you're such a dream to me...
not your typical love story.
inspired by Ariana Grande's r.e.m & the movie Baby Driver.
Chris Brown story ❤️
i suck at descriptions but the story speaks for itself. I PROMISE!
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Date: January 12th Time: 1:33 PM Location: Apartment, Miami
"I keep my Glock in her Chanel, that shit cost five racks All these hoes be goin' for real low-key, just buy them X."
Back at the apartment, I lay stretched out on the living room floor, my back propped against a pillow I'd grabbed from the couch, with Gage curled beside me like he had claimed that spot from the start. His head rested on my thigh, one paw flopped across my knee, his tail giving the occasional flick as he drifted in and out of sleep. The soft blue glow from my laptop lit the room, flickering across the walls like a low, steady heartbeat.
The silence wrapped around me easy like I could finally exhale without thinking about what came next. No music. No TV. No chaos. Just me, Gage, and the constant hum of the heater whispering through the vent. I moved through rehab websites one by one, reading every line with intention. Outpatient. Group therapy. Dual-diagnosis resources. Each new tab I opened felt like a quiet vow I was making to myself.
I wasn't doing this for Blaze. I wasn't doing it for anyone but me. I wanted stability I could maintain, clarity I could protect. I wanted to stay clean, not for anyone else's comfort, but for my own survival. More than that, I needed a life where peace didn't feel like a reward for pain. Just wanting that was enough of a reason to try.
The house in Vegas gave us exactly what we needed. It sat tucked in a quiet neighborhood where nobody would ask too many questions. It had room for me and Blaze to grow, a space for Zyra when she visited, and a backyard Gage would claim before we could even get the keys in the door. The rest of the crew would all be close enough to reach in minutes, close enough to protect each other but with just enough space to finally feel like we weren't down each other's throats.
We were playing it smarter now. Every move we made came with backup. Nothing was reckless anymore, not with the lives we were trying to build. That alone gave me peace.
I reached down and ran my fingers through Gage's fur. His ears twitched, but he didn't move. He was too relaxed to care. My smile came easy, low and genuine. "You ready for Vegas, boy?"
He let out a soft, drawn-out huff, like he'd been ready before I even asked.
"Me too," I whispered, patting his back again.
I kept scrolling, eyes narrowing as I combed through another list of programs. This part hit different now. I'd already fought through the darkest stages; the withdrawal, the shame that clawed at me, the nights where the only light in the room came from my own stubborn will to survive. Now came the harder part. Staying clean, waking up every morning and choosing myself without slipping into old patterns. I didn't want a place that reminded me of hospitals and locked doors. I needed accountability without feeling punished.
"I don't want to start over," I muttered under my breath. "I just want to keep going."
Gage opened one eye, gave me a knowing look, then shut it again like I was late to my own realization. I shook my head with a quiet laugh, then clicked another link. Hollow Ridge Wellness. Women-only outpatient. Just outside the city. Everything about it felt right. It didn't try to sell perfection. The reviews were honest, grounded. Trauma-informed care, smaller groups, and personalized plans. They were all designed for women juggling work, healing, and life all at once.
