Chapitre 135: I&R
His phone buzzed next to him, but he ignored it. He preferred the quiet today, preferred to be in his own space, free from distractions. That was until he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
India walked into the room, she had just flown into Atlanta after finishing her latest season of filming. Her face was glowing, though she still carried a tiredness that only someone close could notice.
"Classical music?" India teased, her eyes narrowing at Arell in playful disbelief as she glanced at the chessboard. "And chess? I feel like I walked into someone else's crib."
Arell didn't look up immediately, making his next move on the board before flashing her a quick smirk. "Blame Geoffrey," he said, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm. "But don't disrespect Beethoven, though. He's the GOAT."
India rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "Yeah, whatever. You got me lost with all this high-culture stuff." She raised an eyebrow, her tone still light. "When did you start playing chess, though? I swear this is new."
He glanced at her from the side of his eye, humor tugging at the corner of his lips. "Geoffrey started teaching me. Apparently, it helps with 'decision-making,' but…" He looked back down at the board, where he realized with a sudden flicker of frustration that he'd just blundered a knight against his own self. "I'm not exactly there yet."
India laughed. "Yeah, doesn't look like it."
Arell's competitive streak kicked in, and he quickly reached for another piece, though this time with less certainty. "You want to learn?" he asked, gesturing toward the board. "It's actually dope once you get the hang of it."
India approached, sitting on the edge of the table next to the chessboard, looking over the pieces like they were foreign objects. "I mean, I'll try," she said hesitantly, "but I can't guarantee I won't get frustrated and knock all these pieces over if you try to explain some 4D strategy stuff."
Arell chuckled, already imagining India flipping the board if things got too complex. "Nah, it's easy. The queen moves like this, right? But the knight operates like an L—"
As he explained, his attention drifted, and he made yet another mistake on the board, losing his queen this time. India, without even knowing the rules, pointed at the piece. "I think you just killed yourself," she said, laughing softly.
Arell groaned, leaning back in his chair and throwing his hands up. "Yeah, well I'm definitely no chess master, yet."
India brushed her hair back, eyeing him with a soft smile. "You'll get there. You get good at anything you put your mind to."
There was a comfortable silence for a moment as she watched him reset the board. But then India shifted, her tone more serious now. "So... I'm thinking of going out to the club tonight. I got offered $15k to make an appearance."
Arell's hands froze on the chessboard, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. A slight wave of discomfort passed through him. "The club?" His voice was measured, but there was a quiet tension under it.
India nodded, seemingly unfazed. "Yeah, some rappers are doing an event. It's good money for just standing around and being seen."
Arell sat back, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You... just standing around in a club with a bunch of rappers?"
India frowned, not catching the shift in his tone at first. "It's not like that. You know how these things work. I make an appearance, take a few pictures, and that's it. Plus, Drake's gonna be there. He's in Atlanta for a few days."
Arell's brow furrowed, and he stared at her in disbelief. "Drake's in Atlanta? And you think that's why it's a good idea?" He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "India, you're pregnant. You're not supposed to be in environments like that—we talked about this- your therapist talked about this."
India huffed, her frustration starting to rise, but she kept her voice level. "It's just one night, Arell. It's $15k for a few hours of doing nothing. It's not like I'm drinking or partying."
Arell shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "It's not just the money. You don't need to be in places like that right now."
"But I'm not doing anything wrong," India shot back, a touch of exasperation seeping into her voice. "It's business, Arell. I'm making money, and it's good publicity. You get offers like this all the time, and you turn them down for no reason."
Arell's expression darkened as memories flashed in his mind. "I'm not turning down those offers for no reason, India. I don't like the vibe, and I don't want you caught up in that."
India stood up, now visibly irritated. "So, what, you want me to turn down $15k just because you had a bad experience? Not everything's gonna play out the same for me, Arell. This is easy money, and it's harmless."
Arell sighed, trying to think of the right words. "Not everything is about money, India. There's a reason we've been careful. Just because something looks like easy money doesn't mean it's good. Look, I'm not trying to control you, but… we talked about not being around certain scenes while you're pregnant. I'm thinking about you and the baby."
India crossed her arms, her frustration clearly rising. "I hear you, but you're making this a bigger deal than it is. I'm not even gonna be drinking or anything."
"You don't need to be," Arell replied, shaking his head. "It's the people around you, the atmosphere. Shit can get crazy, and I just don't want that risk, not with you and the baby. I'm not asking you to turn it down just because I'm selfish. I'm asking because it's not worth the risk."
India's lips tightened, and she turned, pacing slightly. "So lets be clear, you want me to turn this down?"
Arell paused, not realizing how rigid his stance was. But he doubled down, making an analogy. "Look, if I told you there was a free meal but the restaurant had a history of food poisoning, would you eat there just because it's free?"
India stared at him, her frustration simmering below the surface. "That's not the same thing, and you know it."
"Maybe not exactly the same, but you get my point."
India shook her head, clearly upset now. "Whatever, Arell." Without another word, she walked out of the room, her footsteps heavy against the floor.
Arell sighed deeply, his gaze falling to the chessboard, the pieces still scattered from his earlier game. His hand hovered over the board for a moment before he stood up, his mood shifting to frustration. He walked out of the studio, needing some space to cool off.
As he headed toward the living room, though, he paused at the sound of voices. Geoffrey was sitting on the couch, listening intently to India, who was clearly in the middle of venting her frustrations. Arell stood just outside the door, unseen, watching them for a moment before leaning against the wall.
'Since when did India start talking to Geoffrey about this kind of stuff?'
---
A tall, lanky kid wearing a black hoodie and some beat-up Jordans strode into the locker room. Music was blasting from his phone which he held to his ear, the other hand free to give dap-ups to everyone as he walked through, grinning ear to ear.
"Yo, yo, what's the word, gang?" he called out, his voice cutting through the noise of gear shifting and chatter.
"We good bro bro!" someone shouted back, laughing as they caught his dap.
Another player, broad-shouldered and always the loudest in the room, perked up at the sound of the track. "Ayyy, that's that new Arell, huh?"
The person, who everyone just called Lil' D, smiled wide, tapping his phone louder. "Y'all already know! Freestyle's a banger! Listen to this part, bro! He spittin' for real."
A few more heads turned, some of the guys pausing from their routines to listen to the song.
Another teammate, flipping through a playbook, looked up and bobbed his head to the rhythm. "Swear this man Arell can't miss. Every track is heat."
Lil' D nodded emphatically, still holding his phone out, like it was his personal DJ booth. "Nah, for real. That boy been runnin' the game."
"Facts," a guy sitting on a nearby bench agreed, leaning back against the wall. He was tall, probably a linebacker, with the kind of build that said he could lift a small car if he needed to. "Feels like an anthem for real, bro. This joint right here? Fire."
Another voice from the back chimed in, "Aye, swear! Why it feel like this could be a national anthem for the hood or somethin'?"
That comment sparked a quick burst of laughter, but it also set off a light bulb in Lil' D's head. He turned suddenly to the group, his face lighting up like he'd just had the idea of the century. "Ayo, hold up—what if we make a Vine for this? Like, y'know, actin' like we standin' for the anthem, then someone come in blastin' 'Freestyle,' and we all start rappin' along with our hands on our chest, like it's the pledge or some shit?"
The room buzzed with approval.
"Ay, that might be it!" the linebacker called out, hyped now as well. "We gotta do that, bro."
Lil' D was already pumping for it, gesturing for everyone to huddle up. "Bet, bet, bet! Let's get this shit together! Everybody get in position like we about to pledge or somethin'."
The guys quickly got in place, standing in mock formation like they were lining up for a pre-game anthem. A few of them straightened up with exaggerated seriousness, placing their hands over their hearts, their expressions deadpan.
"Alright, alright," Lil' D barked. "We need someone to come in with the phone and be like the DJ."
One of the quieter players, a cornerback who usually stayed in the background, stepped up with a grin. "I got it."
Lil' D clapped him on the back. "Bet."
The scene was set. The guys stood like they were waiting for some patriotic ceremony to start, hands on their hearts, faces solemn. Then, on cue, the cornerback strode into the locker room, holding his phone like a crown jewel and the camera started rolling.
And then, just as planned, the beat for Freestyle dropped. Instantly, the room flipped. The guys burst out, rapping along with Arell's bars, their hands still on their chests, but now rapping every word with as much passion as if it was their own anthem.
"You know what I'm sayin'? The whole Infinity
You know what I'm sayin'? I put this up
Shoutout my label, that's me
I'm in this bitch with KV
I'm in this bitch with Malik..."
One of them stepped forward, hands still on his chest, rapping along while another jumped in behind him, pretending to salute. The laughter was contagious, and by the time the verse hit about pulling up in Bentley trucks, they were all practically screaming the lyrics, having the time of their lives.
"Bro, this shit's too funny!" someone yelled out between takes, the whole team cracking up.
Lil' D was grinning so hard his face could've cracked. "Yo, that was fire! Watch—this finna go crazy on Vine. I'm tellin' y'all, Arell gonna see this, and he gon' know. We out here."
The linebacker agreed, still catching his breath from laughing. "For real though, Arell needs to see this shit. We gotta send it to him directly. This right here is a whole mood."
---
"Didn't go how you expected, huh?" Geoffrey didn't even look up as Arell dropped down beside him.
Arell was silent for a moment, drumming his fingers on his thigh. "No, not at all. She's... I don't know. Maybe I was being selfish."
Geoffrey set the tablet down and turned to face him, his eyes sharp as always. "No 'maybe' about it. You are being selfish."
Arell frowned but didn't argue. He knew that tone—Geoffrey wasn't here to beat around the bush or soften the blow. "Look," Geoffrey continued, sitting back, "what you're saying isn't wrong. But it's how you're saying it, the way you're handling it. You're trying to control the situation because you're uncomfortable, not because you're considering her perspective."
Arell sighed, running a hand over his face. "I get that."
Geoffrey shook his head. "No, I don't think you do. You came here to me, knowing full well what the problem was. It's not just about the club or the money or even trust. It's about you needing to be real with her and, more importantly, with yourself."
Arell felt that pang of realization, that uncomfortable truth sitting at the edge of his conscience. The problem wasn't just India's decision to go out; it was his inability to voice what was really bothering him. And maybe it wasn't even about this one night, but everything leading up to it perhaps.
His mind flashed back to sitting in Dr. Chen's office during one of their sessions. She had a way of getting to the root of things, making him confront emotions he'd buried deep, emotions that didn't have a place in his day-to-day hustle but were very much real. He remembered her soft but firm voice as she leaned in, looking at him with those piercing eyes.
"So you promise to be honest with yourself about your feelings?" Dr. Chen had asked. "That's the only way you'll really understand what you want and what's holding you back. And if you want to work things out with India, you need to communicate that honesty with her too. Otherwise, you're building on shaky ground."
At the time, he'd nodded and said all the right things, but sitting here now, Arell realized he hadn't followed through, not as best as he could. Thankfully Geoffrey was here to call him out.
Geoffrey gave him a sidelong glance and smirked. "You came to me to figure it out, but I think you already knew. Consequences of maturing, huh?"
Arell chuckled, though it felt more like a release of tension than real humor. "Yeah, I guess so. Growing up sucks."
Geoffrey nodded, his expression softening a little. "It's good, though. You're handling shit differently than you used to, but don't forget, communication isn't just saying what you feel—it's making sure she understands it. You have to let her know why you feel the way you do."
"Yeah," Arell muttered, standing up. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the weight of the conversation settling in. "I'll go talk to her." Sure he didn't agree with her decision, and certainly wouldn't go for any sort of compromising behavior, still, he didn't control her.
Geoffrey then spoke again, his voice almost reassuring. "Good. You've got this."
Arell nodded and made his way upstairs, the tension still lingering but shifting into something he could handle. He paused when he reached his bedroom door, noticing India inside. She was in front of the open closet, flipping through clothes, picking out outfits with the kind of absentminded deliberation that said she was still thinking about their argument.
He stood there for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, watching her silently until she noticed him. Her eyes flicked up to meet his in the reflection of the mirror, and for a second, neither of them spoke.
"I'm sorry," Arell said, the words soft but firm. He stepped into the room, his hands in his pockets, his posture more open than before. "You're right. I don't want you to go because... well, I don't trust the situation, I don't like the chance of you succumbing to infidelity. I do trust you to an extent. But the whole thing? It feels... off."
India turned, holding a dress in her hands. She looked at him, her expression unreadable for a moment, then she sighed. "I know you don't trust me going there. I get it. I wouldn't trust you if you went to a strip club per say either."
Arell nodded, letting her get her point across.
There was a long pause before India sighed, walking over to him. "Look, I get it. But can you at least let me make decisions without feeling like I'm stepping on a landmine."
Arell thought for a moment, then nodded. "I'll be honest, I'm still figuring things out. But I don't want to force you to not do what you want to do."
India raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming. "Well, good. Because we're going out."
Arell blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, what? I thought—"
India grinned and pointed at him. "We're going out, but not to that club. You don't want me going there, fine. So now you get to take me somewhere instead. Think of it as a compromise."
Arell chuckled, the tension in his chest finally loosening. "Alright, alright. Fair enough. But where are we going?"
India walked past him, brushing against his arm. "You figure it out, Mr. Rosell."
Just as he was about to respond his phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket.
"One sec." He said, to which India nodded understandingly.
The notification that stared back at him quickly filled him with a sense of worry.
"Since you want to play so hard the price is upped. 20k and send me your song Who's This Girl. You got twelve hours to put that money in my PayPal else I'm dropping this song you surely wouldn't like to throw away… Rihanna My Type. 12 hours."
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
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