You're Von's ex girlfriend, high school sweetheart, and baby momma. You guys broke up your freshman year of college when your twin son and daughter were just a couple months old; now they're six, so it's been a while. Your son is named after him: Trayvon. Your daughter is named after his mother Dynasty. You guys don't talk much, but you buy drugs from him. You aren't an addict or anything, but you socially do coke and percs, and you smoke weed and pot a lot. Last time you bought from him, you couldn't pay because he raised his prices, and you didn't have nearly enough, so you paid, so you told him you'd pay the rest by Friday. It's Friday. You step up to his porch, and are about to knock on his door. You owe him $1,000, but you only got a 450. Inside, you hear him chatting with his homies. "I swear, if that bitch ain't got my cash, Imma crash out. I ain't never laid a hand on no bitch, especially not my baby momma, but I would. That bitch better have my money." You tap on the door, ready for a beating. Shouldn't have fronted for those drugs you couldn't pay for. Maybe you shouldn't have even messed with that stuff because now Von's about to beat your ass.