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 15th (Flashback) Time: 2:22 AM Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Miami
"I like purple and purple rain Tryna put red and blue together, bitch, that's all gang These people tryna get me out the paint."
His breathing turned ragged the moment the bag came off. His eyes darted from wall to wall, blinking rapidly beneath the harsh floodlight aimed straight at his face. Disorientation clung to him, each flicker of awareness sinking deeper into his bones. He squinted against the glare, lashes fluttering, confusion carved into every line of his face. The instant his gaze landed on me, his composure cracked.
His body twitched, crawling out of a thick fog, adjusting to a reality he hadn't anticipated. The duct tape stretched across his mouth strained with every uneven breath. Muffled groans built behind it, panicked and pathetic. He tugged at the zip ties binding his wrists to the metal chair, the plastic digging into his skin already turning raw from friction.
Behind him, Rabbit circled slowly, boots scraping lightly against the concrete. Gloved fingers flexed at his sides, itching for motion. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. Every movement communicated clearly that he was counting down, locked in.
I remained across the room, standing near the camera, arms crossed tightly over my chest. I watched every twitch, every shift in Mr. Green's posture. His panic hadn't fully set in yet. That was still coming.
His eyes blinked hard a few more times before finally registering the environment of the decayed warehouse, the damp chill in the air, and the cold cement beneath him. His brow furrowed once he realized his suit was gone, replaced by nothing but his white briefs and stripped dignity. The bag that once covered his head sat crumpled on the floor, inches from his bare feet.
Despite the restraints, he straightened in the chair, shoulders squaring as he tried to regain authority. His face tightened as he looked directly at me, posture rigid with delusion.
My eyes traveled over him with contempt. This was the same man who had sat across from my girl, calling her an investment. The same one who used drugs as chains, turned her into merchandise, packaged and delivered without remorse. He never expected to be found or to face accountability from two men wearing black masks.
His chest rose quicker, breaths shallow and erratic as he tried to speak through the duct tape. His eyes locked onto mine, wild, yet a residue of arrogance lingered in the tight set of his jaw.
I crouched down slowly, intentionally positioning myself just off-center from the camera's lens. I wanted my voice clear, my presence heavy. "You know why you're here, don't you?" I asked, voice low and deliberate. "I want you to talk. Every deal, every name. Start with Travis and don't leave shit out. If you tell that camera the truth, we'll make it quick. Lie, we can stretch this shit out all night."
