Aisha's P.O.V.
I put the phone to my ear to listen to the voice-mail my husband has left me, and he is practically yelling at me from the recorded message, "Aisha, listen to me baby, no matter what you do, do NOT get on that fucking plane!!" He proceeds to explain to me exactly why, and I feel my whole body grow numb and cold as I sit weighed down by the seat belt...
Earlier that day...
Marshall, Sienna and I had the best time in Brazil for a few days, and I honestly felt like that was what we needed as a family.
All of my memories didn't magically return though, just because of us doing activities that Marshall and I both hoped would trigger them, but I'm honestly okay with that at this point. I feel like I remember enough of my life now to know where I belong and what's important to me anyways.
One of those things being getting my music career back on track, as well as my newfound acting career. Marshall told me how important it used to be for me to become a singer, plus I sort of get a feeling for it myself, even if it's absolutely incredible to me that I apparently used to do that in front of the crowds full of people. Seems scary to me to even think about that, to be honest. But I've watched some old footage of Marshall and I performing together on stage, and it honestly gave me butterflies. We looked so good on there together.
Apparently, the past year or so though, I kept trying to pull away from Marshall because I felt like I was living in his shadow, him being the more popular one of the two of us, I guess, and while Marshall says he totally understands how I've felt, to me it just seems so silly now. I wonder if I was maybe jealous of his success a little bit? God, I hope not, because I honestly love him so much.
And he's been so supportive of me trying to get back on track.
I did a few interviews regarding what's happened to me, me being attacked in my hotel room by those Cuban Cartel guys and my memory loss. The public has apparently been speculating about it for months now, but I've always stayed in hiding, and I pretty much cut off the outside world, having absolutely no idea what was even going on in it.
After the interviews, I had a few music videos scheduled to film, which apparently I was supposed to get done before my incident, and I just wanted to get back on track.
Like today, for example, I'm set to fly to the Bahamas for a video shoot. Marshall wanted to go with me, but he got held back in Detroit because of a meeting with his label that couldn't be put up, which he wasn't happy about.
I reassured him it'll all be okay though. He seriously needs to stop doting on me and be scared that something is going to happen to me whenever he lets me out of his sight for a mere second. He needs to understand that I can take care of myself and that I'll be alright.
Now the flight I'm taking, I'm flying to LA first because I've got something to do there first, then I'll catch another flight to Bahamas from there.
I remember thinking to myself how both nervous and excited I am about shooting a music video, and I kind of do wish that Marshall was there with me, just for, you know, moral support, because a part of me feels like fish out of water...
***
Marshall's P.O.V.
Now, to keep it 100, I'm not exactly happy with how Aisha keeps pushing herself back into singing lately. If it was up to me, I'd make her take it easier on herself. But then I ain't about to try and run her life again like I sometimes did in the past. I ain't nothing like her damn fake ass father, man, and I'm not trying to control her.
So, if she wants to do like 10 interviews a day and film 5 music videos a week, so be it, I'm there for her.
Couldn't be there today though, since Paul practically forced me into this meeting with the label, saying how it's important. Jay-Z's people apparently reached out to us about doing a song collaboration between me and him and doing this big performance in New York next month, and yeah, that is a big fucking deal, so of course we had to negotiate that shit ASAP. I've got a lot of respect for Jay-Z man, he's one of my idols, you know what I'm saying? So collaborating with dude was legit like a dream come true.
The meeting went real well too, and as I'm walking out of Paul's office at the record company, my phone rings.
It's a number I don't recognize so I ignore it.
But just as I'm putting the phone away, I get a text message.
It's a photo of Aisha standing at the airport in LA, waiting to board her flight to Bahamas.
I dial the number back immediately, feeling myself already on edge cause I ain't got a good feeling about this shit at all.
"Who the fuck is this?!" I ask as soon as the other line picks up.
"All you need to know, Mr Mathers is that actions have consequences. You have no idea who I am, but when you chose to end the lives of two of my sons, you put a target on your wife's back."
Whatever the fuck was just said to me ain't even make sense at first.
Then it hits me. Once I remember this other weird ass phone call that was made to me back when me and my family was still chilling in Brazil. Those motherfuckers that attacked Aisha. I had arranged for them to get taken care off, and it was all legit and smoothed with the rest of the Cartel, but I ain't never took into consideration that they had families outside of the Cartel.
"Yo wait, hold up," I start to say. "Whatever issue you have with me, it's with me. Leave my fucking wife out of this."
"She's already in it, Mr. Mathers," the man says. "And she isn't going to make it off that plane."
I hang up the phone and dial Aisha's number.
She doesn't pick up, it goes straight to voice-mail. I cuss under my breath, leaving her a message, getting increasingly more frantic. I pace the hallway of the studio building, dialing the damn flying company.
I'm told that the plane to Bahamas that my wife is supposed to be on has took off thirty minutes ago.
Another ten minutes later, and the plane crash is all over the news.
Everything from then on is a fucking blur.
I feel like I'm losing it.
Don't even know how the fuck I've managed to make it back home.
I ain't been so out of it since I've started taking drugs, now I wish that I was fucking drugged up out of my mind.
Then, maybe I am already out of my mind.
Aisha's gone, she's fucking gone. The plane crashed and there were no survivors.
Paul was trying to call me, but I been threw my phone at the wall watching it break into a million pieces.
"Dad, are you okay?!"
"Where's Aisha?"
"We've heard..."
"Daddy, where's mommy?"
All of my girls bombarding me with questions I can't bear to answer.
I force myself by some miracle to keep my cool for their sakes.
"Aisha is fine, girls. Sienna, your momma will be home soon, aight?"
I don't know why I lie, man.
Maybe I wanna be in denial. Just for a bit, you know what I'm saying?
But nah, I know exactly what's happened, and I can't deny that shit.
Once the girls all retreated to their rooms, I descend down to my studio where it's sound proof.
I drive my fist into a wall there once my pain turns into rage.
I've only felt this type of a pain twice before in my life.
When Ronnie died and when Proof died.
Nah, I lie. I've also experienced it once before, when I had thought Aisha was dead when Suge's people shot her that day, trying to shoot me.
I thought she was gone then, and it was the worst feeling I've ever experienced. But my girl pulled through. She was lucky back then.
But this time her ticket was up. And so is mine.
I pick up a chair and throw it against the recording booth, crashing it.
Why man, why her, why couldn't this fucking Cuban get at ME instead?! I fucking got their sons murdered, not her. Aisha didn't do a goddamn thing, my wife was innocent!
Always so goddamn innocent as a matter of fact, maybe that was the problem. Aisha was a good person too good for this world, and I fucking worshipped the ground this girl walked on.
I would do anything for her, literally fucking anything, in life or in death...
Just then, my pain turns to rage again. Fuck it, I might as well find the fucker who did this now, the fucker that rigged the damn plane, causing it to crash.
Time for me to deal with the Cubans again...