Living in the Careless World (Tyga Story)

Plate Full

Rap-star And His Girlfriend Attacked by Crazy Teen!

Those were the headlines in every magazine and newspaper the next day. I couldn’t read the actual articles; I knew they’d just tell what happened, with a little bit of dramatization.

T came with me back to the house. There were reporters outside of my mother’s house, knocking on her door for hours. When T and I came, we almost got knocked down by paparazzi and reporters and questions. Luckily, T thought to bring a bodyguard (just some fat guy that looked like Rick Ross). The reporters backed off when they saw the body guard, Nick.

When we got inside my house, I almost cried. It was the same way it was before; the only thing missing was me. For a moment, I felt bad for having left.

But then I remembered that it was my mother that kicked me out.

My mother is sitting at a desk (which wasn’t there before) typing on a computer. My mother was never the business-type, so she seems to be having a hard time typing. Her face is sad, though. Sad and thoughtful.

It takes a minute for her to realize T and I are in the room.

She looks me up and down quickly, and then looks T up and down slowly several times. A subtle expression of disgust creeps onto her face.

“So this is the boy you left your family for?” She says finally. This is like a slap in the face to me. I actually want to lunge at my mother, to strangle the hatred out of her. But I keep my cool—T helps me stay calm by taking my hand and rubbing it with his thumb.

“Yes, it is.” I say matter-of-factly. She turns back to her computer and continues typing slowly. I wonder what she’s typing.

T starts to introduce himself to my mother, but two men come through the door.

They’re both wearing blazers and tight jeans. My mother smiles at them.

“Back already?” She says. They nod. A woman comes in behind them; she has a horribly sad expression on her face—Camilla’s mother.

The men shake hands with T and I. Camilla's mother keeps to herself, looking down and fighting back tears. I can imagine the pain she's going through knowing that her daughter is crazy. I just hope that she doesn't blame T or I.

"I'm Detective Williams, and this is Investigator Rogers. We're looking into the situation. You'd probably like to talk to us, wouldn't you?" One of them says to T and I. We both just nod,  and I  lead them back to my old room. It is empty.

Detective Williams sits on the window sill,  Rogers leans against a wall, and T and I kneel down on the floor.

"Do you know how Camilla found us?" I ask. T isn't speaking--he hasn't spoken a lot lately. Maybe he's still kind of in shock from what happened.

"She'd been following you for a long time know. I'm not so sure exactly when she started following you. But she'd been there. My partner and I suspect that seeing you two together, happily in a relationship, made her so jealous that she went crazy." Investigator Rogers explained.

I pause. Camilla could've been watching me sleep, studying my every move. It makes me shiver to think about it.

"So what does she have? She's just crazy?" I ask after a while.

"It's a mixture of bipolarity and schizophrenia. You see, before she began following you, she had to have been planning for a long time. But Camilla's mother says that Camilla never acted strange in any way. That's to show that she's bipolar, and is able to switch to a non-crazy personality when she's around her mother and others. She has a case of schizophrenia also, because she keeps saying that she's hearing people talking to her, voices telling her that you two shouldn't be together." Detective Williams says.

T glances at me for a moment. I don't know  what it is, but there's some kind of emotion on his face.

"The mother has gone into silence. She can barely talk." Rogers says. "Anyway, if you'd like to go and visit Camilla, she's in solitary confinement at Dalcrest Mental Institution. She's not allowed visitors now, but later on this month--if she shows improvement--she will be."

Then they exit the room, and T and I are left alone.

"So this is where you slept?" He asks. I nod. "Looks cozy." He says.

"It's completely stripped of its coziness." I say. "But it was really cozy before."

I lie my head on T's shoulder, and we stay there. There's nothing else that I can think of doing. I refuse to talk to my mother, it'll feel awkward talking to Keron because Raquan probably told him what happened, and Camilla isn't taking visitors. And it's not like I can go for a walk--I'm a celebrity now.

What could I really do?

My stomach begins to hurt again. I wince and hold it; T sees that it hurts. A guilty and scared look comes onto his face. After a while, he speaks.

"Baby, I have to tell you something." He says slowly. I don't even respond; my stomach hurts too much. "Well, um....When we did what we did, I didn't use protection."

My jaw drops.

"So you mean...?" I start.

"Just because I didn't protect doesn't mean that you're necessarily pregnant." He cuts me off.

"Then how the hell else do you explain these stomach pains?" I say a little too loudly. I'm scared. I can't imagine being pregnant. It can't happen. It just can't.

"Why don't you ask a doctor, babe? I don't know." T says gently. I roll my eyes and put my hand over my stomach. It's flat, and doesn't feel like there's a baby in there. But then again, I've never been pregnant, so I don't know how a baby would feel in your stomach.

We don't continue talking after that. He just rubs my belly, and I keep telling him that maybe he's right, that maybe I'm not pregnant. We just have to be more careful next time.

I vomit. I vomit and vomit and vomit, until there's not a drop of anything left in me. I'm utterly empty, and I feel hungrier than ever. After I've vomited so much, I start eating frantically. I eat everything in sight at the Queens mansion-house, trying to make up for everything I puked out.

T keeps trying to help, but I tell him that all I can do is eat. But when he isn't looking, I go online and look up the symptoms of pregnancy.

There's a lot of them: drowsiness, irritability, mood swings, stomach pains (one that I have), excessive eating (another that I have), vomiting (do I have to say it?), and bloating. I read them over and over, and try my best to remember if I’ve had any of them lately. Just the three that I’ve been having—vomiting, eating, and pain.

And I become startled when I start to feel really, really tired and drowsy.

No. No, no, no. I am not pregnant.

I take a nap.

When I wake up, T is gone. He left me a note saying that he went to pick up Drake at the airport. I read the note and put it down, but then my eyes widen.

Drake?! Next to T, Drake had been my celebrity crush and favorite rapper (next to Lil Wayne) since he came out! I had to clean the house if he was coming over, and make myself super-pretty. But I was just so tired…But then I remembered that I had over $5,000. I had enough money to hire a cook to prepare dinner, a maid to clean the house, and a stylist to make me look pretty.

And so I did. When they left, there was a big dinner in the stove, the house was clean as ever, and I was wearing a turquoise miniskirt, a floral blue-and-white blouse, a teal blazer, fishnet leggings, and white heels. I had red lipstick on, skin-toned blush and eye shadow, and I dyed my hair brown and took out my extensions.

Everything was as perfect as could be, on the outside. But on the inside, my stomach was going around in circles, I had a vomity feeling at the back of my throat, and I was scared. But I tried my best to hide that when Drake walked through the door with T, looking as handsome and fresh as he could be.