Caly is just an aspiring Artist from Ohio. She's settling for a life with her longtime boyfriend, Slim, who's also a local Artist. When she is met with an opportunity to pursue her dreams and live a different life, she's conflicted. Does she stick t...
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DURK
My fans think that life has gotten easier the more money I've made, or the more famous I've become. But that is just too far from the truth. Over the years, it started to look like life was throwing shit in my way strategically and accurately. I started to doubt what I believed in for so long and had to understand that the universe was putting in work that I had no control over. Or so I thought.
For days I was couped up in my design studio, sewing and what not. So high off them percs, I damn near cut myself with my rotary knife. It's amazing how I was able to be productive all while being half sleep. I just wanted to be numb. I had so much shit occupying space in my sober mind, I couldn't think straight. At least with a fuzzy one, I was able to focus on creating. And possibly sleep. Sleep was something I hadn't got around to yet.
No. I didn't want to talk to anyone. No. I didn't want to go anywhere. All I wanted to do was what I needed to, and the show was the only obligation I had. Mona was having a moment with her team to rewrite a few storylines, I assumed. So, I didn't plan on hearing much from her at the time. It was just me, myself, and designing. Oh, and Percocet.
Niggas like me don't bother themselves with emotional issues. Niggas like me don't trip over things that shouldn't matter. Niggas like me shouldn't be scrambling to find things to avoid the problems they're facing. Niggas like me are above shit like this. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't be hibernating due to fear of what's outside. I shouldn't have to put my phone on Do Not Disturb so that I don't feel the need to check my phone. I shouldn't be tender over a woman who I shouldn't have any feelings for. I should've been planning a wedding with the woman I love. Yet, I was on some other shit.
Knock! Knock! Kn-knock! Knock! Knock!
In the middle of me pushing denim through my sewing machine, I hear Vinnie's signature knock. I ignored him for a few minutes as the beating continued. Just when I thought he was done, I heard him beating some more.
"Nigga, I know you in there!" he said. "Open the door!"
After another five minutes, I sighed and shoved all my finished pieces into a tote. I gathered as much fabric as I could and hid it under a table.
"What?" I spoke. He walked past me as I opened the door.
"You been MIA for damn near 2 weeks, What the hell you doing in here? Nigga is you sewing?"
"Why are you here?" I said, shaking my head at the fact that I forgot to cover my sewing machine.
"Nah, since when do you design clothes?" he said. He picked up a piece of fabric I had pushed in a corner and a dress dropped to the ground.
"Yo, stop touching shit!" I spoke. I picked up the lavender tulle dress and checked for damages before holding it close to my chest. I took a deep breath and hung the dress on a rack.
