The weekend didn't just start; it erupted like a dormant volcano. By the time Dave woke up on Saturday afternoon, the sun was already high over the Hollywood Hills, turning his bedroom into a cathedral of white light and dancing dust motes. He lay motionless in the black silk sheets, staring at the intricate crown molding on the ceiling. Every morning since the accident, he spent the first thirty seconds waiting for the "Dave" body to return—the tight lower back, the slight wheeze in his chest, the general sense of physical fragility. But it never came. Instead, he felt a humming, restless power in his limbs, a physiological confidence that made him feel like he could punch a hole through the wall just to see if it would break.
He rolled over and saw the girl from the studio, Amara, sleeping beside him. She was a silhouette of golden skin and dark, messy hair against the dark silk. He didn't remember the specifics of how they had gotten from the studio to this bed, but the memories were starting to bleed together into a singular, intoxicating haze of "Breezy" life. He wasn't David Burd, the neurotic rapper who worried about his Uber Eats rating. He was a god in a glass house, and the world was banging on his door.
A heavy, rhythmic thumping from downstairs signaled the start of the machine. The DJ was already live. Dave stood up, his naked body catching the light in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. He traced the tattoos on his torso—the lions, the stars, the symbols of a man he was slowly erasing. He felt a dark, pulsing vanity. He liked looking like this. He liked the way the air felt on this skin. He threw on a pair of vintage designer trunks and a stack of gold chains that felt like anchors of reality around his neck, and headed downstairs.
The mansion had been transformed into a private festival. The air outside was thick with the scent of chlorine, expensive tanning oil, and the sweet, skunky aroma of high-grade marijuana. In the massive infinity pool, dozens of women in micro-bikinis were splashing and laughing, their eyes constantly darting toward the house, waiting for the guest of honor.
"There he is! The miracle man!" Hood's voice boomed over the music.
A roar went up from the crowd. Dave felt the energy hit him like a physical wave. He walked down the marble steps, and for the first time, he didn't look at his feet. He looked at the crowd with a practiced, arrogant tilt of the head. He saw the hunger in their eyes, the way they looked at him like he was a king who had just returned from the wars.
He spent the afternoon drifting through the excess. He was handed drinks he couldn't name and smoked things that made the high-definition world turn into a neon dream. He was navigating it all with a growing, dangerous ease, but the "Dave" inside him was still screaming, terrified that any second, the curtain would pull back.
The first real test came near the bar. A man in a bucket hat and a oversized jersey turned around, a grin spreading across his face. It was Tyga.
"Breezy! My brother!" Tyga shouted, pulling Dave into a complex handshake that Dave absolutely fumbled.
Dave's heart hammered against his ribs. He knew Tyga and Chris were close—they had albums together, years of history. This wasn't a fan; this was a peer.
"Yo, T," Dave rasped, lowering his voice to hide the tremor.
Tyga pulled back, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his designer shades. "You good, man? You lookin' at me like I'm a stranger. And that handshake... you forgot the flip at the end? We been doin' that since 2015, loc."
Dave felt a cold sweat prickle his neck. "The crash, man," he said, rubbing his temple. "Doctor said my motor skills might be a lil' twitchy for a week. Brain swelling is no joke. I'm just happy I remember my own name."
Tyga laughed, the suspicion vanishing. "Man, I feel you. I saw that Lambo on the news, I thought you was a wrap. But you look healthy, though. You look... I don't know, focused. Usually by this time at a pool party, you're already tryin' to backflip off the balcony into the deep end."
"I'm taking it slow," Dave said, taking a long sip of a drink that tasted like liquid candy and jet fuel. "New perspective. Life is short, you know?"
"Deep Breezy. I like it," Tyga said, dapping him up again. "Just don't get too deep. We got that Vegas run next month. I need the wild version for that."
Dave watched him walk away, his lungs finally expanding again. He had survived the first encounter, but he knew he couldn't keep using the "brain damage" excuse forever. He needed to disappear into the hedonism before anyone else looked too closely.
By sunset, the party had shifted gears. The light over the hills was a bruised, heavy purple, and the DJ had switched to a slow, grinding R&B set. Amara was back, looking lethal in a sheer wrap that left nothing to the imagination. She wasn't alone. She had two other girls with her—twins with dark skin and predatory eyes.
"The boys are looking for you," Amara whispered, her hand sliding under the waistband of his trunks as they stood in the shadows of a cabana. "But I told them you were busy. I told them you were mine for the rest of the night."
She led him back to the secondary master suite on the ground floor. The room was illuminated only by the flickering blue glow of the pool outside. The air was heavy, smelling of jasmine and the salt of the girls' skin.
Amara pushed Dave onto the massive bed, her movements demanding. She didn't want the "new" Chris; she wanted the icon. But Dave was still a little lost, his movements tentative as the three of them began to swarm him.
"You're being shy again," Amara murmured, sitting astride his lap. She reached down and gripped his chin, forcing him to look at her. "What did I tell you in the studio? I'm in charge tonight."
She stripped him down, her hands roaming over his muscles with an appreciative hum. One of the twins dropped to her knees, her dark hair falling over Dave's thighs. She started with his feet, her tongue tracing the arches before moving up his calves, her mouth hot and deliberate. The other twin began to work on his chest, her teeth grazing his nipples, her hands kneading the muscles of his arms.
"Suck his balls," Amara commanded, her voice a low purr.
The girl didn't hesitate. Dave gasped, his head hitting the headboard as he felt her tongue circling him, her movements practiced and aggressive. She teased him until he was shaking, her hands reaching back to cup him, her nails lightly scratching against his skin. Amara leaned down, biting his lower lip until he tasted copper, her tongue finding his in a deep, desperate kiss.
"You're so tense, Chris," Amara whispered against his lips. "Relax. Let us take you there."
She moved lower, licking a path down his stomach to his navel, her breath hot against his skin. She took her time, biting at his inner thighs, her hands squeezing his glutes with a grip that left marks. Dave felt his Dave-brain finally surrender. The logistics, the fear, the imposter syndrome—it all drowned in a sea of dopamine. He watched the three of them, a tangle of limbs and hair in the blue light, and felt a surge of primal, unfiltered power. He wasn't the guy who apologized for everything anymore. He was the center of the universe.
When he finally flipped Amara over, his movements were no longer tentative. He was aggressive, his body taking over with a muscle memory that felt like it had been waiting for permission to explode. He lost himself in the sensation, the rhythmic thud of the music through the walls matching the rhythm of his own heart. By the time it was over, the four of them were collapsed in a heap of sweat and silk, the room silent except for their heavy breathing.
Dave stood up an hour later, walking to the balcony. He looked out over the sparkling lights of Los Angeles. He felt a sense of peace that was almost terrifying. He didn't miss his old life. He didn't miss the anxiety or the smallness of David Burd.
He picked up the gold iPhone. He had forty-two missed calls from his "old" manager and three texts from his mother. He looked at the names. They felt like names from a movie he had seen years ago.
He selected all the notifications and hit 'Clear