Living in the Careless World (Tyga Story)

Mercy and Lack Thereof

“Oh, so you’re Blac Chyna?” I ask. Suddenly, a rush of anger flows over me. I say it rudely and with force.

“Yeah, it’s me. Who’s this?” She asks. She’s speaking sternly too, which only makes me more angry.

There is a lump of anger in my throat. I don’t try to push it down, though. I feel that it is justified to be there. I’m building a tower of anger for myself. I’m climbing the tower, story after story, and getting higher and higher. I climb and climb, and I don’t look down. Soon I am at the top, and I am the queen of the tower.

I’m running the show.

“Remember that boy you were [bleep] the other night? Yeah, I’m his girlfriend. Let me tell you something—don’t think you can take your [bleep] [bleep] and just go around stealing people mans. You may do that with other [bleep], but I’m not the one [bleep]. Don’t you ever, ever take another step toward Tyga. If you do, I will kick your [bleep] so good you’ll cry out. And by the way, go look on the news [bleep]. I’M the one they’re talking about with Tyga, and I’M the one in pictures with him. Not you. You’re just the worthless, other [bleep].”

I hang up the phone, and I feel good.

I go for the rest of the day not even thinking about T. After I’ve told Chyna off, I feel refreshed and ready to move on—and not look back.

Travie is so kind. He’s become one of my favorite people. He spends the whole day with me, and doesn’t complain. After a while, though, I tell him to leave. I know he has other things he might want to do, and I don’t want him to waste his time on me.

So when Travie left me, I drove my rented car to an empty parking lot. But when I step out of the car, I see it isn’t empty.

There is a girl standing there. She’s leaning over a rail and looking outward, at the rolling hills that stand beyond the tiny river over the edge. I hesitate to walk over to her. She’s very pretty; she has thick hair that she’s dyed army green and has pinned to one side, thick pink-lipstick lips, and a lip piercing.

But I finally walk over to her when I look in the mirror at myself; I’m wearing pink rubbery Dr. Marten’s, ripped-up denim shorts, a black sweatshirt that says BOSS in pink letters, and a pink necklace. My hair is combed back neatly into a ponytail, and it’s soft—thanks to hair gel—at the front.

“Hi.” She says as soon as I stand next to her and look at the river.  The air is cold and as it blows, it feels like a thousand little bugs biting on my nose and cheeks. It’s summer, but of course a river would be cold.

“Hey.” I say and smile at her. Her smile is tiny; she doesn’t show any teeth. She has these really strange eyes—I can see exactly what she’s thinking by looking into her eyes. I know she’s examining me and thinks I’m pretty.

There’s a pause of silence. We don’t say anything to each other, until finally she looks me up and down with wide eyes.

“Aren’t you…?” She starts to ask.

“Yes, I’m Jaydi. Tyga’s girlfriend.” I say. I know she’ll ask that; that’s the only way people know me publicly anyway.

She gasps. “It’s….it’s you?” I nod in response. “Oh my gosh! Look, I know you’re busy and all, with Tyga and stuff. But I sent you fan mail. I was telling you something about my sister…But maybe it’s not important now. Whatever. But can I get your autograph?” She adds.

Then I realize it—this is Dana Black.

“You’re the one who sent me that letter? I got it. So Blac Chyna’s your sister, huh?” I say. Dana nods, but it’s not a proud nod. She’s ashamed to have a sister like Chyna.