It was supposed to be about the music. It was supposed to be about mentoring. But somewhere along the way, the lines got blurred. Talent, sex appeal, scandal, and seduction. This is the riveting romance of two unsuspecting artists.
Laive was changing out of her shorts into some sweat pants to head to the studio.
"L who you been talking to?"
"Doesn't matter."
Laive carefully packed her backpack with her note pad and laptop.
"It does matter. The way you acting is coming out of nowhere."
Tremaine headed downstairs and watched Laive grab the keys off the counter.
"Baby...talk to me."
"For what? I clearly told you what I wanted, and you're in here treating me like I'm crazy. Like I'm asking too much out of you."
"Laive." he took the keys out her hands.
"I can't really pay you back for studio time right now, remember?...You're going to make me late."
"Who gives a fuck? I'm paying for the shit anyway."
"I'll just get a Lyft. It's cool."
Laive walked towards the kitchen and grabbed some juice and water out of the fridge.
"L I'm not trying to do this with you."
"Ok, my ride will be here in ten minutes anyway. Besides Mackson is waiting on me."
"Alright, fuck it then."
Laive's eyebrow went up, "Fine by me."
Laive
When Laive arrived to her destination, she hurried up the stairs, and burst into Studio.
"Mr. Mack-"
"Girl, you barely made it" He laughed. "You a minute late, but I'll let it slide. Trey just called and said I better send you home if you were late today."
Laive internally rolled her eyes, "I bet.."
"I'm not worried about that little sixty seconds." They both shared a light laugh.
"So how long you need Laive?"
"I'm not even sure...I need to get a lot done today."
"Well just call me if you need something, I made sure they sent your tracks over. They should be uploaded on there already...Shoot me a text when you ready to leave."
"What would I do without you?" she smiled at him, "I will."
"Alright, I'm out"
Mackson exited the room, and Laive pulled out her notebook and laptop.
The way Laive wrote music, didn't really make sense to anyone but her. She would often hear melodies in her head with no words, or a chord on a piano. Then she would try to develop a story from there. Sometimes she would just expand on how she was feeling in paragraph form, and pull the emotion out of it. Her content was even pulled from the poetry she would write sometimes.
Flipping through her notebook, she wanted to pull from one of her previous poems with no title.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
