Unveiled

by Shataya Simms

  You said you loved me

  It’s a four-letter word

  Yet you hate me

  Another four-letter word

  You said you’d die for me, you’d never leave me

  But you’re still breathing and I’m here lonely

  You said you’d give me your heart

  Said you’d give me the key

  But I’m still waiting, my hands are empty

  I was your precious flower

  Said you’d pluck me first

  You were the stem to my rose

  But now you treat me like dirt

  CHORUS

  Boy,

  You’re such a contradiction

  You’re such a contradiction

  But I still believe

  Said I was heaven on Earth, I was your Queen to be

  But now heaven’s a myth and there’s no crown for me

  I was the top of your list

  Said I was your number one

  Now I’m not on the list, my rank forgotten and done

  Forget me you never would

  You said this too many times

  But I’m gone with the wind never on your mind

  It was supposed to be us till our dying day

  Now those plans are history all but erased

  CHORUS

  Boy,

  You’re such a contradiction

  You’re such a contradiction

  But I still believe

  BREAK

  I remember words I never heard

  Until your lips kissed my soul

  Now those same words don’t mean a thing

  You’re so bitter cold, cold, cold, cold

  CHORUS

  Boy,

  You’re such a contradiction

  You’re such a contradiction

  But I still believe

  I stop playing and wipe the tears off my face.

  “Did you record that?” Chink and Aja’s voice flutter together into the room.

  “Stop spying on me,” I snap looking around, wondering where the microphone is that is allowing them to hear me.

  “We can’t see you since you put your shirt over the lens, wit’ yo’ petty ass,” Chink laughs.

  “Good,” I mumble.

  I stay locked away in Chinks room for the remainder of the day writing. I write until my hand feels like it’s going to fall off. I write every lie and broken promise that Nyce has ever told me. I write down every emotion that I am feeling in my heart as tears continuously pour out of my soul. He has broken my heart before, but this feels like more than a heartbreak. It feels more like betrayal. All that I have done for him and my efforts to keep him to make him happy just for him to choose somebody else over me.

  “You are not the victim in this world…you have to be willing to save yourself.”

  “Shut-up, Fernàn,” I snap as his words echo in my head. I throw my pen and lie back on the floor.

  “GET THE FUCK UP,” I hear someone yelling before throwing a bucket of water on me.

  “WHAT THE FUCK?” I yell soaking wet, looking up at Aunt Ruthie and Chink.

  “You will not be weak and shut down,” Aunt Ruthie snaps. I rise to my feet.

  “Change into some gym clothes and meet me downstairs,” Chink commands before they both walk out. I walk down the hall and into the room I am supposed to be occupying and change my clothes before heading downstairs.

  “Follow me,” Chink orders. I follow Chink into his home gym and he throws me a pair of boxing gloves.

  “Put them on,” he demands. I do what I’m told, following him over to the punching bag.

  “Now hit it,” he says. I half-ass punch the bag.

  “That’s all you got?” He taunts as DMX’s “Stop Being Greedy” blasts through the gym infuriating me. Nyce works out to X though I’m sure that Chink doesn’t know that. I start punching the shit out of the bag envisioning Nyce standing in front of me. When Chink sees that I am unleashing my fury, he holds up his hands, which now have punching mitts on them, and I attack.

  “Watch your stance,” he says gently jabbing me in the chest. “Protect yourself,” he advises while moving my arms and directing me into a boxer’s stance.

  “GO,” he shouts as I start to swing at the mitts. Chink dodges and ducks every blow I throw.

  “Protect yourself. Think smart and use your head,” he says gently hitting me on top of my head. “Protect your chin,” he advises jabbing me and pissing me off. I start swinging some more, hitting nothing but air.

  “Protect yaself. There is more to hit besides the face,” he says jabbing me in my ribs.

  “CHINK,” I yell pissed off. I’m about to get girly with his ass and resort into an old-fashioned windmill.

  “You got this. Protect yaself,” he says gently kicking me in the leg.

  I spend the whole afternoon with Chink in his gym as he gets me to box, mixed in with some kickboxing. Exhausted, I collapse on the mat.

  “Sit up,” he demands. I sit up and sit Indian style.

  “Shut your mind off and meditate,” he says closing his eyes. “Breathe in and breathe out. Concentrate on your breathing. Clear your mind.”

  I try to meditate with Chink, but my mind keeps bouncing around with my many different thoughts, but I am calm.

  “I was on drugs, Chink,” I confess after 3 minutes of silence. Chink pops his eyes open, meeting my stare as I look straight into his face. He doesn’t respond as we stare at each other in silence.

  “I’ve known you since you were nine-years-old. Why wouldn’t you come to me if you needed help?” He finally asks.

  “I didn’t know I needed help at the time.”

  “And now?” He questions.

  “And now I have to stand on my own two feet and live,” I stand up.

  “Who else knows?”

  “You, my asshole of an ex, and his aunt. Dani too.”

  “Are you done with it, Aneesah?”

  “Completely. I will never be so stupid again,” I reply letting out a tear.

  “I got you baby girl,” he says, wrapping his arms around me.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” I sniff. “I will when I’m ready,” I promise, holding onto Chink as he nods his head in understanding.

  After taking a shower, I sit in my room writing and recording myself using Chink’s recorder. I think I’ve gone mad because three days passed and if Aunt Ruthie didn’t continuously check on me and bring me food, I’m pretty sure I would have forgotten to eat.

  I check the recorder to see how many songs I recorded. It reads back 38. I push play to see if I even have something worth-while and listen to the playback while pacing the room. Nyce used to tease me about him being my muse. Well I’m about to fuck his world up and dick him down mentally with this album because unfortunately the truth is, I have created some of my best work when he has hurt me in the past.

  I push the intercom button on the wall and listen to Chink talking to Mr. J. I didn’t even know that Mr. J had even came back.

  “How long has she been up there?” Mr. J asks.

  “Days, KJ. Our girl is making her history. That’s why I haven’t bothered her,” Chink replies. “Whatever headspace she’s in right now is fueling her creatively.”

  “No doubt,” Aja agrees.

  “Well I don’t like it. She needs supervision,” Aunt Ruthie chimes in worried about me.

  “I’m fine, Aunt Ruthie. I promise,” I inform her, tipping them off that I am listening to their conversation. I don’t need Aunt Ruthie to squeal and tell Mr. J about my prior drug habit and besides, she doesn’t have anything to worry about. Taking drugs is the very last thing on my mind. I am pissed, mad, hurt, and feeling betrayed but damn it, I am not going to let Nyce win. He will not be the deciding factor to my happiness. I will not allow him to destroy my self-esteem or self-worth. I am not the drugs of my anxiety and depression nor am I the tears or drinks of my failures.

  I sit in the room plotting, planning, sending va
rious emails, gearing for my come back. On day five, I finally emerge. I walk downstairs and sit at the kitchen table with the club papers that Nyce sent in my hands.

  “So, you’re ready to join the world again?” Mr. J asks.

  “No. I’m ready to take over the world,” I reply signing the papers that grant Nyce sole ownership of the club. I jump up from the table startling Mr. J.

  “Come on. We have work to do,” I tell him walking out the kitchen and downstairs into the studio.

  Taking a seat at one of the tables, Chink and Aja stare at me not saying a word. When Mr. J finally makes it down and takes his seat, I begin our little meeting.

  “February is the drop and we are going to Beyoncè the shit out of this album, dropping it at 12am EST. No marketing, no promotions and I am in the process of working on a deal with Target. For one day and one day only, the CD will be on sale for $5.00. Larry is working on getting me the opening act at the Grammy’s, doing the Super Bowl half-time show and setting up my touring schedule.”

  “Heather B is already in the process of signing a contract for the half-time show,” Mr. J informs me, talking about another singer that is signed to the label.

  “I don’t care. I want it,” I adamantly say.

  “Aneesah, she has the show already. The contracts are being drawn up as we speak. She’s supposed to be signing them next week.”

  “Not if Larry works his magic. That show is mine.”

  “Aneesah…”

  “Mr. J, I am not backing down. You can either help me get the show or move out of my way.”

  “I’m not getting involved.”

  “Then move out of my way.”

  “You’re going to start a feud between you two.”

  “That’s old news. The heifer never liked me anyway, so I don’t care. I am getting Super Bowl. I am buying two commercial slots; one to play after my Grammy performance and the other after the half-time show announcing my tour.”

  “It’s September. You’re going to record an album, do the videos and get ready for a tour and two major TV performances all within 5 months. No planning?” Chink asks.

  “What do you think I’ve been doing upstairs this whole time? I’ve been emailing, writing, and conducting business.”

  “So, what has brought on this change?” Mr. J asks.

  “I have something to prove to myself,” is the only answer I give.

  “Well, welcome back, Anì,” Chink high-fives me.

  “Aneesah,” I correct him.

  “I know your name,” he says.

  “No, I mean I am dropping Anì and sticking with my name, Aneesah. I am a woman now and this album is different. I’m more vulnerable. This is my album of healing. It’s going to have 21 songs with Saheed’s song, “21” being the last.”

  “When are you going to finish “Forever”? That should be the first single,” Mr. J says.

  “I’m not going to finish it. I’m scratching the song.”

  “WHAT?” Mr. J and Chink say in unison.

  “I’m scratching the song. I hate it,” I tell them adamantly. I hate that fuckin’ song now just like I hate the man I wrote it for.

  “Aneesah, that’s your Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You”, you’re Celine Dion “My Heart Will Go On”, your Toni Braxton’s “Un-break My Heart”, you cannot scratch that song,” Mr. J says.

  “It’s gone. I’m done. I refuse to sing it, so it’s scratched.”

  “Aneesah…,” Chink says before I cut him off.

  “I’m not singing it,” I tell them firmly. “Here is some of the material I’ve been working on. The first single is “Howl at the Moon” to pay homage to my fans since they are known as the Wolf Pack. The tour will be called Howl at the Moon, as well. I am hiring the kids that went to my school within the past three years solely because I owe them that for my negligence.”

  “How young?” Chink asks.

  “18 and they have to had graduated from high school already. I want to chronicle this too so the director of the film department at the school is sending me a former student down to start filming my comeback journey.”

  “I like it,” Mr. J says.

  “I am also renaming the photography studio at the school and extending the wing. I’m going to call it Hope Smiles,” I smile thinking about the precious little girl I met during my hospital stay. This is for her.

  “And you’re doing all of this in five months?” Chink asks.

  “Yes. The school is already on alert about me needing dancers, singers, engineers, and musicians for the tour, so auditions will begin as soon as I get back to Philly. In the meantime, we have work to do,” I tell them pushing play on the recorder.

  “Y’all ain’t doing this shit without me,” Cassie, one of the few female producers says entering the room. I smile and jump up from the table giving her a huge hug.

  “Where did you come from?” I ask.

  “Chink called me. Said you are about to make history and you know I want parts,” she laughs embracing me. I look at all three of them and smile, thinking about how this is where it all started, just us four making magic in the studio.

  We’re sitting at the round table making decisions with my marketing team and the executive board on speaker phone. Aunt Ruthie quietly steps into the studio.

  “For you,” she says handing me the box to my new cell phone.

  “Thank you,” I reply opening it. My numbers are already stored as I scroll trying to find Rita’s number.

  “That’s it for the day,” I tell my team, hanging up the phone and dialing Rita’s number.

  “Hello,” I greet when she answers.

  “Hey honey. How are you?”

  “I’m well. I need you. Do you feel like coming to Atlanta?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, I just need you. Please?”

  “I’ll have to check my schedule and…”

  “Mom, I need you,” I repeat. There is a long pause.

  “Hello?” I say when she doesn’t respond.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” she replies.

  “Are you crying? Why are you crying?” I ask confused.

  “Because I never heard you call me mom before,” she sniffs.

  “Rita, cut it out. Are you coming or not?” I laugh.

  “Yes. Sure. I’ll be right there.” I give Rita, Chinks address and make the preparations for her to fly down here. I also text Serge, one of my bodyguards to let him know that I am 100% clean and would love for him to join me as well. By the end of the week, Serge, Rita and Kyle, the film student, are all here in Atlanta with me.

  “So, did the director at the school brief you on all that you will be doing?” I ask Kyle during our meeting.

  “Yes ma’am…”

  “Aneesah, please.”

  “Yes Aneesah, she did,” he smiles. He’s a little cutie. 19 with unkempt short locks in his hair shaped into a type of box haircut. He’s has rich cocoa skin, approximately 6’1 and I note that he has a thing for tattoos as I admire the artwork on his arms and hands. He’s wearing a pair of black Ray Ban specs, a simple white tee, distressed blue jeans and white and red Jordan’s.

  “I would need you to capture and document everything. I need you to be like my own personal paparazzi so to speak.”

  “I can do that,” he smiles.

  “Your hours will be long, and the travels will be exhausting.”

  “I am up for the challenge. Thank you for this opportunity.”

  “Okay, well welcome to the A-Team,” I smile, shaking his hand.

  Later that night, we are in the studio preparing to record the first track.

  “So, what do you need help with?” Rita asks. Kyle is already in the corner documenting this moment.

  “I want you to sing my background vocals on a few songs,” I smile.

  “Aneesah?” She questions in shock as if she heard me incorrectly.

  “You said that one of your dreams in life was to be a s
inger. I’m here to grant your wish,” I tell her handing her the music sheet. I step into the sound booth as she stands in the studio looking stunned. I want Rita on this track because this track is my testimony; her testimony; a testimony for all people who have gone through their own personal hell but came out on top swinging. I motion for Rita to come join me. She lets out a heavy breath and steps inside the booth, walking up to the other microphone.

  “The chorus is all you. Just follow my lead. Do you need to warm up?” I ask.

  “I got this,” she gives me a faint smile.

  “Cocky, aren’t we?” I laugh. I nod my head to Chink, Cassie, and Mr. J to cue the music.

  Way Up!

  I’m feeling greater than ever

  I’m a survivor, the Devil’s a liar

  I told you I was gonna get better

  I’ve been through the fire now I’m up higher

  They bet against me but I am here

  I am my strongest when I have no fear

  I felt pain until my eyes shed tears

  Now I am back and my missions so clear

  You can’t break down, what you can’t take down

  This is my day now, I see through the fake now

  I am a champion

  I am doing what they said can’t be done

  Feel my energy rise over time I get stronger

  Look at the time I survived to live longer

  This is my testament the best is yet to come and I’ll never be done

  CHORUS

  I am better than never, ever

  Once I spread my wings I’m gonna fly…

  I’ve fallen but never, ever

  I will tell the world that I survived…

  And now I’m Way up, Way up, Way up

  It took a lot of courage to believe that I will make it right where I stand

  So right here in this moment, I’m gonna own it that is my plan

  From the lowest point of the valley inland

  To the highest point of the mountain I can

  Prove to the world that I can’t be broken

  For everyone feeling hopeless I am the spokesman