Aya Weathers is a hardworking, talented, aspiring songwriter who prefers to put her goals before her personal life. Christopher Brown is a stubborn, rude singer who has his guard up and doesn't plan to let anyone in. Together, the two of them will b...
Every morning it's the same thing. Baby crying, sinister laughing, a new method of silencing the infant. It's ruthless and cruel, I don't want to watch anymore. I told Chris and he won't leave my side ever since then. I appreciate the thought process that if he were with me, everything would be fine. But nothing was fine, it never was.
"Aya, you're talking in your sleep again." Chris mumbled into my curls and kept his arm wrapped tight around my torso. I sighed out of pure frustration and just wanted to freaking cry. This is just like how I was when me and Teddy- Caine broke up.
"This shit is getting out of hand." I groaned and sat up slightly.
"I can take you to a doctor." He said in a groggy voice mid-yawn.
"I don't want them saying I got stage 3 terminal brain cancer or some shit." I've always hated going to the doctor. They describe injuries as if I got 4 days to live. 'Well, she broke every bone in her body, but mostly her leg so we'll give her an antibiotic and she can go home. Oh, and she has heart failure!"
"They won't say you have brain cancer, Aya. They might just say you have insomnia or something like that. You're not dying. What are your dreams about? Maybe they mean something." He groaned and sat up, running a hand through his curly mess.
"I don't know if I want to tell you." I chewed on my bottom lip.
"Why not? Is it you fucking another nigga?" He began to get defensive. See this is why I can't tell him shit.
"No, Christopher. Much deeper than that." I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them, sighing deeply.
"Tell me." He continued to pester me.
"Maybe another time, Chris." I patted his leg and threw mine off of the bed.
"What do you mean another time? Why not now?" He furrowed his brows with a sneer on his face.
"I don't wanna talk about it now." I slipped my slides on my feet and pulled my hair up into a ponytail.
"Well, you should talk about it now." He dragged on the subject.
"Chris." I said in a stern tone, cutting my eyes at him. He huffed and slumped back, crossing his arms. I ignored his petty attitude and went to the kitchen.
I was hungry, but had no appetite to eat, so I just sat at the table and waited for a craving of some sort to kick in. As I scrolled through Instagram, I noticed that I was tagged in the same post repeatedly. Sighing heavily, I clicked on one of the notifications to see a Shaderoom post.
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