Safe Word

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Carteay (Car-T-Ay) Hoyt

“One, two, one, two, three, four,” Sable, my choreographer, counted off for the millionth time.

“Ugh! I’m tired, girl. How many times are we going to go over this?”

“Until you stop moving like you got lead in your feet.”

“Hell, I feel like I do. I’m not a dancer. I’m a singer.”

“You can dance, Carteay. You’re just not focused. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired. You know the label has been stressing me the fuck out about this album.”

In less than two months, I was set to premier my sophomore album. I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since the day we started working on it. After such a phenomenal debut album, my follow-up project was highly anticipated.

Reaching the heights of success only gave me further to fall when the inevitable wrath of failure came creeping in.

There were still songs that I hated on the album, but the label wasn’t budging.

They wanted to revamp my whole style and sound.

They wanted to make me a pop artist, but I wasn’t hearing it.

No matter how much they told me I could reach the pinnacle of my career if I were to compromise, I just wasn’t feeling it.

“Well, let’s go over the routine one more time, then we can go grab a drink. Is lover boy picking you up today?”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could answer, my phone rang.

With a sudden burst of energy, I dashed across the room, to where my gym bag rested and rifled through it, hoping to catch my phone before it stopped ringing.

My hand bumped the hardness of the phone, and I grabbed it, retrieving it right before the call ended.

A smile lifted my cheeks when I realized that it was the call that I had been waiting for.

“Are you being summoned?” Sable teased, knowing how annoyed I got with Cy’s persistent calling when he knew I was busy.

“No.” I shook my head as I swiped my phone’s screen to return the missed call.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek as I put the phone to my ear.

There weren’t many people who gave me the giddy feeling I got when I talked to my friends.

I cherished each and every one of them, especially the ones who I knew before I became famous.

It was rare to find someone genuine these days.

Everybody wanted something. Everybody wanted to see what they could get out of you.

Kannon was just Kannon. He was funny. He was blunt.

Most importantly, he was honest. I’d sent over a copy of my album two days ago and had been nagging the hell out of him for feedback ever since.

He told me that he would call me today. He was the one who told me not to compromise my integrity for anyone if my art was more important to me than money.

Him having to fill in for one of the bodyguards on my last tour resulted in us becoming fast friends.

He was so down to earth and didn’t give a damn about me being famous.

The first time he clowned one of my costumes instead of pandering to me and making me think I was the baddest bitch in the world in it, I knew he was someone I could trust.

“So which songs you don’t like, Carrie? I know there has to be a reason you want an expert like me to vet the album before it drops.”

“Which ones did you hate?”

“I didn’t hate any of them, but the first track and number five aren’t you. I can tell in your voice that you hated to sing that up-tempo joint, but I think it will be a radio killer.”

“See why I love you?” I asked him.

He chuckled. “I’m a lovable nigga. Did I get it right though?”

“You did. I hate that fast song, not to mention I’ve been working on a routine for the video for the past four hours, and my feet are killing me. I do think it will be a hit though. We’re supposed to shoot on location next week.”

“You’re a singer, not a dancer. Let them do the counting, and you follow their lead. You don’t have to control every aspect to remain in control, C. Just dance.”

I laughed a little. “Not you making sense for a change.”

“What’s the problem, Carteay? Talk to me.”

“I don’t know. I just keep thinking about our conversation about integrity.”

“A compromise isn’t a lapse in integrity, C. If you like it enough to know it will be a hit, let that be the reason to settle. Now if it was some trash, I would tell you to tell the label to kiss your ass. You know I don’t mind going into villain mode for you.”

I laughed at how serious he was. “I know you would. What about ‘Nothing Like It’?” I asked, wondering what he thought about my favorite song on the album.

“I liked it. I mean, I can’t relate to most of these love songs, but it was good. I ran it back a couple of times because I could tell you loved it. It was like you finally let go of the railing and just let your emotions take over.”

It broke my heart a little to hear Kannon’s confession, but I wasn’t surprised. He talked about not wanting anything to do with love after seeing the pain his brother went through losing his first wife. Him not trying to hit on me was one of the main reasons it was so easy for us to be friends.

He didn’t want anything from me other than a few laughs over a couple of drinks.

I didn’t want anything from him other than genuine conversation with a friend.

Friends were rare these days, especially in my line of business.

I didn’t have a single person that I knew I could trust wholeheartedly outside of my mom and my sister.

Kannon was a breath of fresh air. Thank God for Horace and his broken leg.

“I did. I wrote it, and they let me have complete creative control.”

“I could tell it was special. The passion in your voice was different than any of the other songs. You was singing about your man, Carrie?” he teased.

I scoffed. “Child, please.”

He laughed at that. I’d confided in Kannon the nature of my relationship with Cyrus while I was in a drunken stupor one night after a show when I walked in on him with some chick in his lap.

Kannon was surprised when I didn’t spazz out on him.

That was until I let him know that our “relationship” was manufactured by the label.

It was supposed to be good for our careers, but it was hell on my mental health.

The nigga couldn’t keep it in his pants to save his life and didn’t care who knew it.

His infidelity kept us in the blogs but made me look and feel like a fool.

Being a cheating rapper’s devoted girlfriend was not the look I wanted, but apparently being cheated on was relatable.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” I sighed, looking down at my phone as Cy’s name danced back and forth.

“You being summoned?” Kannon asked.

“By the one and only Cy the Great,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Well let me let you get to your wifely duties. Congrats on the album, C. It’s going to be a smash. I’ll buy a million copies just to make sure if I have to,” he joked.

“Bye, silly. Thank you again, Kannon.”

“Good night.” Kannon ended the call as I hit the button then switched over to the other line.

“You ’bout done up there? We got to hit up a spot that’s opening tonight. My people put me on the bill.”

“You’re on the bill, not me. I’m going home after this. I’m sleepy, Cy.”

“I don’t give a fuck about all that shit, Carteay. I need you on my arm. I’m sending a car for you at twelve.”

“I’m still in rehearsal.”

“OK, and at twelve, you’re going to be in that car. Please don’t make me have to come get you, Carteay. I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight. You already ain’t gave me no pussy in two weeks as it is.”

His words grated like sandpaper. My breathing shuddered at his referral to me giving him anything.

Cyrus was the kind of man who tended to confuse coercion with consent.

Most of the times that we had sex was either me finally giving in after his persistence or him forcing himself on me after my constant refusal.

The first time it happened, I went to Ceasar, the label owner, to tell him I was going to press charges against Cy for rape. I just wanted to give him a heads up. After he started questioning how someone I was in a relationship with could rape me, things went downhill fast.

I was told that there was no way that my boyfriend could rape me because being in a relationship gave him implied consent to have sex with me. He immediately let me know that the label would terminate my contract for trying to start shit and sue me for the advance that I’d gotten.

Tyler, our manager, called me dramatic and made me feel like I was making a big deal out of nothing. By the time I left the office, I felt like maybe I was overreacting. Their gaslighting made me feel like I was the problem instead of the pill popping druggie they forced me to tolerate.

I barely had time to make an informed decision about what to do before they had their crisis management team all over me explaining how if I kept up that narrative, I would be seen as a victim for the rest of my career, and no one wanted to support a victim.

They were grooming me to be a role model, not a spokesperson for rape. Victims didn’t sell records.

Apparently, they talked to Cyrus, too, because the next day, he came to my house with a camera crew and gifted me a brand-new car for all five million of his social media followers to see. People were calling us relationship goals when we were anything but.

“I’m on my period, Cy. I don’t feel like being out tonight. My security detail is already gone for the night.”

“You act like a nigga can’t keep you safe without them all in our business. I’m ’bout ready to get rid of they ass anyway.”

“That’s not your call.”

“Hmph, you walking around with a bunch of niggas like you ain’t got a man that can protect you is not a good look for me.”

“I’m not worried about how you look. I’m worried about my safety.”

“Yeah, well tonight, I’ll keep you safe. Be ready by midnight,” he said, ending the call before I could further protest.