The Scammer(64)

Blood boiling, I turn to the living room.

“Why bring me back if you don’t want me here!” I shout.

Devonte acts as if he doesn’t hear me as he continues speaking to the women gathered around him.

“Menstruation is an abnormal condition for Black women. You weren’t meant to hemorrhage the same time every month. Menstruation is a product of enslavement. Enslavement altered our DNA so that we would align with white man’s religion, which practices witchcraft and blood sacrificing. That’s the white man trying to control you.”

The women in the group nod, beguiled by his intellectual prowess.

“Then,” he continues. “They take even further steps by providing you products full of toxins to stick inside yourself. Planting seeds of diseases, infections. Think of all the females you know with cervical cancers, fibroids, fertility issues, transferring diseases to their unborn children.

“But it’s been proven that Black females on a holistic diet of natural foods do not menstruate. Your cells regenerate and become of pure African blood. It all goes back to low-vibrational food, Queens. You have to remember that—”

“That is literally not true,” I say, plainly. The room turns to me. “Menstruation is a part of a woman’s human anatomy.”

Devonte grins, holding up a printed article. “There are research studies done on African females who do not have periods.”

“Those studies were done on malnourished African women in war-torn countries,” I shoot back. “Malnourishment, just like other stressors, can have a direct effect on your menstrual cycle length and time. That’s been proven with studies done on women all over the world. Not just Africans.”

A silence falls. Devonte’s smile wavers, the muscle in his jaw ticks. It feels good, beating him at his own warped game.

He stretches slowly toward his cup of tea on the table.

“I heard,” he begins, “that you allowed the Kappas to run sexual acts on you almost every night. That’s how you were able to stay in their home.”

“That’s a fucking lie.”

“It’s the reason why I insisted on saving her,” he says to the women gathered by his feet. “Did you know every time a man enters you, he leaves a piece of his energy? Our sister here is walking around with the DNA of the white man she let penetrate her. His DNA can infect her unborn seed, leading to more babies carrying their diseased bloodline.”

“I haven’t been with anyone!” I shout.

He sips his tea. “Anyone except that white boy.”

“You leave him out of this,” I hiss.

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, but his eyes are hard, neck tight.

“Hey! Watch how you talk to him!” a girl says.

“Just like you to jump to a white man’s defense,” another girl adds.

Nothing could be further from the truth. But how do I prove that when they’re looking up to Devonte like he’s a god?

Loren sighs, opening a book in her lap.

I groan, throwing up my hands, and storm off, passing Kammy’s closed door. She still hasn’t come out of her room. Usually, she’d be front and center at these types of meetings. Then it occurs to me, I haven’t seen her in the last few days.

Where the hell is Kammy?

Behind my closed door, I can hear the girls talking. . . .

“I knew homegirl was a ’ho,” a girl whispers.

“They say there’s a video of her in an orgy. Nasty work.”

“That’s why she doesn’t have an Instagram or nothing. ’Cause she used to be a slut at her high school too. Trying to reinvent herself here.”

I wish I could cry, shed some sobbing tears into someone’s chest, let out my pent-up anger. How could my dad say those things . . . and Mom, just going along with it. As usual.

I look up at my computer and take a few deep breaths. It could be worse. My parents could’ve ripped me from school. They didn’t even ask about the credit cards so I guess they haven’t noticed yet.

They also could’ve talked about Kevin. . . .

Is the door locked? What if they come in here while I’m asleep? What would they do to me? I drag my chair across the room and prop it up against the handle just as my phone buzzes.

Nick.

“Hey you,” I say, my voice a touch shaky.

“Hey you. You okay?”

I sigh. “Not going to lie, I’ve been better.”

“I know none of this is funny but . . . I can’t believe they went and tattletaled to your mom!”

It was a strategic move I should have seen coming. They must have gotten her number out of my phone. Thankfully, there wasn’t much else they could see or do. All the pictures and notes I care about are in a decoy app, protected with a password.

“Why didn’t you tell your parents the truth about them and Devonte?” Nick asks.

I choose my words carefully.

“’Cause I didn’t want to prove them right about this school. They didn’t want me to come here in the first place.”

Nick hisses out some air. “Damn.”

“I know. I just . . . need to make it work.”

“Until you get another place in the spring,” he corrects me. “Where are you, exactly?”

“In my room. About to go to bed.”