The bass echoed through Remy's body as she walked into the club, the heavy air thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat. Remy was no stranger to this environment. It was like a second home, even with all of her success.
But tonight something was off. Eyes followed her every move, a mixture of admiration, fear, and envy.
Remy moved through the crowd with a confidence that demanded space. She approached the bar, ordering a drink while ignoring the curious stares around her. It wasn't long before she picked up on the whispering— sharp cutting words that sliced through the music.
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Remy's POV: "She ain't as tough as she thinks" one voice said, loud enough for me to hear
My jaw tightened as I tried to ignore it but they continued trying to taunt me. One of the women stepped over to where I was and it was clear she wanted a confrontation with me.
"You got something to say?" I said
She smirked, clearly she was drunk "yeah, I do. You think you run this city but you're just another washed up rapper clinging to the streets."
I swung on her before I could even think. My fist connected with her jaw causing her to stumble backwards.
Everybody started crowding around as we were fighting and people started jumping in to help her. I was outnumbered but I kept fighting anyway.
The bouncers rushed over and tried to break it up but it was too late. By the time they pulled me away I was breathing heavily, my knuckles were bloody, and a bruise was already forming on my cheek.
I wasn't tripping about the bruise, they looked worse than me and I didn't have any help. I should look way worse with the amount of people that were on me.
The bouncers escorted me to my car and I went home.
When I made it home I slammed the door walking into my house. I kicked off my shoes and walked into the bathroom to examine the damage in the mirror. The bruise on my cheek was darkening, and I had a cut on my lip but I barely felt the pain.
After cleaning my face up, I collapsed onto the couch. My phone was blowing up with notifications. The fight was already trending, clips were circulating on social media. People weighing in with their opinions. Some were cheering me on while others condemned me for fighting.
I scrolled through reading the comments of people saying I handled myself well. My pride appreciated it but I was frustrated because I don't enjoy fighting anymore. I'm trying to grow from that but no matter how hard I tried to leave the ghetto fighting shit behind someone always came fucking with me dragging me right back.
I tossed my phone to the side, leaned back, and closed my eyes.
I couldn't help but feel the weight of my reality pressing down on me. I was tired of the cycle but deep down I knew that the fight wasn't just external. The streets were apart of me. Fighting was ingrained in my DNA and even though I hate it I didn't know how to live without it.
