Determined not to let old habits ruin their stable lives they miss out on love. Ignoring similarities. Shrugging off bonds. Their only difference is the very thing that brought them together. Fame. Where did things go wrong? When did things get so d...
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Trey
I pull up to Jay’s house. No cameras, no people, no pressure. Just peace. This is a much needed break in the middle of a tour. I won’t even begin to think of the schedule for next week. These few days are all about relaxing. Taking a break. I always manage to get to Jay’s house undetected. Nobody cares about me around here. Everybody is either retired or country music lovers. Not worried about Trey Songz.
“Yo!” Jay yells. “I thought you were on tour my nigga.”
The girl he was fucking screams. It was after she realized who I was not that I caught them fucking. I sigh. I disappear upstairs. I don’t feel like being a star right now. Don’t like being mean to fans. Especially not my Angels. I shut the door to the attic room and lock it. I fall back on the bed. My hand hits something sharp. I snatch my hand up examining it. I had a cut on my finger. I sit up mad.
“What the hell?”
It was a big envelope. I can understand how that would be sharp but not to the point where it cut me like this. I get up and walk into the bathroom. My phone rings.
“Yeah.”
“Just calling to see if you landed and are safely away from the stress.” Ma says.
“Yeap. Cut my damn finger.”
She chuckles. “The horror. Do you need paramedics?”
“I think I might.”
“What time you coming over?”
“First dark.”
“Okay, Maine.”
She hangs up the phone. I walk across the room to the bed picking up the envelop. It can’t be fanmail. Jay wouldn’t get fan mail. He is my childhood friend. The one no one knows about. He didn’t want even a small dose of fame. I don’t blame him. When my name became known his disappeared. He has been to a few concerts and after parties but not many. I open the envelop. Glass? The fuck? I empty it into the trash can. It was a picture frame. What kinda shit is this? I take the picture downstairs.
“How did somebody get a baby picture of me and know to send it here?”
“Say what? Let me see that shit.” he takes the picture. “How is this you?”
“What do you mean?”
He hands the picture back to me. “Your birthday is in November. What fool would have an outside party in November and dress their 1 year old in short sleeves? This is Virginia.”
“I didn’t look at all of that.”
“She is coming back.” he says nodding towards the hall.
