Page 80 of Juice
“I promise.” She giggled. “I’m grown enough to know how to hold my composure. I owed her that ass whooping for playing in my face.”
“I’m the one that owed you loyalty, but I get what you’re saying.”
“Right.” She sighed.
“Can we go? I need to wash my ass.”
“Yeah girl we can slide.” I chuckled. “You going by my crib or I need to take you home?”
“I’m going home nigga. You ain’t that fucking slick.” She tittered before walking off.
I couldn’t do shit but laugh and shake my head. That was my lil hitta right there. I didn’t care how much it cost me I would do everything in my power to make sure her name ain’t hit the blogs behind this shit. I’m just grateful that she ain’t mad about it. Tamia pressed the wrong one and had to catch them hands. My ass just happy I wasn’t the one on the receiving end of that ass whooping.
Sitting at the mixing board I instructed my engineer to lower the snares in the background of the song. “I’on know what it is bruh. But it almost feels like I’m running from the beat or some shit.”
“Let me try something.” After adjusting the track, he clipped it and ran it back. “Tell me if this is better.”
Tapping my thumb on the table I rapped over the beat. The songRegretthat I had recorded was about my relationship with Nariah. I was on my Rod Wave shit when I came up with this one.
I was young, I was blind, took your love for granted. Had a queen in my corner, now it's empty-handed. Used to argue 'bout nothin', pride ran the show. Now I scroll through your page like, "Damn, let me go." You held me down when I barely had a name. Now I’m iced out, but it don’t feel the same.
Every text I don’t send, every call I replay. Got me prayin’ at night like, “Lord, bring her back one day.” I see your smile in my sleep, still hear your laugh. But I broke what we built, can’t change the past. If you out there listening, just know that I’m tryin’. Still got your heart on my chain, I ain't lyin’.
I let you go when you was all I ever needed. Now I’m up, but my heart still feel defeated. Countin' blessings, but it don't add up to you. Lord, if you hear me, bring her back like you do. Tears in my chain, pain in my voice, swear I’d take it all back if I had the choice. She was real, I was lost in the fame, now it's late nights, just me and the blame.
When the verse ended me, and Pack looked at each other and slapped hands. “That’s fucking it boy.” I boasted. “That’s how you mix a song.”
“Fucking right nigga.” He bragged. “You gon’ fuck around and get yo girl back when this one drop.”
“Nawl nigga.” I chuckled. “Nari ain’t fucking with me like that no more.”
“Never know.” He shrugged. “I’mma give you a minute.” He added after the door to the studio was pushed opened.
It had been two weeks since Nariah’s arrest and surprisingly shit had gone back to normal. Nari was chilling, handling her business and shit while Tamia duck ass was crashing out on the Gram.
Instead of Nari playing into the shit she decided to take the high road, but not before her petty ass posted the roses I had sent to her crib. I ain’t have no ulterior motive or no shit like that when I had them delivered to her but Tamia ain’t know that. She hit me up this morning crying and shit all in her feelings talking about how I had lied and played with her.
I wasn’t beat for the back and forth, so I sent her my lo’ and told her to pull up. It was time for me to dead this shit once and for all.
Waving my hand at the couch I told her. “Have a seat.” She stared at me a few seconds before sitting down. “What’s good?” I asked and spun around in my chair to face her.”
“You tell me.” She sassed. “You’re the one that invited me here.”
“Afteryou hit me up talking shit. Seem like you got some things you wanna get off your chest so I’m giving you the floor.”
“I don’t have shit to say.” She lied.
Swiping my thumb across my nose I snorted. “Aight Tamia.”
“You not gone apologize for your baby mama?”
Apologize.I looked at Tamia ass like she had lost her fucking mind. “Apologize for what?”
“Seriously Juice.”
“Dead ass.”
“That girl attacked me in the club.” She yelled.
