Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I don’t remember how I went from the pizza shop to this part of Brooklyn. It’s like my feet kept going, running in fear and in need of answers. I didn’t care where the fuck I was going, and I know that if Rosie really is okay and I just show up at her place, she was going to be even angrier at me. I didn’t care. I needed to know if she was okay.
I finally get to the building where Rosie lives; I was kinda confused about why it was so quiet. Maybe it was someone else? I mean, it’s not surprising if it was since Prescott is known to be with multiple girls. I walk towards the long staircase leading up to the door that I saw Rosie standing near that one day. I can’t lie, I was nervous to go up there and see if she was okay. What if she was badly bruised? What if she was just passed out on her bed with no one there to help her? I guess my emotions were the ones moving my feet upwards, towards this apartment that didn’t really look like an apartment. That can’t be where she lives. Maybe she just hangs out here.
I reached the door and felt my stomach turn. I softly knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked a little harder the second time. No answer.
“Rosie!” I shouted, not caring if the neighborhood was going to hear me. I banged on the door harder; every minute that I didn’t get an answer made me anxious and worried for Rosie. Like, I haven’t fucking seen her in like two weeks, she’s ignoring my texts, and now this? I’m angry she would even let someone like Prescott Jones into her life. Celebrities truly only care about their own image, and I can imagine Prescott doing whatever it takes to keep his image as good as possible.
I keep banging on the door until, finally, the door swings open. I look at the person standing there. I am genuinely confused.
“Roe?” I questioned. Rosie stood there just as confused to see me here. I already know how bad this is going to go. She never invited me to her place, yet she’s going to wonder how the fuck I was able to find her place.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rosie spat back. I’m not surprised. I truly did not know how to answer. Her apartment threw me off guard. It wasn’t one of those modern Brooklyn apartments most old movie theaters get turned into. For lack of a better word, her apartment looked like shit. I couldn’t imagine Rosie actually living here, but the environment says otherwise. There’s a full-size bed on one side of the apartment, followed by a futon in the middle of the room and a small TV on a coffee table. She definitely lived here, and I didn’t understand why.
“Are-are you okay?” I barely could get the words out of my mouth. Because of that, Rosie looked like she was going to yank them out for me. She really didn’t want me to find out about her apartment.
“What do you mean if I’m okay?! What the fuck are you even doing here?!” Rosie grew louder. I can see the neighborhood begin looking up towards the long staircase. If this was the place Prescott typically comes to see Rosie, I needed to get her out of the street yelling like that. It’s bad enough that Prescott coming here makes this a hot spot for the media.
I pushed her inside her apartment and closed the door behind us. Rosie came charging at me, and luckily I was prepared for a pissed-off Rosie. I grabbed her by the wrists before she was able to push me. I was prepared for her to fight back, but instead, she winced in pain. I immediately let go of them. I glanced at her wrists before she was able to hide them in her sweater. What the fuck is going on, Rosie?
“Are your wrists okay?” I asked. I couldn’t think of anything else to ask.
“Are you stalking me or something?” she blurted out. It made me angry that she would think of me so lowly until I realized she doesn’t know that I knew where she lived. She didn’t give me a chance to respond back to her dumb question. “Stop being a fucking creep and looking up people’s addresses when you’re bored!”
“Maybe if you knew what you were talking about, maybe then you wouldn’t sound like an entitled bitch,” I snapped back. I used this opportunity to finally let her know why I was here. “I saw on Twitter that Prescott was–“
I thought I was going to get the opportunity. I then realized I am dealing with Rosie Delgado: the most stubborn girl I have ever met.
“You and this Prescott thing! I swear I don’t know why you have this vendetta against him, but I have nothing to do with him!” She proclaimed. I didn’t even bother answering her back; I went ahead and said what I wanted to say.
“I saw Prescott walking into your apartment a couple of weeks ago,” I stated. She finally stopped talking to listen to me, even if she scoffed immediately after.
“Oh really? Is that the story you’re going with?” she teased.
“Prescott drives a white Porsche; I only know that because it’s constantly parked on campus and whenever I see him coming out of it, you do too. Seriously Rosie, if you’re trying to hide your relationship from the world, the least you can do is–“
Rosie never truly lets me finish my sentences, which pisses me off. Maybe half the shit that comes out of her mouth can be prevented if she just would fucking listen for once in a while.
“You living your life through another celebrity is pathetic, bro; like just say you wanna suck his dick or something–” Rosie said. I couldn’t hold back my anger or frustration anymore. It’s like this girl isn’t letting me tell her that I’m here because I was afraid that son-of-a-bitch hurt her. She would rather hide his actions than tell someone who cares about her.
“Nah, some other girls are already doing that for him,” I snapped back. She didn’t like that and I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at her. “You know, for someone that’s not dating him, you sure look angry thinking about Prescott having his dick sucked by other chicks.”
“Is Kalia one of them? Is that why you’re so obsessed with him?” Rosie always had something to say, and at this point, I saw them coming from a mile away.
“Nah, I was just online when I saw that asshole got arrested after a ‘dispute’ here last night. What happened? Caught your man with another woman and you guys had a fight?” Rosie charged at me and I immediately blocked myself behind a lone table in the middle of her apartment. She grew frustrated and gave up; she huffed and stopped chasing me around the table.
“You know what’s not cool, Micah? Saying that we’re friends and yet you make my life a living hell by not respecting personal boundaries!” Rosie argued.
“Boundaries? Roe, I haven’t seen you in weeks! You haven’t said a word to me since that day in the lounge, and you expect me to not worry about you?” I admitted to her.
“Dude, I never told you where I lived! You just showed up here like you were invited and–“
“I saw you and Prescott here one day after my doctor’s appointment,” I finally said. She stopped talking, which was new considering she hasn’t let me finish a goddamn sentence since I got here. “I thought maybe this was just your secret hangout spot or whatever, I don’t know. But…” I looked around the bare-empty apartment and back at Rosie. I was truly concerned at that point for her. “… You actually live here. Why didn’t you just tell me? Do you think I would judge you or something?”
It hurts to think that although I’ve told her so much about my life, I barely knew hers. I wasn’t asking to know every little thing about her, but it would’ve been nice to know my goddamn best friend–
Best friend? Really Micah? You don’t even know her.
Before I could gather my thoughts, Rosie is pushing me towards the front door, clearly upset at me. My feet naturally went towards the direction that she was pushing me.
“Just get the fuck out of here! Stay out of my business and out of my life!” Rosie yelled out. When we reached the front door, I turned around, looking at Rosie.
“Roe, please–” I started to say, but of course, Rosie always has to have the last word.
“Don’t fucking call me that! As a matter of fact, don’t fucking call me ever again! We are not friends!” Rosie slammed the door in my face. I didn’t even bother fighting with her. I mean, what was the point in trying to reason with someone like her? She was going to do whatever the fuck she wants to do.
Then why the fuck do I care about her so much?
Letters From Liz. 