“Just learning to co-parent,” she replied. That word felt colder than it should have. “We know how to do that,” she continued. “We know how to figure out how to be good parents. Wedon’tknow how to not hurt each other.”
“Prin—”
“I’m not running away. I’m not disappearing. But I need space. I need to feel like I’m not competing with chaos.”
“You not competing with nothing,” I said.
“It just doesn’t feel like that.” Her voice cracked enough for me to know she was trying to hold it together. “I just . . . I need to step back,” she finished. “This feels like history repeating itself.”
I winced at the pain of how deep that cut. “I never wanted to hurt you again,” I said.
“I know,” she replied.
The other end was quiet again. I stepped out of my room and walked down the hallway.
“I gotta go,” she added quietly. “I have meetings.”
“Princess—”
“Handle your business,” she said. “Figure your shit out. Then call me.”
The line went dead. When I stepped into the living room, I lowered the phone, threw my head back, and stared at the ceiling. It felt like the first time this happened all over again. She disappeared completely then. This time, she said she wasn’t going to. She just said she was going to step back. But I couldn’t help but recognize that tone, that distance, that same careful movement.
I walked to the living room to grab a bottled water from the fridge, but none were there.
“Damn!” I exclaimed. “Motherfuckers keep wasting all the water!”
I stood there with my hand on the fridge and stared at it as if it had just disrespected me. I was frustrated, but it wasn’tabout the water. It was the way someone could come in, crack something open inside of you, take what they wanted, then leave the rest sitting on the counter as if it never mattered—like it wasn’t worth finishing.
As my frustration settled, something hit me in my gut. That was probably how Princess felt.
She probably felt she opened herself up, let me take what I wanted, and I still found a way to leave her feeling empty inside.
I swallowed hard. The irritation turned into shame so fast that my stomach twisted as I came to a revelation. Princess had stepped back because she was tired of feeling wasted.
13
Afew days had passed since I’d last talked to Princess.
I had always prided myself on being able to put away my emotions when it came to my time in the studio. No matter what went on in my life, I could walk into a studio and shut the rest of it off. Bills, woman problems, family bullshit, doubt—none of it mattered past that soundproof door.Music never judged me.It listened, and it gave back to me.
But that day, when I stepped into the studio, I didn’t feel safe.
When I walked into the booth, Malik was already inside.With his hood pulled up and his head down, he went over his lyrics.He didn’t look up when I walked through the room.He lifted one finger as if to say,give me one second, please, and then nodded when he felt ready.
I respected that about him.Most young artists came into studios, raring to get going before they even knew music theory.Malik came into sessions wanting to warm up like he was, in fact, learning.He took notes every time I pulled him aside to speak, and it was as if he took my advice in that very first session and immediately went to work.
“You sleep?” I asked him through the glass.
He smirked.“Kind of.Been up rewriting that second verse.Said it didn’t hurt deep enough last time.”
I nodded.I was proud he even remembered that.
“I just don’t want to be hype and rap, you feel me?” He continued without any arrogance in his voice.“I wanna build.I don’t wanna be hot for just the summer.
I pressed play.The beat filled the room, loud and cinematic.Detroit 808’s laid over an orchestral sample. It was the music that demanded your attention.Normally, I would feel it wash over me the second it began. Instead, I felt heavy.
He entered the first verse, calm and collected.He wasn’t trying to rush his lines or chase the beat.He just coasted on it like he was supposed to be there.
