Complicated

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ERICS POV

The morning felt colder than usual, like even the sun didn’t wanna rise over L.A. that day. I sat at the edge of the couch, elbows on knees, the L.A. Sentinel spread open on the coffee table like some kind of joke God thought was funny. Dre was across from me, flipping through some old Source magazine, half-paying attention to the world around him — half-ignoring me on purpose.

My eyes were stuck on one thing: her.

Korina.

Front page. Big smile. LL Cool J standing beside her like he had any right to be there. His hand on her back, her eyes on the camera like she knew people would talk. And they were. The headline read like gossip disguised as journalism.

“Korina & LL: New Music or New Romance?”

I scoffed and tossed the paper down. “Man, that shit crazy. She out here doin’ all this for what? Headlines?”

Dre looked up from his magazine, unbothered. “It’s promo. Ain’t that what y’all always say? All press is good press.”

I leaned back, arms crossed. “Nah, see, this different. She know exactly what she doin’. Tryna make me look stupid. Like I was just some phase.”

“She’s not thinkin’ about you like that, E,” Dre said casually. “She thinkin’ about her.”

That pissed me off more than I wanted to admit. “Man, don’t act like you don’t see it. She postin’ up with dudes who wasn’t even in the picture before. That ain’t music, that’s game.”

Dre sighed, set the magazine down. “You know what your problem is, right?”

Here we go.

“You think everybody’s playin’ you,” he said, eyes locked on mine now. “But maybe you just played yourself.”

I frowned. “What the hell that s’posed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, sitting up a little, “you keep actin’ like Korina owed you somethin’. Like she was yours to keep. But the second she started blowin’ up, you got shook. Instead of supporting her, you started tryna control her.”

“I put her on!” I barked. “You act like I didn’t—”

“Nah,” Dre cut in. “You helped her. There’s a difference. But you ain’t own her. She ain’t no artist you sign and shelf. She’s a woman, man. With her own voice. And your ego couldn’t handle that.”

I stood up, started pacing. My blood was hot now, jaw clenched.

“I ain’t got no damn ego—”

“Yes, you do,” Dre interrupted, louder this time. “It’s why y’all fell off. You didn’t trust her to shine without feelin’ like she was steppin’ on your name.”

Silence.

Just the fridge humming. My sneakers creaking the floor with every angry step.

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That he ain’t know what he was talking about. That I had every right to feel the way I did. But the truth?

That shit hit.

I sat back down, rubbed my face, let out a low breath. “Man... I ain’t even mad at her like that. I just…”

Dre waited. Arms crossed. Watching me finally crack through the armor.

“I just miss how it used to be,” I muttered. “Back when it was just me and her in the studio, buildin’ something. She ain’t care about cameras or charts, just wanted to make good music. She’d sit in the booth, headphones crooked, laughin’ at me when I tried to coach her. That laugh, man… it was stupid loud. But I ain’t never wanted her to stop.”

Dre nodded, quiet for a moment. “So you still love her.”

I didn’t answer right away.

But I didn’t deny it either.

“Yeah,” I said eventually. “Yeah, I do.”

Dre stood, grabbing his keys off the table. “Then tell her. Or don’t. But stop tryna rewrite the story like you the victim. She gave you love. You gave her rules. That ain’t the same.”

He walked out the room, leaving me in the quiet with my thoughts.

I looked down at her face in the newspaper again. That same fire in her eyes that made me believe in her back then.

And for the first time in a long time, I realized maybe I didn’t lose her to the game.

Maybe I lost her to myself.

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Eazy-E’s POV

The morning felt colder than usual, like even the sun didn’t wanna rise over L.A. that day. I sat at the edge of the couch, elbows on knees, the L.A. Sentinel spread open on the coffee table like some kind of joke God thought was funny. Dre was across from me, flipping through some old Source magazine, half-paying attention to the world around him — half-ignoring me on purpose.

My eyes were stuck on one thing: her.

Korina.

Front page. Big smile. LL Cool J standing beside her like he had any right to be there. His hand on her back, her eyes on the camera like she knew people would talk. And they were. The headline read like gossip disguised as journalism.

“Korina & LL: New Music or New Romance?”

I scoffed and tossed the paper down. “Man, that shit crazy. She out here doin’ all this for what? Headlines?”

Dre looked up from his magazine, unbothered. “It’s promo. Ain’t that what y’all always say? All press is good press.”

I leaned back, arms crossed. “Nah, see, this different. She know exactly what she doin’. Tryna make me look stupid. Like I was just some phase.”

“She’s not thinkin’ about you like that, E,” Dre said casually. “She thinkin’ about her.”

That pissed me off more than I wanted to admit. “Man, don’t act like you don’t see it. She postin’ up with dudes who wasn’t even in the picture before. That ain’t music, that’s game.”

Dre sighed, set the magazine down. “You know what your problem is, right?”

Here we go.

“You think everybody’s playin’ you,” he said, eyes locked on mine now. “But maybe you just played yourself.”

I frowned. “What the hell that s’posed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, sitting up a little, “you keep actin’ like Korina owed you somethin’. Like she was yours to keep. But the second she started blowin’ up, you got shook. Instead of supporting her, you started tryna control her.”

“I put her on!” I barked. “You act like I didn’t—”

“Nah,” Dre cut in. “You helped her. There’s a difference. But you ain’t own her. She ain’t no artist you sign and shelf. She’s a woman, man. With her own voice. And your ego couldn’t handle that.”

I stood up, started pacing. My blood was hot now, jaw clenched.

“I ain’t got no damn ego—”

“Yes, you do,” Dre interrupted, louder this time. “It’s why y’all fell off. You didn’t trust her to shine without feelin’ like she was steppin’ on your name.”

Silence.

Just the fridge humming. My sneakers creaking the floor with every angry step.

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That he ain’t know what he was talking about. That I had every right to feel the way I did. But the truth?

That shit hit.

I sat back down, rubbed my face, let out a low breath. “Man... I ain’t even mad at her like that. I just…”

Dre waited. Arms crossed. Watching me finally crack through the armor.

“I just miss how it used to be,” I muttered. “Back when it was just me and her in the studio, buildin’ something. She ain’t care about cameras or charts, just wanted to make good music. She’d sit in the booth, headphones crooked, laughin’ at me when I tried to coach her. That laugh, man… it was stupid loud. But I ain’t never wanted her to stop.”

Dre nodded, quiet for a moment. “So you still love her.”

I didn’t answer right away.

But I didn’t deny it either.

“Yeah,” I said eventually. “Yeah, I do.”

Dre stood, grabbing his keys off the table. “Then tell her. Or don’t. But stop tryna rewrite the story like you the victim. She gave you love. You gave her rules. That ain’t the same.”

He walked out the room, leaving me in the quiet with my thoughts.

I looked down at her face in the newspaper again. That same fire in her eyes that made me believe in her back then.

And for the first time in a long time, I realized maybe I didn’t lose her to the game.

Maybe I lost her to myself.

I stayed on the couch for a while after Dre dipped. The room felt heavier without him, like the truth he dropped was still hangin’ in the air.

Couple hours later, Yella came through, calm as ever. He didn’t say much at first — just nodded at me, grabbed a soda out the fridge, then plopped down in the chair across from me.

“You look like hell, homie,” he said casually, sipping like it was just another day.

“Appreciate it,” I muttered. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

Yella leaned back. “You been thinkin’ about her again, huh?”

I shot him a look. He raised his brows like, don’t even try to lie.

“You actin’ like everybody know my damn business.”

“We do,” he said with a grin. “’Cause you don’t shut up about it.”

I chuckled, but it was short-lived. My chest still felt tight.

“She everywhere now,” I admitted. “And I ain’t even mad. I just... it’s weird, watchin’ her out there like that. Like she finally don’t need me.”

Yella stayed quiet for a second, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, man. You ain’t gotta be with her to love her. But if you still love her — and not just miss the control or the comfort or the old days — then that’s somethin’ you gotta sit with. Really sit with.”

I looked at him, confused. “You tellin’ me to chase her or leave her alone?”

He smirked. “I’m tellin’ you to grow up. Figure out what kind of man you wanna be. ‘Cause if you ever get another shot with her, it can’t be the same Eazy she walked away from. That Eazy ain’t it.”

I leaned back, letting those words sink in.

Yella stood up, finishing his soda. “You don’t gotta prove nothin’ to us. But if you still feel somethin’, be real about it. Not just with her — with yourself. Love ain’t always about gettin’ somebody back. Sometimes it’s just about learnin’ how not to lose the next one.”

And with that, he was out the door too.

And I was alone again.

Same spot, different weight on my shoulders. 

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Korina’s POV

I had just gotten off the phone with , my so-called manager or PR guy — or whatever the hell he was trying to be this week.

His voice was too loud, too chipper for the hour, talking in circles like always.

“They’re loving the LL Cool J photos, Korina,” he said like he was announcing a damn Grammy. “You and him on that rooftop? Magic. You look like a damn power couple.”

I lay stretched across the bed, one leg dangling off the edge, the phone pressed to my ear. My voice came out dry and slow. “It was one lunch, strokee.”

“Yeah, but the way y’all looked? Shit, that sells. I’m getting calls already. People asking if there’s a real spark.”

I rolled my eyes, tossing my arm over my face. “There’s not. He took me to lunch. That’s it.”

“You’re doing this for relevance, baby. Same thing.”

He said it like that was supposed to comfort me. Like being seen was better than being respected.

"I would never betray Eric like that,whatever your thinking about,better say goodbye to that mentality."

"Come on Korina you been too focus on that guy,you haven't even released atleast 30 songs,You'll be doing it for the publicity not anything else ,just do as I say would you?"

I rolled my eyes"I'll figure out my career,you just stay out of it,please and thank you"

I hung up without saying goodbye.

The room was quiet again, but the chaos lingered. Last night’s clothes were thrown everywhere—bodysuit on the floor, a broken heel by the minibar, lipstick smeared on the bathroom counter. One of my lashes was stuck on the nightstand like a tiny dead spider. The comforter was kicked halfway off the bed, twisted like I’d fought it in my sleep. It all smelled faintly of perfume, room service, and a little bit of regret.

I exhaled slowly, dragging myself upright. My body ached like I’d danced in heels all night—and I had. I shuffled to the mirror, tying my robe loosely as I passed. My curls were a halo of frizz, my eyeliner smudged like war paint. I started brushing through the mess, trying to pull myself together, at least halfway.

Then—

Knock knock knock.

I groaned. “Who is it?”

“Housekeeping!” a muffled voice answered.

I rubbed my face, too tired for this. “Can you come back in, like… twenty minutes?!”

I turned back to the mirror, working the brush through a stubborn knot, thinking he’d listen.

But then I heard the click.

The door opened.

“HELLO?!” I snapped, turning just in time to see him walk in—young, maybe early twenties, hotel uniform neat and a clipboard in his hand. Eyes glued to his checklist like that made him invisible.

“Just here to check the minibar, ma’am—won’t take a minute.”

I blinked at him like he was a glitch in the system. “Are you serious? You can’t just walk into someone’s room—!”

“I’m sorry, I—I thought you said to come in…”

“I didn’t. I really didn’t.”

He held up the clipboard like that meant anything. “Just need to scan the fridge and I’ll be out your hair.”

I was too tired to argue. “Fine. Just… be quick.”

I turned back to the mirror, yanking the brush through faster now. He wandered into the corner near the minibar and bathroom, rummaging around, taking notes. My robe was slipping down one shoulder, my legs bare except for my fuzzy pink slippers. I didn’t care.

Until—

BANG BANG BANG.

This knock was different. Aggressive. Unapologetic.

I froze.

The hotel guy froze, too.

I tiptoed to the door, peeked through the peephole—

And my stomach dropped.

Eric

.

In a black jacket and jeans, sunglasses pushed up on his head, chain glinting, looking like a man who didn’t come here for peace. Arms crossed, his jaw tight. One hand tapped against his thigh like he was ready to break the door down if I didn’t open it fast enough.

I opened it a crack, tightening the robe across my chest. “What do you want?”

His eyes flicked to mine, but didn’t stay there.

He looked past me. Into the room.

At the ruffled sheets.At the makeup and bra on the lamp.At my bare thighs.

And then—

At the hotel worker.

The guy was just now stepping out of the corner, clipboard in hand, unaware of the bomb he’d just walked into.

Eric’s jaw clenched.

“The fuck is this?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

“Eric, chill. He’s just—”

“Don’t fucking ‘chill’ me,” he cut me off, stepping into the doorway. “You serious right now? This what you on?”

“He’s housekeeping. He was checking the minibar—”

“While you sittin’ here half naked with the sheets pulled off and wine glasses on the fuckin’ floor?”

“I just woke up. You think I got dressed up to impress him?”

But he wasn’t hearing me. Not anymore.

Eric stepped further into the room, his energy heavy. His eyes narrowed on the guy, who now looked nervous as hell.

“You fuckin’ her?” Eric barked.

“Sir—what? No—!”

“DON’T FUCKING LIE TO ME!” Eric roared, lunging toward him.

“ERIC, STOP!” I shouted, running in between them, trying to hold him back. “He’s a hotel worker! You’re being crazy!”

“I AIN’T FUCKING CRAZY,” he screamed, pushing me aside and grabbing the guy by the collar.

The hotel guy fumbled backward. “I swear—I’m staff—I’ll call security!”

But Eric’s fist connected with his face before he could even reach for his phone.

CRACK.

Blood sprayed. The clipboard fell. The guy stumbled back into the dresser, eyes wide in fear.

“ERIC, WHAT THE FUCK!” I yelled, grabbing his arm. “STOP IT! HE DIDN’T TOUCH ME!”

“You think I believe that shit?” he snapped, his voice breaking with rage. “You really out here lettin’ hotel boys walk in on you while you barely dressed? Huh?!”

“You walked in on us! What do you think this is? I ain’t slept with nobody—especially not him!”

The hotel worker finally scrambled to his feet, pulling out his phone with shaking hands. “I—I need to call hotel security—”

Eric turned to him again. “Go ahead! Call ’em! They can pick your bloody ass up off the floor—”

“ERIC, ENOUGH!” I yelled, standing in front of the guy this time. “You’re acting like a fucking psycho!”

“Yeah?” Eric shouted, chest heaving. “Then maybe you should stop acting like a hoe.”

I froze.

He didn’t mean it. Or maybe he did.

But the second it left his mouth, I felt like something inside me cracked. Like a window finally gave in under pressure and shattered. I stared at him, breathing hard, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes—but I wouldn’t let them fall.

He looked around again. At the mess. At me. At the bruised and bloody hotel worker dialing on his phone.

Eric shook his head slowly. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You really doing me like this?”

Then he spit on the carpet and stormed out.

Didn’t wait for security. Didn’t look back.

The door slammed behind him so hard, it rattled the wall.

The hotel worker groaned, leaning on the dresser, phone to his ear, mumbling something to whoever answered.

And me?

I just stood there.

Still in my robe.Hair half done.Heart fully broken.

Because no matter how loud he screamed, how wrong he was, how much he hurt me—

Part of me still wanted him to come back.