t shit!”

His hands grabbed at me, rough and heavy.

We crashed into the couch, and I felt myself being yanked and dragged like he was trying to put me in my place.

My mother’s voice rang out, high-pitched, “Stop! Both of y’all stop!

” but she didn’t move to pull him off me. She just yelled like that was enough.

“Get the fuck off me!” I yelled, trying to push him away, but his grip only tightened. He was calling me every kind of bitch, his spit flying in my face, his weight pressing me into the floor.

Then I heard Zurie scream. “Daddy, stop! Leave my sister alone!”

Her cry was sharp, panicked and breaking through everything. I twisted, trying to look at her, but my father’s hands were locking me down. That was the moment I felt hopeless, like no matter how hard I fought, he was going to overpower me.

And then the front door burst open. The wood cracked against the wall, the sound booming louder than any shout. My mother screamed, “Who the fuck are you and why are you in my house?”

Before I could even process, a deep voice roared through the living room.

“Nigga, get up!”

Suddenly, my father’s weight lifted off me, like a mountain thrown off my chest. I gasped for air, looking up, and then I saw Pressure. His face was pure rage, his arm locked tight around my father’s throat as he yanked him off me like he weighed nothing.

I scrambled up, grabbing Zurie into my arms. She was crying so hard she could barely breathe. Her little body shook against me as I rushed her back in the room, and whispered, “It’s okay. I got you. Don’t come out this room, okay? Please, don’t come out.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” she sobbed, clutching me tighter.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, setting her gently on the bed before pulling the door closed behind me. My legs felt weak, my hair was sticking to my face, but I pushed back into the living room.

Pressure had my father pinned to the wall by his throat. The force of it cracked the sheetrock, a deep line splitting up toward the ceiling. My father’s feet barely touched the floor as he struggled, gasping, while Pressure’s eyes burned into him.

“You put your hands on her?” Pressure growled, his voice low and terrifying. “You think that shit fly?.”

My mother was trembling, backing toward the phone. Her hand shook as she grabbed it, screaming, “I’m calling 9-1-1! You can’t just break in my house and assault my husband!”

“No!” I shouted, running toward her. “Don’t do it! I’m leaving with Zurie. I’m not staying here and neither is she.”

“Pluto, you not taking my child no damn where!” she screamed back, her eyes wide with fury.

“She’s having surgery in the morning!” I yelled. “She needs peace and you can’t even give her one night without fighting! Ain’t no way in hell I’m leaving her here!”

Behind me, there was a thud, and when I looked, my father was crumpled on the floor, knocked out cold. Pressure’s chest was rising and falling, his fists still tight, his whole body looking like a weapon ready to destroy anyone who touched me again.

I stepped over my father’s body, tears blurring my vision, and rushed to the room to grab Zurie and our bags. She clung to me as I lifted her, her arms wrapped around my neck, while the strap of her bag cut into my shoulder.

My mother was right behind me, cursing, yelling, clawing at me. “You not taking her! She my fuckin’ baby!”

She grabbed at my hair, jerking my head back. I screamed, but before she could drag me further, Pressure’s hand locked around her wrist. He twisted it just enough to make her shout and let go, then shoved her back, redirecting her away from me.

“Get your hands off me!” she screeched. “You going to jail!”

Pressure didn’t even look at her. His eyes stayed on me and Zurie. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I pushed past her, holding Zurie tight, and stepped out the door.

Pressure grabbed our bags, loading them into the backseat of the car parked outside.

He opened the back door for Zurie, helping her in gently, making sure she was buckled and safe, then he shut the door and opened the passenger side for me.

My hands shook as I climbed in, my chest still heavy with fear and anger. Pressure slid behind the wheel, his face hard but his silence even louder. When he started the car and pulled away, I looked out the window, watching the apartment fade into the distance, knowing I wasn’t ever coming back.

During the drive to the hotel, I kept my hands in my lap, replaying the whole situation that went down back at the apartment with my father.

I still couldn’t believe his drunk ass had the nerve to hit me.

I always knew he had a temper, always knew the liquor in his system made him reckless with his words, but the way he raised his hands tonight and actually put them on me…

that shit hurt me so bad. What cut even more was the fact that Pressure had to be the one to come crashing into all that chaos, kicking in the front door, dragging me and Zurie out of the madness, and handling my father the way I never thought I’d see.