Chris Brown & August Alsina Imagines

He texts you and August sees

  I hear my ringtone blaring in the next room over but I continue to ignore it. I have to finish getting ready to go out so whoever, and whatever it is will just have to wait. I softly brush the sides of my hair into a ponytail while I belt out a harmony that’s been stuck in my head. “Ahem…” I look over and see it’s my boyfriend August.

 He’s already decked out in his attire and is probably angry at me for getting gussied up this long, and still not being ready. He comes near the bathroom door and I reach my hand out to touch him but he dodges it. “Is something wrong?” I unplug the hot curling iron since I’m just about finished with my hair and set the brush down on the counter.

“Yeah, who the fuck is this textin’ you?” He stomps into the bathroom and hovers over me, eyes stuck on me the entire time. “I don’t know probably just a wrong number or something,” I speak with attitude. “Yeah ok,” he says, and I can tell doesn’t believe me at all for one second. “I mean I see it like this, if he ain’t family or anybody I know, he ain’t got no business textin’ you,” August argues.

Suddenly my open lipstick tube rolls down the counter top onto my pants leg and it marks across my denim jeans. “Shit,” I mumble. Now I have to change my whole damn outfit and ransack the closet all over again. “What should I wear?” I quietly ask myself. “Stop acting like you don’t hear me, you know this number!”

He yells, then scrolls down and reads more text messages and the number it’s from. “Still don’t know who that is?” Once he said that it started clicking in my head immediately after, the 6ft. tall guy I met at publix and damn was he handsome, I think to myself. I turn around with a dress still hanged on its hanger, ready to blow up at him. “Quit overreacting about every little thing he’s just a friend, damn.” He scrunches up his face and grills further.

“Since when? I ain’t never heard of this nigga till now,” August says, as if he knows all my friends. I walk over to where he’s standing, snatch my cellphone away and exhale. “He’s just a guy that kindly helped me with my groceries the last time I went shopping. Calm down babe, it’s nothing serious,” I explain, zipping the side of my dress up. He tilts his snapback to the back and laughs. “So is that what you do now? Give out your number to any nigga after he rings up your groceries ‘nshit?”

My jaw drops down and my eyes widens in shock. I felt like he just called me a ho to my face. I feel my eyes become heavy with water and swell up as the tears comes rolling down my cheeks. We purposely bump shoulders when I fly past, going to grab a jacket on the way out and driving around for hours. So when I return to his apartment later on that night, I see he’s ordered up chinese food and an apology note along with a colorful bouquet of flowers lying on the dining room table.