yall see how he speaks on our black queens? smh
the journey must be traveled.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 8, Episode 24
The back room buzzed with nervous energy, a stark contrast to its soothing mint-colored walls. Kam sat rigid in a plush leather chair, his manicured dreadlocks cascading over his broad shoulders, fingers drumming an erratic rhythm on his knee. Around him, the other Heisman finalists and their families milled about, their voices a low hum of excitement and anticipation.
Kwame observed his son from across the room, noting the telltale signs of Kam's inner turmoil. The slight twitch in his jaw, the distant look in his eyes – it was all too familiar. With a sigh, Kwame made his way over, navigating through a sea of designer suits and cocktail dresses.
"You look like you're about to get deployed to Saigon or some shit," Kwame said, his voice tinged with amusement as he settled into the seat next to Kam.
Kam's eyes flicked to his father, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I’m straight.”
Kwame leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. "You were always a nervous one, even when you where a kid. I’ll be honest, I was worried for a bit that you’d come out, you know, a little scary."
A chuckle escaped Kam's lips, some of the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. "Is that right?”
"Oh, come on," Kwame pressed on, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I had to beat some toughness into you after all, or did you conveniently forget about that night?”
Kam shook his head, a full smile now gracing his features. "You want to run it back?”
"Maybe," Kwame conceded with a shrug. "Once you’re a Heisman winner and a first round pick, I can’t put my hands on you anymore so might as well get it out of the way.”
As if on cue, a harried-looking production assistant burst into the room, clipboard in hand. "Five minutes, everyone! We need all the finalists lined up and ready to go."
Kam stood, adjusting his tie with steady hands. He looked down at his father, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thanks, Pops. For everything, even that supposed ass whooping. It felt like an even fight to me but I know age messing with your memory.”
Kwame rose as well, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Knock em dead, champ. You already won in life, this is just an icing on the cake.”
…
Kyrie slouched on Ashley's worn leather couch, a half-empty container of cold lo mein balanced precariously on his knee. The flickering light from the television cast dancing shadows across the dimly lit living room, illuminating the scattered evidence of his temporary residence - a rumpled blanket, a duffel bag spilling clothes onto the floor, empty energy drink cans littering the coffee table.
On the screen, the Heisman ceremony unfolded in all its glitz and glamour. Kyrie's eyes were fixed on the familiar figure, resplendent in a tailored charcoal suit, his dreadlocks neatly styled. As the camera panned across Kam's face, capturing his confident smile, Kyrie felt a surge of white-hot anger course through his veins. The rage burned in his chest, a familiar companion that had fueled him for so long.
His gaze drifted from the television to the apartment around him, anything to keep his eye off the television screen, a lump forming in his throat. The anger had dissipated entirely now, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and a sorrow so profound it threatened to choke him.
“It is my great pleasure to announce that the 2027 Heisman Trophy winner is….”
The applause from the television faded into the background as Kyrie's mind raced. A part of him had been waiting for this moment, anticipating the sweet taste of schadenfreude as he watched Kam's dreams crumble. But as the Baylor quarterback's words continued to pour from the speakers, Kyrie felt no satisfaction, no vindication. Instead, a hollow emptiness spread through his chest, leaving him feeling more alone than ever.
He pushed himself off the couch, his legs unsteady as he made his way to the window. The city sprawled before him, a tapestry of twinkling lights and shadowy silhouettes. Somewhere out there, Kam was probably surrounded by friends and family, consoling him, reminding him of all he had accomplished. The thought made Kyrie's stomach churn as he sat in his ex’s apartment, all alone.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 4726
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Kyrie been abused all through this story. Damn shame to see you get hoed out of the Heisman.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
QB award
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Voters said they weren’t picking a murderer 
How Kwame had to hit Kam
How Kwame had to hit Kam
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Captain Canada wrote: ↑28 Nov 2024, 10:22Kyrie been abused all through this story. Damn shame to see you get hoed out of the Heisman.
They don't want to see a YN shine smh
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 8, Episode 25
Kan took the handoff, cradling the ball against his chest as if it were his last connection to sanity. The scout team defense swarmed towards him, but Kam saw only red. With a primal roar, he lowered his shoulder and plowed into the first defender, sending the poor early enrollee freshman sprawling backwards like a rag doll caught in a hurricane.
Kam didn't slow down. He couldn't. Another defender reached for him, and Kam swatted him away with a stiff arm that could've toppled a redwood. He kept churning his legs, each step leaving divots in the turf.
"Jesus Christ, 34!" Coach Reeves bellowed from the sideline. "This ain't the damn Super Bowl! Ease up!"
But Kam couldn't hear him over the roaring in his ears. As he crossed the goal line, Kam finally slowed, his chest heaving. He turned to survey the carnage behind him - a trail of groaning teammates littered the field. The rage that had propelled him slowly ebbed, replaced by a hollow ache in his chest.
“They done woke the savage up!” Desmond yelled into the heavens, “My boy finna turn the fuck up, I know that’s right!”
…
Tess slid into the seat across from Yassy, two shots of tequila in hand. "Girl, you look like you're at a funeral, not a celebration. Drink up!"
Yassy managed a weak smile, taking the shot glass. "I just can't believe they did him like that.”
Tess rolled her eyes, tossing back her shot with practiced ease. "You're still on that? Listen, that shit was just a popularity contest anyway. In a few months, Kam's gonna be cashing NFL checks that'll make that trophy look like a participation award from peewee football."
The mention of the NFL sent a shiver down Yassy's spine. She'd been avoiding thoughts of Kam's impending draft, the looming specter of yet another change that their relationship would have to navigate.
"I know, I know," Yassy sighed, finally downing her shot. The tequila burned a path down her throat, momentarily distracting her from her worries. "It's just... he worked so hard, you know? I saw how much it meant to him."
Tess leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Look, between you and me, this snub might be the best thing for him. You know how Kam gets when his ego starts inflating. A little piece of humble piece never hurt nobody.”
A burst of laughter from a nearby table drew their attention. A group of seniors were engaged in an animated drinking game, their carefree attitudes a stark contrast to Yassy's melancholy.
"You're right," Yassy admitted, straightening her shoulders. "I need to stop dwelling on this. It's our last night before break, and I'm being a total buzzkill."
Tess grinned, flagging down a passing waitress. "That's my girl. Now, let's get some real drinks and toast to the future NFL power couple!"
As the night wore on, the bar grew rowdier. Christmas lights twinkled above the bar, casting multicolored reflections in the mirror behind the liquor bottles. The scent of spilled beer and greasy bar food hung in the air, mingling with the perfume of coeds dressed for a night out.
Yassy found herself relaxing, Tess's infectious enthusiasm and the steady flow of alcohol gradually pushing her worries to the back of her mind. They danced to early 2000s hip-hop and shouted along to karaoke renditions of pop classics.
As the night wore on, Yassy felt the alcohol seeping into her bones, her worries about Kam fading into a pleasant buzz. The bar had transformed into a kaleidoscope of sound and color - the pulsing beat of the music vibrating through her chest, the neon signs casting electric halos around the revelers. She found herself laughing at jokes she couldn't quite hear, her body swaying to rhythms that seemed to emanate from the very walls.
Eventually, the dizzying whirl of activity became too much. Yassy stumbled towards an empty booth, collapsing onto the sticky vinyl seat with a contented sigh. From her new vantage point, she could see Tess on the dance floor, her friend's hips swaying in perfect sync with a tall, muscular guy Yassy didn't recognize. Tess caught her eye and winked, mouthing something that looked like "Get it, girl!"
Yassy chuckled, her head lolling back against the booth. The ceiling above her seemed to undulate, Christmas lights blurring into streaks of red and green.
"Mind if I join you?"
The familiar voice cut through Yassy's haze like a knife. She opened her eyes to see Steven sliding into the booth across from her, a lopsided grin on his face. His presence sent a jolt of unease through her alcohol-addled system.
"Steven," she managed, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugged, his eyes never leaving her face. "Same as everyone else. Celebrating the end of the semester." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Though I gotta say, seeing you here is definitely the highlight of my night."
Yassy shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how alone they were in this corner of the bar. The booth felt smaller, more claustrophobic. She glanced towards the dance floor, hoping to catch Tess's eye, but her friend was lost in the crowd.
"I should probably find Tess," Yassy said, making a move to stand. The world tilted dangerously as she rose, forcing her to grip the edge of the table for support.
“Come on,” he reached out and grabbed her shoulder, guiding her back to the chair without much resistance, “Where’s everyone’s favorite running back?”
Yassy ignored his comment, rubbing her temple as she tried to snap herself back to sobriety.
“I’m just saying, seems like you’re always at his games, always at his ceremonies, probably was there in court.”
“Steven,” she shot him a glare, “What are you doing?”
“Seems one sided to me is all,” he shrugged, casually bringing the beer bottle to his lips, “Maybe I read you wrong but I didn’t take you for a football wife.”
Steven's words hung in the air, heavy and insidious. Yassy felt them seeping into her mind, feeding the doubts she'd tried so hard to bury. The bar seemed to grow quieter, the raucous laughter and pulsing music fading into a dull hum.
"What are you talking about?" Yassy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Steven leaned in closer, his cologne mingling with the scent of beer on his breath. "Come on, Yassy. You're smart, beautiful, ambitious. You really want to spend your life standing on the sidelines, cheering for someone else's dreams?"
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers. The touch sent a shiver through her, not of desire, but of unease. "You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you as an equal, not just arm candy for the cameras."
Yassy's mind reeled, images flashing before her eyes - Kam's face on billboards, surrounded by adoring fans. Herself, reduced to a footnote in his story. The thought made her stomach churn.
Steven's voice dropped lower, taking on a honeyed tone. "I've always seen you, Yassy. Your brilliance, your passion. With me, you'd never have to worry about being overshadowed or... replaced."
The implication in his words was clear, playing on her deepest fears. Yassy's eyes stung with unshed tears as she imagined Kam, surrounded by temptation in a world of fame and excess. If he couldn’t hand being the man in Lexington, how could he in Las Vegas, Chicago, or New York?
Steven's hand moved to her cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had escaped. "You don't have to settle for being just a player's wife, Yassy. You could be so much more."
For a moment, Yassy let herself imagine it - a life where her accomplishments weren't overshadowed by touchdowns and draft picks. But as Steven leaned in, his intentions clear, something inside Yassy snapped back into focus. She saw Kam's face - not the public persona, but the man she knew. The one who held her when nightmares plagued her sleep, who celebrated her victories as if they were his own.
Yassy stood abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair. "Get the fuck you," she said, her voice gaining strength with each word. "You don’t know shit about me and you sure as shit don’t know shit about him.”
Steven blinked, confusion and frustration warring on his face. "Yassy, I-"
But she cut him off, her eyes blazing with renewed conviction. "On his worst day, he's twice the man you could ever fucking be."
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Steven can go away now
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
It's going to be nasty work when Kam fucks some bleach bottle blonde with fake titties and a 0.01% OF account in Las Vegas behind Yassy's back.