Shady Meets Shayd Pt. 7 (Skit)

//(It's 2:17 AM. Dim lighting. The room hums softly with the tail end of a loop Shayd had been playing earlier. She sits curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped in Slim’s old hoodie, knees to her chest, staring at nothing. Her face is blank, but her eyes are dark. She's been sitting there a long time.)

//(The door creaks open. Slim walks in, sluggish but not sloppy, flipping a bottle of pills in one hand. He kicks the door shut with his foot, muttering.)

//(He pops the cap, downs a couple pills dry, then throws the bottle onto the table with a dull clatter. His eyes are a little glassy. Shayd glances over, then looks away.)

//(quietly)

//(shrugging as he aggressively takes off his hoodie)

//(He tosses his hoodie on the back of the chair and notices her again—still curled up in the one he gave her before.)

//(quiet, staring ahead)

//(He walks over, snatches a lighter off the table, flicks it twice just to hear the sound. Doesn't light anything.)

//(flatly)

//(He doesn’t answer. Just watches her a little too long. Then slouches down in the chair across from her, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Rubs his face hard like he’s trying to erase it. Shayd’s eyes shift toward him briefly.)

//(without looking at her)

//(He laughs—hollow, like the punchline of a joke that doesn’t land. He finally looks up.)

//(A long silence. The loop buzzes on in the background. He watches her for a beat—so still, so cold it almost hurts to look at. Then he grabs a nearby marker and starts writing a bar on his hand. Shayd eyes it.)

//(Shayd slowly uncurls. Swings her legs down and sits up, arms still crossed. Her voice is quiet but steady.)

//(smirking, eyes dead)

//(He shifts in his chair, stretching like he’s got electricity under his skin.)

//(He looks at her—long, unreadable stare. The kind you give a ghost when you realize it’s not going away.)

//(Slim suddenly looks around the studio. He walks to the corner, pulls out a beat-up CD wallet. Flips through it, muttering to himself. Finds what he’s looking for. Slides a scratched-up disc into the player.)

//(The first haunting notes of “Rock Bottom” start to play—low volume, just loud enough to fill the space. Slim doesn’t rap along, doesn’t say anything—just lets it play while he sinks back into his seat.)

//(Shayd instantly reacts. Her head lifts a little. Her whole vibe shifts—not happier, just… understood.)

//(softly)

//(Slim glances at her, surprised.)

//(Slim watches her now. He nods—slow, like he respects it. Like she just passed a test she didn’t know she was taking.)

//(The hook plays in the background: “That’s rock bottom / When you feel like you’ve had it up to here / ‘Cause you’re mad enough to scream, but you’re sad enough to tear…”)

//(Shayd closes her eyes and looks down. She’s not crying, but it hits her hard. Something real lands between them.)

//(quietly)

//(The silence stretches. He runs a hand through his hair, then over his mouth, eyes darting. He’s visibly restless now. The pills are kicking in—but not soft. Not calm. Twitchy. On edge.)

//(He nods slowly. That one lands.)

//(He leans back, breathes in, closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, they’re glassy. His voice is lower now.)

//(bitter)

//(He doesn’t. Doesn’t move. Just stares. After a moment, he tosses her his other hoodie—different from the one she’s wearing. It's quiet. Heavy.)

//(She catches it, doesn’t respond. He stands up suddenly, pacing again, fingers tapping against his thigh like a beat he can’t drop.)

//(finally looking at him again)

//(He stops pacing. Looks at her like she just confirmed something he was afraid of.)

//(quiet now)

//(Shayd shrugs slightly, curls up again on the couch, this time wrapped in both hoodies. The loop in the background fades out. Slim stands over her like he wants to say something else... but doesn’t. Instead, he sits back down across from her and lights a cigarette, staring at the smoke like it’s talking back to him.)

//(They sit in that silence a long time. Two ghosts in different bodies. Nothing left to fix. Nothing left to break that ain’t already broken.)