The Intern: Tyler, The Creator

11. Poolside

I hung up the phone after telling Aaliyah all the mess that's been going on with Brent.

She's forcing me to go and socialize for once—and she was probably right. I needed it.

I got ready. I received a text from Brent telling me the uber would be outside my place in 30 minutes.

I didn't have much detail of what the party was going to be about, or who was going. I got dressed up in some casual stuff.

...

I stepped out of the uber after about 30 minutes of being in LA traffic. It was a house party at an airbnb.
I made my way past a bunch of people and through the entrance, looking for Brent. I passed by the kitchen. He was by the bar further back talking to a few people. Once he noticed me he smiled and made his way over to me.

"Who threw this?" I asked into his ear.

The music was loud as fuck.

"That nigga." He looked over to his friend surrounded by a bunch of people by the bar.

He passed me a cup with alcohol. I hadn't had it in such a long time—I couldn't have it in rehab and before that, I rarely even went out to parties.

"You did your hair different," He grabbed my waist. I chuckled, pushing him back.

"I wear it like this all the time," I rolled my eyes.

"It looks good."

It felt tight inside. Although it was pretty laidback, I wasn't used to people grinding next to me in a tight fucking space.

"You tryna' go outside?" Brent noticed.

I nodded and followed him out to the back. There was people in the pool outside, a huge one at that. A mini bar was placed near it.

There was a whole different ambience outside than inside—the music was a little more faint, and I instantly felt more relieved.

Brent grabbed my hand, pulling me over to him as we laughed, dancing to the song that started.
The tempo was softer, and we began slow dancing. I put my arms around his neck, laying my head on his shoulder.

"I made this." He whispered.

I looked at him with a lifted eyebrow.

"The song?" I questioned him. Holy shit, and it was good. "You haven't sang since that talent show in high school," I laughed.

"Thought I'd give it another shot," his eyes wandered down to mine. "It's called Dead Man Walking."

I listened to the lyrics; I wasn't really that much surprised. I always knew he could sing, write, but he never followed through with it. He was shy; which led to him only producing behind the scenes for the past three years.

"It's really fucking good, Brent. Those poetry classes we took in high school rubbed off."

He chuckled.

I hugged him, dancing to the tune.

Closing my eyes, we swayed together.

My mind drifted off to Tyler. The thought of him would persist in my mind for the next couple of days.

With my OCD, thoughts just stuck even more. Certain smells triggered it too, like the cologne Brent was wearing. It was similar to T's scent, but T's was more sophisticated. Like Italian leather.

I wonder if Tyler lived alone in that huge fucking house.

Did he have pets? He probably didn't. He seemed too self-absorbed to take care of anything but himself—

"I'll get you some more," Brent took the cup from my hand.

I looked around, I never really fit in much at parties. Whenever I did go, I made sure Aaliyah was with me at all times. She knew how to make me come out of my shell. Brent did too, but he never stopped me from drinking too much. Aaliyah always did. She made me feel at home wherever we were.

Brent walked over; passing me shot after shot. We laughed at how bad I gagged.

I never knew my limit; I never know when to stop.

I remember my therapist telling me it was a byproduct of my OCD—never knowing when too much was enough.

We danced for a little before I felt drunk enough to jump into the pool.

I pulled him with me, a shocked look in his face.

We calmed down, his eyes stuck on me.

"I think I like you." Brent responded out of nowhere.

I laughed.

"I think I like you too," I joked back.

"Nah Nia. I love you."

I furrowed my brows. It was the first time he had ever confessed love for me.

"Brent," I got out of the pool, getting my shoes. "I'm drunk...I don't feel—,"

"I'll get you home."