"They're on their way. I don't know how they got all the way up to the house. There's still security guards on duty." She paces the living room floor, her hands folded against her chest.
I turn away from her and turn my attention back to the consistent voices outside.
"Are you okay, babe? I know this is a little bit much for you." Chanel's voice softens on the last part of the sentence. I don't take offense to it, I know what she means. This entire time, she's been the one getting all this attention, all the media coverage and crazy fan experiences. It's nice of her to check on me. I can't be mad at that. This is definitely more paparazzi than I'm used to, but that isn't what was on my mind.
"Nah, don't worry about it." I mumble to her.
"One of those security guards are getting fired." Chanel complains.
I can hear police sirens in the distance. They aren't too far. As soon as they get here, the paparazzi will have to leave, the pictures will have to stop, the yelling and questioning will cease. Chanel was right, I've never had this before. Realistically, I've never even had half of this. I find myself going off into another world, a world where I am the one in Chanel's shoes, and suddenly the paparazzi don't seem so bad. If what one of the reporters said is true, if two of my songs really made it to the billboard 100 then I deserve to say something. I deserve to give some kind of statement. Don't I?
I raise my hand to unlatch the side door of the mansion where the paparazzi gather. My finger touches the cold knob and I hear Chanel gasp.
"Trev, what are you doing?" Chanel yells.
My mind is not focused on her, for a moment she sounds very far away. Like an echo in the distance.
"Trevon!" She yells again, but it's too late.
I turn the latch and slide open the door, carefully I step outside. Cameras flash so heavy and so often that I have to squint to see the mics being shoved into my face. The questions come at lightning speed. One of the ladies with a mic labeled E! News, steps back so I can properly step into their crowd.
"Prodigy, how does it feel to have two songs hit Billboard 100 within a week of release?" She asks. The same voice that said it before.
I am quiet as I stare at her, not even knowing how to respond. Hearing it again suddenly makes it real and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I let out a slow breath and look at the rest of the people surrounding me, all different shapes and sizes, all different cultures, suddenly interested in me. An average kid from Brownsville that just happens to know how to rap and happens to have had his life leaked onto a record.
"I don't know what to say." I start off slow and careful, suddenly everyone around me is quiet, the reporter's mic is still close to my mouth, cameras still flash, but no one speaks.
"I'm glad to know that people can relate so much to the pain in those songs but this is a very private time." I speak, but I don't sound like myself.
"The past few days have been heavy, as you all might suspect and the last thing we need is a crowd at our doorsteps." I finish.
"You use the word 'our', does that mean you and Chanel are back together?" One reporter asks from the back.
"Are you now living together?" Another reporter questions.
"Who leaked the songs?" Another screams.
Instantly there is a barrage of questions, noise and cameras, just like in the beginning. I stop trying to answer in fear of saying something else that might be taken the wrong way. I shouldn't have come out here. What was I thinking?
Why hasn't Chanel come out to help me?
Probably because she knows better.
"The police are on their way, y'all need to dip." I say quietly.
I turn my back on the crowd as questions still slam into my head like massive bricks. Questions I knew the media would have a ball with. I push through the blinds and slide the side door shut, latching it once again. Chanel is no where to be found in the kitchen, living room and dining room of the large mansion.
"Babe?" I call.
There is no answer.
I walk up the spiraled stairs and head to her room but a locked wooden door greets me.
"Chanel." I call softly. I knock twice and then turn the knob only to find she really had locked me out.
"Wow, what are you doing?" I question starting to get upset.
"What are YOU doing?" She yells from across her room.
"I'm trying to talk without a door in front of my face." I say sternly.
"That didn't stop you earlier." I hear her mumble.
Her bed springs creak and the door unlocks seconds later.
"Are you out of your mind, do you know how they work? Do you know the stories they're about to make up. Half of it, you probably didn't even say but they have pictures and bits and piece of shit coming out of your mouth!" She yells.
For a second she reminds me of Flex, she may even sound like him a bit.
"Well who cares what they say anyway?" I shrug.
"That's not the point. Why would you give them ammo to use against us? You don't know what you just did." She says quietly. She seems to be panicking, her face in a permanent scowl.
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm really not used to all this baby, you know that. I should have thought more before opening the door." I say honestly. I take her hand but she pushes it away. "Is this really that big of a deal? I was out there for 10 seconds."
"I know you're not used to it but you have a brain, you knew not to do something so stupid. You know your team is going to have interviews set up for you as soon as you leave me, you know your songs are on the Billboards, why are you trying to mess this up for yourseld?" She asks concerned.
"There's a smart way to do everything. That's the first thing Flex taught us." Chanel finishes and sits on her bed. I stay by the door, her words replaying over in my head. The quiet is too quiet.
I kiss my teeth.
"Sorry." I say again.
"Don't be sorry to me. You're team is going to be mad." She says.
"Actually, be sorry to me. I have to deal with what you've done now too." She puts her head in her hands. "We would like some privacy? 'OUR' doorstep? Are we married Trev, do I not know something?"
I can hear police begin to escort paparazzi off of our property. They ring the doorbell but neither Chanel or myself move in their direction. I am too focused on the turn of this conversation. Suddenly, I feel a little bitter and I don't know where the feeling has come from. We aren't married, we're barely back together but the distaste in her voice is off-putting. I sure have been taking care of her like a fucking husband the last few days. Nursing her skin and bones back to health. I struggle with making my dicomfort known or leaving the argument at that so we can continue the rest of our day, but my pride gets the best of me.
"What? Were you trying to keep me a secret still? Even after the release of those tapes? Making sure your Hollywood boyfriends don't hear about me? Is that why you're so mad I spoke to the paparazzi? " I ask staring at her in the bed. Her long legs crossed beneath her.
She looks at me like I've grown five heads.
"You serious? You really gon ask me about other niggas like we not in here tryna work on our shit together?" She looks away from me and laughs. "You're delusional."
"I'm sure there's been other niggas since I've been gone. Aside from the usual two." I mumble.
"Don't do this right now, we were making progress." She warns.
"Until you started acting like me talking to the papparazzi was the end of the world. What are you so fuckin worried about?" I ask, scratching my head. "Other than ya niggas finding out." I finish.
"I'm worried about shit you haven't learned to worry about yet. Professionalism, privacy, outlook, reputation. You don't hold my status, I wouldn't expect you to know." She spits.
I laugh.
"Your status, right. Right." I turn and begin heading down the stairs. "You wouldn't even have a status if it wasn't for me."
"WHAT?" She screams from her room. I know she heard it and I'm glad I said it, I've been wanting to say it for a while. Those long nights in the studio. Me even introducing her to Flex, she seems to forget about it all so easily up in these Hollywood hills.
I am down the stairs when she screams again.
"WHAT?" She says with all the attitude a Black girl can give. I hear her footsteps down the stairs and within seconds she is inches away. I stare into her heated eyes. I struck a nerve. I could almost see the steam flowing above her head.
"What?" She asks quietly.
"You wouldn't have status if it wasn't for - " I catch her hand as her open palm stops inches away from my face.
We stare at each other for a few moments and there isn't as much rage in me as there would have been if I didn't stop her. But there is still rage. I don't say another word to her, I throw her hand away from me, jerking her body forward and I move past her and take the stairs two steps at a time.
I throw any of my clothes within eye-range into my blue duffel bag that I came here with.
"I worked hard as fuck for my success. It doesn't matter what you THINK you've done." She yells as she stomps up the stairs.
I slide on the first pair of jeans visible and pull a shirt over my head.
"You're just fucking like her. You're just like Mila and the fake ass people here in Hollywood. Shit, maybe you belong here. " She continues talking.
I pull on a pair of socks and slide my foot into new Nike sneakers, I just bought. Still not saying another word to this insane individual standing before me.
"Why did you come here? For press? Did you leak the songs yourself?" She questions with a laugh. Her eyes water and I can't tell if it's from the anger or sadness. She knows how to get under my skin and she was doing her usual very impressive job. I lock my jaw in attempts to bite my tongue.
"You just wanted to hurt me as much as possible and then profit." She speaks.
I take one look around the room and then pull my duffel bag over my shoulder. I walk around her in order to leave the room and I push her to the side in order to get down the stairs but she stands firmly in front of the front door.
"Yo, watch out." I say as nonchalant as I can without throwing her across the room.
"Where are you going?" She wipes her eyes and folds her arms.
"I'm leavin. I'm not doin this right now." I answer honestly. I unlock the door, though her body is covering 75% of it, and turn the knob, pulling it open. Chanel slams her body back against the door, pulling the knob out of my hand. She turns the lock herself.
"You said 7 day Barricade! You said we would work on ever-" She yells.
"Okay, but I'm not fightin with you everyday! Everyday it's a different fight and now you tryna slap me like fuck out of here! Move-" I yell back.
"No." She says.
"I'm leavin, excuse me!" I say pushing her body to the side and unlocking the door again. She tries but I'm so much stronger than her that it's impossible to take my hand from the door knob.
"You say such hurtful shit! Like how are you trying to fix us and saying shit like that-" She cries.
"I say hurtful shit and you say what, Chanel? You been saying slick shit all night. 'Oh, I know you're not really used to this'' I mimic her voice.
"Because you're acting reckless! I'm only looking out for you, I've only ever wanted the fucking best for you."
That's debatable. I think to myself.
"We need to cool off man, maybe we spending too much time together." I say quietly.
She looks me in my eyes.
"You know I don't want you to go." Her voice breaks.
I sigh, watching her.
"Shit can't keep escalating like this." I shake my head.
Chanel wraps her arms around my waist. I don't move, my body still facing the door.
"Song number three. We have to finish the project." She mumbles into my shirt.
She sniffles and her hands move up my shoulder and push the duffel bag off causing it to drop to the floor.
"Song number three." She repeats, her voice making it clear that she is crying. In the last three days, I feel as though I've seen her cry 25 times. She pulls my face down to hers and kisses me lightly. I don't respond to it the first time, though it makes my heart happy. She kisses me again.
"You were about to slap me." I say still upset.
She laughs, it seems by accident.
"Wooooow, now it's funny." I ask surprised but a smile has found it's way to my face.
"It wouldn't have hurt." She smiles into my shirt and sniffles one more time. "My hands are tiny."
"You full of shit." I say, returning her kiss.
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Song 3 - A hit
How do I make your face stay out my head
Get your smell up out my bed
I'll pull these hairs up out my head before I let you drive me mental
Realizing you got the best of me, turns out I was a rental
Returned me so fucked up but I'll still call us sentimental
Been round the hood my whole life who woulda thought the person I'd be afraid of
Was someone I consider my wife
This shit aint funny but im laughin
You almost gave me life
I remember that pregnancy scare
You almost gave me life
I remember your deep ass poetry
You almost gave me life
N now God givin me dice, like "Please juggle them right"
I guess I finally got it
I tossed a couple salads and I hit a couple targets
Made a lil money, i'm eatin now
But I'm still starvin
Can't front-them tabloids got you lookin like the illest snack
You fucked me over but our love? Nothin as ill as that
I walk out the stores when they play your shit
I told you that song was a hit
told you that song was a hit..
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Message from the Author:
The more you guys comment, the faster I post chapters. It fuels me. Heads up