Rolling Stone

1. 2 am in the club

You really didn't know how you got here. After the fake ID's passed through Untitled Supper Club, you needed something different tonight. Something far from the usual spots where you might run into anyone who'd remind you of last week, and the bullshit you left behind.

"You think I give a fuck about that shit?!" Echoed in your mind before you drove away.

There was your ex, Xavier. Promising future of telling you sweet nothings. You trusted him forever, something about wanting to afford to give you all the things you loved getting for yourself. The bags you loved, the shoes you wore. He wanted to be the one to get them for you, instead of the hard work hard did to get them. and that was maybe possible in three years after you two graduated from HU.

But with Forex shams, drug money, and taking pieces from point A to point B being from Chicago gave anyone from here the option to make money fast. But for you, that shit wasn't you, you had a privileged enough upbringing to have your phone and purse to not be the result of drug money, and the lake side view of your mom's apartment pretty outlooking the city's South Side.

"It's cute right? Like Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Your gonna need it sticking around the South Side once you get that finance money."  Your soon to be ex whispered in you ear while you guys were at the range.

The gun's cold metal was in my hand as the strap to the black of my black Chanel bag sat cold on my waist.  You laughed it off at the moment, but deep down it was unsettling to you. But you shot every target that day, you smiled, not for him, but because you were ok with the idea that you could bust a cap in someone's ass but wanted to make sure you never actually had to. You were both in school. Xavier for entrepreneurship , you double majoring in finance and accounting, and you thought you had it figured out. But then he'd dropped the bomb:
He wasn't just some motherfucker grinding through college. He was selling dope. Full time.

You always thought his major was stupid.

"No successful entrepreneur ever majored to be an entrepreneur"

You used to say. You could still see his face as he sat you down after that range session, trying to justify it like it was no big deal. Like dropping out of school to trap was just another business decision.

"I've been doing this for a while, babe," he had said, his voice steady, as if he wasn't telling you he was ready to throw his future away. "We could be good together. You with your degree, handling the money. We'd be set."

There were questions that you had here and there. Questions you felt dumb not asking, but maybe that was because you loved hard.  Like what strings did he pull to override the fact that we were nineteen and no one over the age of 21 was allowed in.  Trying to convince you to care about money more than morals, you liked money, but you liked morals too. "You think I give a fuck about that shit?!" You told him.

You weren't about that life.

So you dumped him. Kept the bag, though.

"Girl," Nia said, leaning closer, her voice rising to match the music, "you're seriously telling me you're done with him? I saw that bag. You know how much that cost?"

You lifted the Chanel, resting it on your lap, you knew how much it costed and you didn't give a fuck, you could buy two more if you wanted to be financially irresponsible. "Oh, I'm done. Just because I'm keeping the bag doesn't mean I'm keeping him."

Nyla snorted, shaking her head. "That's kinda fucked up, Y/N."

"Keeping him would've been fucked up, keeping this? Smart." After we left Untitled, we made our way into Tao.