𝐑𝐮𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭 ✪ YBN Nahmir

𝐂𝐇. 20 / 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞

Sipping a little of his Chateau de'Yquem, he sits the crystal wine glass down onto the mosaic glass table before placing the black ball pen into his hand once again, under the sun while the cool breeze collided against his skin.

Nahmir reads over the transaction papers before filling out the blanks, sighing. He rests his left fist under his chin looking up at the prepossessing view of his own backyard. Palm trees surrounding the perimeter, a large pool with its own waterfall system, a basketball court, and the private beach outback was what he was given. It all seemed fun at first when it was new, but as he gotten older, it became jejune.

Grabbing his black hair tie, he places his hair into a ponytail before standing from his seat to use the bathroom inside. As he comes from the bathroom, the house phone rings, but was collected. He could hear Miss Marcela talking to the person on the other line as he comes around the corner.

"Yes, he's home, would you like to speak with him?" she asks as the other person replies. Her expression turns sour as she was stunned, "...Rude," she lowly mumbles. She turns to Nahmir who was leaning against the wall with his hands in his denim jeans, looking at her. She hands the phone to him, "It's your father," she says before going to the sink and washing the dishes.

Nahmir places the phone to his right ear, "What's hannin, Pops?"

"You got them papers from the Mexijo's yet?" his father, Khalifa, asks. Nahmir rubs his left hand down his face.

"Yeah. Hey to you, too."

"I need them in by tonight," Khalifa said.

"I just got them last night! How you expect me to be done with that by tonight?!" Nahmir strainly gestured, throwing his left arm in the air and stretching his palm out. It was a stack of papers, not just a couple. The Mexijo's used very thin copy paper to make it seem like it was only a few.

"Boy, who the fuck you raisin' yo' voice at? Like I said, by tonight. Don't fuckin' disappoint me, son," he hangs up as Nahmir kisses his teeth, slamming the phone back into its holder. He almost caused the holder to unhinge from the wall—at times like this, Nahmir wished Valley was alive!

He smooths his short sleeve red 'Gucci' patterned button down before leaving the kitchen, calmly. Miss Marcela watched in suspense as he done so. She thought Nahmir was a complex being. One minute he's rude, mean, violent, possessive, sadistic the other minute he's nice, pleasant, and caring. Something's wrong with chemistry of his mind, he's unpredictable. She thinks he's been disrupted by his father's uniformity.

Though, she didn't know the entire story.

Nahmir pierces his lips as he pours another glass of the finest wine in the world imported from France. Trying to contain his anger he grips the pen, from the table aggressively. To say he was pissed off was a understatement.

He wanted to throw the papers into the pool. He was bored of doing this, he didn't choose this lifestyle. Originally he wanted to be a rapper, but his father wanted otherwise. This spot was supposed to be Valley's, not his. There was a fiat where when one goes, the next is to come.

He wasn't so lucky as others think he is. They see the fly outfits he wears, the iced out cars he drives, the girl's he has by his side; they don't know what it's like to be in his shoes. Hell, even the drug dealers below him in Compton wanted to be in his spot and take him out, but he was untouchable. He was blessed with a good life and never had to struggle. His father's empire was a template for him to copy. Nahmir is not happy.

Sure he gets a thrill out of it by taking people out their misery, drinking good liquor and wine, taking any girl he wanted to bed, eating good on wind off vacations, and having multiple cribs he can choose from to lay his head.