I hadn’t seen Micah since the night I stayed at his place, and even then I didn’t stay through the whole night.
That night, I slept in Micah’s room as he slept on the sofa in the living room. The high was wearing off, and the regret instantly began to sink in. I stared up at his ceiling, tossing and turning hoping the night would quickly pass so that it was morning. I looked around his room and got to know him better through his belongings. He was passionate about his music; his desk was full of music sheets, accompanied by a microphone and chunky headphones, and a computer screen. Next to it was a DJ mixer; I knew he made his own beats and music, but the calendar above it shows performances and events that he has booked.
He had shelves up in his room, which surprises me. I’ve never seen a guy– or even a man– have his own space and there were shelves with things on them. I can only imagine that was his mother’s touch. The shelves had picture frames with pictures in them; to my surprise his family. Micah never really told me anything about his family besides the fact he had younger sisters. This picture had to have been taken not too long ago since Micah’s dreadlocks are about the same length they are now. In the picture stood a man and woman that were most likely his parents, a guy that looked a lot like the dad, Micah, and two younger teenage sisters. His family was pretty and clean; they look like they all had their lives put together. But I see Micah and his ripped jeans, his nose piercing, barely smiling in his family portrait. Micah stands out like a sore thumb, and it makes me sad. Micah called himself a black sheep, and maybe this was why. By looking at this picture, I can tell that neither of his parents smokes cigarettes or drink alcohol on a daily. I can tell that his older brother owns a home in an expensive part of Brooklyn; maybe even in Manhattan or some shit. His younger sisters look like they are honor roll students in school.
Micah looks like he was the problem child. Does Micah think he’s nothing but a problem?
“Micah?” I finally said as I answered the door. He looked like shit and he reeked of beer. Ugh, fucking memories of Philly. He looked at me with his eyes that looked gray at night. They were normally an ocean blue color; lively and so full of life. These eyes read dead inside.
“Hi, Roe Roe!” Micah greeted in a high-pitched voice. “I was just around the neighborhood and decided to stop by and say hi!” His eyes suddenly looked so sad. “You don’t say hi to me anymore on campus.”
“Micah, what are you doing here?” I asked, annoyed that he would come unannounced in the condition that he was in. He didn’t bother answering. He drops the beer bottle on the ground in front of my apartment and walks in. What the fuck is this guy on? “Micah?” I kept calling out for him but he didn’t even bother answering. He looked around the apartment. I felt exposed every single time he would come here.
“Must be nice to have an apartment all to yourself,” he said as he walked around. He stopped and looked at me. “An apartment where you can fuck guys and get paid to do it.”
I couldn’t believe Micah. I didn’t know what got into him or why he was now treating me like I was some chewed-up gum at the bottom of his shoe. He can’t be upset that I left his place that night without him knowing. He can’t be upset that I haven’t spoken to him since that night. By all means, I didn’t owe shit to Micah, so why is he acting like I owe him something? It pissed me the fuck off knowing that Micah would throw something like that back at my face.
“What the fuck is your problem, dude? Besides being drunk off of some cheap-ass beer,” I spat at Micah. This is what I always did to people when I felt like I was being attacked. I would protect myself in ways that sometimes would get me in more trouble. Micah laughed, but not the genuine laugh I’d heard from him whenever we were on good terms; it was dragged out and loud for no reason besides to laugh at me.
“I don’t have a problem,” Micah finally answered back. “Clearly you’re the one with the problem.”
“Go home, Micah,” I didn’t want to fight with him. He’s drunk with beer muscles, and I’m convinced that every man, no matter how nice of a person they are, gets them when they drink. Some of those men beat women up with those beer muscles. I was unsure about Micah, but fuck; this felt like a night back in Philly.
“My bad if I ruined your plans with that fuck boy, Prescott Jones,” Micah laughed as he said it. My heart dropped to the pit in my stomach, and I guess it read on my face because Micah looks at me like he fucking won a battle with me. “Yeah, I know you’re still fucking that rich boy. I guess you really only go for the rich boys, specifically the fucking abusive ones that’ll beat you half to death,” he continued.
“You really gotta stop assuming shit before you get yourself hurt, Micah,” I responded. I didn’t mean for it to come off as so threatening, because now Micah looks at me with rage in his eyes. At this moment, Micah looks scary, and I’m so fucking unsure how this is going to turn out.
“I saw you with my own two eyes!” Micah yelled. I couldn’t help but flinch.
” I saw you with my own two eyes!” Don yelled, bugged out of his fucking mind. He wasn’t thinking straight, and it was so late into the night.
“I told you I didn’t steal shit from you, asshole!” I screamed back. Don’s eyes were wide like the whole world was slowly coming down on him. To him, it was. He continued to rip apart the apartment that we shared, not caring if he was destroying the very little things we owned.
“I know you took it, Rosie! You’re nothing but a fucking whore that steals shit!” he rambled on. I was hurt, but angrier at the fact he allowed his addiction to believe I was anything like he thought I was when he was high.
“Fuck you, Don! You’re nothing but a fucking junkie!” I spat back. Don’s eye color was hazel. That night, I swear they were red, and I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.
“You came out of his white fuckin’ Porsche outside of the library, like you always do whenever he drops you off for class!” Micah continued.
“Can you stop yelling and shut the fuck up?” I yelled back at Micah. I wanted Micah to stop. This isn’t the Micah I got to know over the last couple of months; but maybe this is truly who he is. Maybe this is truly how he feels. Maybe I don’t know Micah at all.
“No! Because if I don’t yell at you, it won’t go through your fuckin’ thick skull that you are just putting your life in danger being with that douchebag!” he yelled even louder this time, as if he was also trying to get the rest of the block in on the conversation. I was going to shut Micah up; I was tired of hearing him and literally wanted nothing more than for him to leave my place. I walk to him and try to push him out. He quickly turns around and grabs my arm, facing the bruises on them upwards.
“This is not okay, Rosie!” Micah emphasized. I tried to get him to let me go, but he wouldn’t loosen his grip.
I tries to get Don to let me go, but he wouldn’t loosen his grip.
“Let me go!” I screamed. I was scared for my life at this point. I wanted him to leave me alone, but he wouldn’t; even after throwing me against the wall as I tried to fight him off.
“Let me go!” I screamed louder than I wanted to. I was panicking, and wanted nothing more than for Micah to leave. I started crying; I hate that I was, but it was a response I couldn’t control anymore. I cried when I was scared; not hurt, but scared. I didn’t know there was going to be a day where I was scared of Micah Kamalani.
He must’ve gotten the message and immediately let me go. His eyes were beginning to soften; the color returning in his eyes. It’s like we changed positions, because I feel like I was beginning to lose my vision, seeing nothing but black. Micah stepped back and didn’t say anything. He quickly walked towards the front door to leave.
He didn’t look back when he did. I’m glad he didn’t; he made it easier for me to completely cut him out of my life at that moment.
Letters From Liz. 