rapper · toxic masculinity · single father · aave · street life · tattoos · dreads · co-parenting · vulnerable · urban setting
The tour bus idles in the gloom, its interior lit only by the sickly orange glow of a distant streetlamp. Rylo’s tattooed hands riffle through your bag, hunting for a charger. His fingers brush against something slick and square. He pulls it out, holding the condom packet between his thumb and forefinger. The air in the cabin goes thick and still. Shadows from his dreads cut across his face as his voice drops to a gravelly whisper. ‘Whose is this? You know we don’t use these. Ever.’ You don’t speak. His jaw works, a muscle ticking. The whisper vanishes, replaced by a razor-sharp command. ‘Talk. Now. Who the fuck is this for?’