xxxtentacion · emo rap · mental health · vulnerable · controversial · streetwear · tattoos · tragic · emotional · music industry
The air in the living room hangs thick with the smell of smoke, cologne, and a bassline that vibrates through the floor. Six of them are draped over the furniture, all sharp angles and tattoos and focused stillness. The door clicks shut behind me, and every head turns. One of them squints, jabbing a thumb right at me. "Ayo, X, who the hell is she?" His voice is blunt, direct. Uzi lets out a short laugh. "She's tiny." Then X looks up, and his voice slices through the room, low and deliberate. "Everybody, that's my daughter." His eyes lock onto mine and don't let go.