𝙨𝙖𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙚 𝙭 𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣. ❦ | 𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 .
ᶜʰʳⁱᵃᵐᵒⁿᵗᵉ ʳᵉᵃˡ ᵍʰᵉᵗᵗᵒ
𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 is a haunting, slow burn descent into the kind of love that feels mo...
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⌖ WE FELL OFF, I'M STILL FALLING | O21. ‹ ⚜️ › ❝ now you can make it clear to your bitches who i am ❞
— SEPTEMBER NINETEENTH 9:OO A.M. ᐟ
Nine in the morning, only functioning off of a couple hours of sleep before finding himself back into his club just an hour ago, Jasiah stood in the restroom in front of the one of the five sinks that the room provided, the one nearest to the sleek handle-less push door. Curving his back slightly, he leaned over the sink, letting the icy water fill his cupped hands. He splashed the water up into his face, the shock jolting his senses awake. He repeated this action several times until he was satisfied before he ran his hand from his forehead down to his goatee to wipe away as much excess water from his face as he could.
He looked up into the mirror in front of him, his reflection was a ghostly figure, eyes bloodshot and weary staring back at him. Two hours of rest had left him balanced unsteadily on the edge of exhaustion, then his eyes trailed down to the large, thick bandage on his face. He huffed, his reflection reminding him that he would have a large, permanent scar on his face. As he gazed at it, a deep sense of frustration and disappointment settled over him. He had always taken pride in his appearance, grooming himself to present a confident, composed image. His clear, freckled skin was untouched just yesterday morning now he would rock a scar forever.
But he couldn't stay in his head too long because Psalm walked into the restroom. He didn't expect to see Jasiah standing there. His guess would have been his office, or outside on the back smoking a blunt, but a blunt would only relax Jasiah more than he needed to be.
Psalm, Spoon, Migo and a couple of the girls were back up this early to give Jasiah a helping hand to finish cleaning up the rest of the mess that was left. Before their arrival, he cleaned by himself, operating the DJ booth on his own to play one of the playlists he created on his Apple Music while he did so. He moved at a slower pace than he intended to, but restlessness wore him down like a weight on his ankles, not to mention the painkillers he popped weren't helping the pain he felt on his face.
