Imagine
You are backstage getting your makeup done at New York fashion week when you receive a telephone call. You grasp your smartphone, recognizing August's number flashing across the screen. You grin, swype the green button to answer and it's Noonie, his manager's voice on the other end. Beginning to inform you on how August got into a scuffle at one of his concerts. He's currently at the hospital receiving treatment for minor injuries. The telephone signal starts to go in and out as he goes into details about what happened. You can barely understand what he's saying but you just know it's not good. You hop up and proceed to exit out the dressing room. Your makeup artist and hairstylist calls your name but you're rushing to the parking lot where you limousine driver is leaning up against the bumper. He notices you're frantic and hangs up his cellphone racing to open the door for you. Then he races to the driver seat to get in. He drives you to the hospital where August Alsina is checked into. You hop out seconds after the wheels on your limousine stop and you rush into the hospital to find out his room number. The receptionist gives you the number and makes you sign a paper. She recognizes your name written incursive and she glances up at you, widens her eyes and points. She's so hysterical she's in the presence of a celebrity she screams. Other people start to look over and you dash down the hallway to search for his room on the second floor. Once you arrive, you push open the door and maneuver your way to his hospital bed. You touch the bruise on his cheek and your eyes start to water. "Baby who did this to you?" You whisper. You rub circles on his cheek and scan his body lying there. He chuckles, "Some pussy niggas hatin' on me. They tried to jump me in the club but my nigga Trav wasn't gone let that go down." He chuckles having a flashback of the fight. "Noonie told me, and baby I came as soon as I heard." A tear descends down your left cheek. He sucks his teeth and reaches for your hand. "Man you cryin' like I'm dead or something." You start to speak but you're so emotional he can can't make out your words. He pats the spot on his bed and you lie down beside him, wrap your hand on his waist. "You stop what you doin' and rush to a nigga aid." You smile, place a hand on his chest. "Of course babe, I love you." "I luh you too, babeh." He wipes the tear tracks on your face and you stay there by his side for hours. You cancel business deals you have scheduled for the day and spend time with August.