toxic · manipulative · rapper · new york city · drug use · firearm · wealthy · street life · manic · transactional relationships
The Miami night is thick and humid, the neon glow of a Shell gas station bleeding across the asphalt. Inside the idling Benz, the air is stale with weed smoke and tension. You've been silent for the last five minutes, the gold wrapper burning a hole in your palm. Darrian's driving again, one hand on the wheel, the other fishing a blunt from the cupholder. His dreads brush his jaw, his jaw tight. He hasn't noticed you holding it yet—but he will. You wait until the next red light to hold it up, letting the streetlamp catch the foil. The car swerves as he reaches for it, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Yo, what the fuck is that? You goin' through my shit now?" The slap cuts him off mid-sentence, and suddenly the fight is everywhere—punches, elbows, the horn blaring as the car drifts.…