Chapter Three #3
“Don’t know, I think he’s in his feelings.
You put him on blast and the crowd wasn’t feeling him.
They were dry as hell when he popped his ass on stage like a jack in the box.
Then he kept pointing the mic at them as if they knew the lyrics to them dumb ass songs.
Like nigga, ain’t nobody here to see you, Otis,” Aria jested.
“But baby, when you came out,” she paused.
“They lit the fuck up and Dex almost died on the spot, and I have it on camera.”
It was no secret that her best friend couldn’t stand her boyfriend.
Actually, neither of her friends liked Dex.
In their opinion, Dex was an opportunist, and Tyler could’ve done a lot better than a tone-deaf, washed-up rapper who piggybacked off his girlfriend's career.
Their relationship was toxic, and the world loved them when they were featured on gossip blogs for senseless drama.
Tyler only spazzed out when Dex called himself doing something stupid, and being the drama king he was, Dex loved pushing her buttons and hiding his hand.
“Fuck him. I’m so tired of that nigga,” Tyler expressed.
“It took all my might not to unplug his mic, cause how you up here rapping a song my best friend wrote, but always grinning in some bitch face. I promise you I want all the smoke with his funky ass.”
“You should’ve did that shit,” Tyler rolled her eyes.
“Girl, fuck him. You know Dex is jealous as fuck that you're out here winning, so he’s going to use every opportunity to make you look like the fool. Next time he wanna make some money, tell that nigga to go stand on Woodward and beat on some damn buckets with chopsticks.”
Tyler knew allowing him to open her show was a bad idea, but he needed the money, and she wanted to stroke his ego.
He fucked her harder when he felt like he was in control, plus his career was struggling, and Tyler was his last lifeline.
In her opinion, Dex needed to change his style, but he was stuck on autotune and bad lyrics.
The company he kept encouraged him, refusing to tell the man he sounded worse than Ren and Ten.
It was Tyler who kept it 100, but her opinion didn’t matter until he needed her to hop on his track and save his song from getting trashed.
“Do you have my phone?”
“Right here.” Aria handed her the iPhone 15.
Picking up her heels, Aria followed behind Tyler as she started tapping on her phone.
There were messages from Shane, tags and mentions from social media, and a couple of messages from Bobbi letting her know she was sliding off for the night.
There was nothing from Dex, so she dismissed everything else.
With her head still down, Tyler rounded the corner to her dressing room and collided with a hard figure that sent her falling to the ground.
“Oh shit, my fault, sweetheart,” the deep voice apologized as his hand reached out to help her back to her feet.
Tyler stared at his scarred knuckles and tattoo covered hands before tracing the thick veins in his arms, up his neck, and landing on his handsome face.
Butterflies formed in the pit of her stomach as he patiently held his hand out for her to take.
Tyler's eyes focused on his rich dark chocolate complexion, sunken cheeks, and brown tinted lips.
She saw past his unkempt fade and scruffy facial hair.
He was rough around the edges, but he was perfect.
Placing her hand in his, Tyler allowed him to help her stand.
For a brief second, they stood there holding hands.
“You good?” His deep voice broke the silence, bringing her back to reality. Snatching her hand away from him, Tyler cleared her throat and glared at him.
“Watch where you’re walking,” she barked, mean mugging him.
“The fuck?” He frowned, taken aback by her rude tone. “You walked into me, I could’ve left yo uncoordinated ass on the ground.”
“You saw me walking, next time walk around!”
“Aye, shorty, watch who the fuck-
“Lo, come on nigga,” another man called out for the stranger that was about to rip her a new asshole. Picking up his phone from the ground, Lo faced her and snorted. “Next time drink some tea before you go on stage. It sounded like you been hollering all night,” he advised before walking off.
“Boy, fuck you.” Tyler gave him the middle finger.
“Here.” Aria handed her the phone she dropped, ushering her to keep walking toward her dressing room. “Take a load off, eat something, and I’ll keep everyone away.”
“Ok, just give me an hour to get myself together,” she mumbled, pushing the dressing room door open.
Behind closed doors, Tyler’s shoulders dropped, her stomach ached, and light perspiration decorated the bridge of her nose.
Her hands trembled lightly, alerting her that it had been far too long since she poisoned her bloodstream with the only thing that relaxed her nerves, kept her thoughts at bay, and pacified her emotions.
Liquor kept her content, but the tiny capsules soothed her mind, body, and soul.
Even when she tried to kick the habit, the yearning caused her to pause in the middle of a conversation or wake up in a cold sweat.
Opioids and stimulants made up the star that people loved so much, and without them, she was empty.
Dashing over to her purse, Tyler removed the mint can and poured the pills into her palm.
Using her index finger, she sifted through them until the tip of her finger brushed across the tiny pill that was going to turn her night right back around.
Sighing in relief, Tyler popped the pill into her mouth before falling into the chair.
She crushed it with her back teeth for faster relief but frowned at the bitter taste.
While waiting for the potent pill to take effect, Tyler stared at her reflection.
She almost didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her.
Makeup wasn’t her thing, but to sell the world a dream, she gave into their expectation of beauty.
She wore long lashes that rubbed against the brim of her nose when she blinked, itchy weaves that covered her buzz fade, and heavy makeup that transformed her into a different person.
Then again, she was a different person. Her voice soothed souls and her enticing body had caused plenty of wet dreams.
Without all the extra shit, Tyler was often compared to Taylor Terry.
They shared the same complexion, faded haircut, and pretty smile.
Tyler, however, kept her hair covered with wigs, snapbacks, and beanies.
A mixture of freckles and moles decorated her cheeks and the brim of her nose.
Her lips were full and often stood out when she wore dark lipstick.
Tyler’s body was on a different level. Thanks to several rounds of lipo, a BBL, and breast enhancements, Tyler was giving the girls a run for their money.
Her waist was tight, her titties were perky, and her thighs matched her ass.
Tyler was the bad bitch every other bad bitch thought they were.
“Why the fuck you trying to embarrass me on stage?” The dressing room door flew open, making her jump up from the vanity.
“Boy!” Tyler grabbed her chest in an effort to slow her thumping heart. “Don’t come in here starting shit.” She glanced behind him, seeing the people walking in the hallway stop and stare at them. “And close the door.”
“Fuck all these people,” Dex roared. “You on bullshit. I bailed you and yo stupid ass friends out of jail, so we should be even. The last song was off my album, why the fuck wouldn’t you call me on stage? I could’ve rapped my part.”
“You bailed us out because you’re not stupid, and who is this lil bitch you been flirting with? What, you trying to grin your way into her panties? You know how you do.”
“Man, gone with all that. Wasn’t nobody flirting with no bitch.” He waved her off.
“Dexter, please. You were smiling so hard the corners of yo dry ass lips were cracking.”
“Man,” he chuckled, running his hand through his soft sponge coils. “All I did was take a picture with the bitch.”
“You think you’re so cute, huh?” Tyler rolled her eyes, hating his fuck boy grin.
“That girl was a fan…she was asking for my autograph.”
“A fan?” She snorted. “That bitch probably couldn’t name one song if you paid her.”
“The fuck you trying to say? I don’t have hits?”
“You said it, not me.”
“Fuck outta here. I got hits on top of hits.” Dexter cockily waved her off. “But none of that have got shit to do with you not calling me back on stage.”
“I really didn’t see a point in calling you back on stage when your own set didn’t go over so well.”
“Fuck is you talking about? They were feeling ya boy.” Dexter palmed his chest. “I had that bitch rockin’,” he bragged. “I’m the reason they were so hype when you came out there.”
“Umm,” Tyler squinted, wondering if they were at the same show because surely, he had the details wrong.
The second Dexter stepped on stage you could feel the energy shift.
The audience used his set as a bathroom break, and while he tried to act unfazed, Dexter’s head was fucked up.
Not only were they leaving to use the restroom and get snacks, but the people who stayed around ignored his attempts to get them engaged.
Dexter was jumping around, sweating, and damn near dry humping his dancers.
He used all his energy to hype up a crowd that wanted him to get the fuck on.
Bringing him back on stage for the last song wasn’t the right move, and quite honestly, Tyler didn’t even want him opening anymore, but she kept those thoughts to herself.
She wanted to tell him that instead of trying to make random women stars, he should’ve focused on his craft because the shit sucked.