Black Sheep in Society: Season 2

A Black Sheep in a Penguin Suit: A Micah Monologue.

I hate that it has become Kamalani tradition to come to these stupid, fancy events where I got to put on a penguin suit to portray this image that I’m put together and going places. Like, for fuck’s sake; I’m only a sophomore in college majoring in music composition, and that’s not something you talk about in a room full of business owners and big-shot investors.

I walk out of the bathroom and back into the huge ballroom full of other people in gowns and tuxedos. I roll my eyes, not really knowing where or what I should go and do. I turn my head in the direction I hear someone calling my name.

“Micah!” a girl called out. I realized it was my sister, Reagan. Her hair was done all fancy and shit, and she had on this sparkly dress that if I didn’t know any better could pass as a wedding dress. Reagan loved these fancy ass events. Whenever my parents would tell us these events were coming, she would prepare weeks in advance for them. I mean, I’m glad one of us in this family likes these corny and dumb events.

“You’re good?” I asked Reagan as she got closer to me. She seemed upset.

“I need you to help me with my zipper,” Reagan said as she turned around to show me where her zipper was. “I swear this is my size and it keeps going down every time I move and-“

“Yo, Reese,” I stop her mid-sentence. “Take a Xanax or something.” I pull up her zipper and try to lock it in place so that it doesn’t keep falling down. She quickly turns around, clearly annoyed with my carelessness.

“You’re not the one that is having a complex thinking you gained weight,” Reagan spat back. I rolled my eyes, not because I didn’t care about what Reagan was telling me, but because I couldn’t stand Reagan thinking she was fat or something.

“Reese, you look fine,” I tried to reassure her. Sometimes, I forget that as her big brother, I am supposed to be the one to tell her she’s beautiful and that no man is ever worth her thinking otherwise. But in this case, Reagan is single and knows she’s a pretty girl, so I sometimes find it annoying that she thinks otherwise. “If you’re trying to impress a guy here tonight, he’s not worth it.”

“Ugh, said you,” Reagan scoffed. “You’re not a multi-millionaire heir of a 500 fortune company.”

“Ain’t no one in this damn corny ass event a 500 Fortune company owner,” I laughed. “Trust me, he’s lying to you.”

“Prescott Jones isn’t the owner, he’s the heir, like I just mentioned,” Reagan responded, now annoyed. Prescott Jones? Why the fuck is Reagan bringing up his name?

“Prescott Jones?” I repeated, just in case I didn’t hear Reagan properly.

“Uhh, yeah,” Reagan sarcastically answered back. I got close to Reagan to get in her face; I felt my protective brother instinct kick in and I swear if that guy even said a single word to my sister, he was going to die tonight.

“Listen, Reagan,” I started off. “You stay away from men like him. For starters, the man is like 25 years old and you are 16. You don’t have anything that he wants and I’m glad you don’t because men like him are complete fucking trash.” I stared at her in her face, not moving until she understood just how serious I was. Reagan’s face turned from frightened to angry in a split second. She pushed me away.

“Well thanks for telling me that I don’t have anything to offer,” Reagan said as she started to walk away from me.

“I mean it, Reese,” I yelled at her. “Stay away from that asshole!” I look around the bathroom, now wondering where that asshole is. I know this was an event with business owners and shit, but what is a nobody heir doing at a place like this; he’s not a business owner.

Well, Micah; you aren’t either; your mom is.

I begin to walk even further into the crowd of people, watching to see if Reagan is going to try to talk to Prescott. It didn’t hit me until I thought about it even deeper… Rosie might actually be here. I rolled my eyes at the thought of Rosie being here. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was still seeing that asshole; he has her wrapped around his finger for all I know. Rosie and I haven’t spoken since I showed up at her house drunk as fuck in the middle of the night coming from practice with Dani and Tanner. I only know this because it took Dani to even start talking to me again 2 weeks after that night. She had told me that I showed up at Rosie’s apartment that night because I told her when I was drunk texting her and Tanner. I feel stupid for ever doing that, and it explains why she has avoided even sitting next to me in our Art History class since then. Who cares though; the semester was ending in a couple of weeks and then I don’t ever have to see her face on campus ever again.

Fuck. I might never see Rosie again on campus.

I walk back toward the bathroom once I spot Reagan in the ballroom with Dylan. At least she’s safe with her sister. I wonder if maybe I hid inside this huge bathroom for the majority of the night, so I can get away from socializing and shit. The bathroom had a waiting room as big as my bedroom just for the bathroom stalls. Who fucking thinks of this shit? I sat in one of the chairs in the waiting room bathroom thing and took out my phone.

“Hey there, Kamalani,” a voice greeted me. I looked up from my phone to see it was the asshole I was looking for all night.

“Jones,” I simply said. I didn’t want to let this man know that his presence irked me and that he was the reason why my friendship with Rosie has become non-existent.

“I didn’t take you as a tuxedo-wearing type of man,” Prescott said as he dried his hands. “But then again, you are in the bathroom so perhaps you are the bathroom boy?”

“Fuck off, Jones; you’re not a business owner either; being born into a rich family doesn’t make you shit,” I spat back, getting angrier the more I spoke to this asshole.

“That’s where you’re wrong, that rich family I was born in just made me co-owner of our business so technically, yes, I am a business owner,” Prescott was walking towards the exit of the bathroom, laughing to himself. “I’m shocked Rosie didn’t tell you that. But then again, she’s been too busy with me.”

“So what the fuck are you doing flirting with underage girls?” I got up from the seat, trying to control my anger because God knows I’m just seconds away from giving this douchebag a black eye.

“Underage girls? I don’t do such things,” Prescott turned around to face me. I realize now just how much older he is than Rosie and I. The man’s hairline is receding, his laugh lines are definitely present, and he has a slight scruff which, I mean, you’d think you would actually look clean at these types of events, Jones.

“Yeah? That girl you were leading on in that sparkly dress isn’t the age you think she is,” I admitted. “She’s fucking 16.”

“16? Bummer,” Prescott shrugged. “She told me she was 18. She would’ve gotten away with it; young girls these days always want to be older than they truly are. But then they can’t handle actually being with a man. That’s why they should stay with losers and lowlifes; like yourself.”

“Stay away from Reagan,” I threatened. It was my mistake for saying her name, but I needed him to know that yes, I know the girl you’re trying to flirt with and it’s not happening. Prescott raised an eyebrow.

“Reagan Kamalani,” Prescott hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “It should’ve clicked when she told me her name. She’s really pretty,” Prescott was trying to provoke me. Chill Micah; you already told Reagan to stay away so anything this fucker says is a lie. Prescott turns back around and begins to exit the bathroom once more. He opens the door and holds it open; turning around to say one last thing to me. “Tell your sister she needs to lose weight. That dress is not flattering on her.”

“You fucking punk,” I couldn’t keep it in anymore. He was pressing all of the buttons and knew which ones will set the bomb off. I charged for him until he hurried out of the bathroom and back to the crowd of people in the ballroom. I looked around the ballroom, but it was too late; he was now among the crowd of people. I needed some air, so I jolted towards the balcony.

“Chill, Micah,” I tried to calm myself down. I inhaled and exhaled until I felt my heart rate go back to its normal speed. I hate that he was here tonight and I hate that Rosie doesn’t fucking trust me anymore to even let her know that her boy toy is in this gala flirting with underage girls. Shit, does Rosie already know? I mean, clearly, she has to if she’s okay with being 5 years younger than him. Maybe Rosie didn’t mind it. Maybe she got used to the fact that the person she’s protecting and so blindly in love with is a man that doesn’t do relationships, and accepted the fact that she’s not good enough to be in one with anyone. I wonder if he was the one that made her believe all those things about herself; or, if he just knows how to choose the girls that are insecure and have daddy issues or some shit.

But Rosie was never insecure. She never made herself this insecure girl that didn’t think she was pretty. She’s not a 16-year-old girl that is still in high school, growing yet seeing every girl around her look pretty or skinny and all of that superficial shit. Rosie never cared about that shit, but maybe she secretly did? Maybe she sat in that apartment for hours on end trying to figure out if she was good enough for someone like Prescott Jones. You are good enough; shit, he’s not good enough for you.

And you are? For fuck’s sake, Micah; the last time you saw that girl you nearly scared her half to death, and probably more than what Prescott ever did because she knew how he got. She never saw that dark side of you before.

I hold my head in my hand and wanted nothing more to just go home. I lifted my head, thinking I was so mentally exhausted to the point I was now hearing voices call out my name.

“Micah?”

I turned around to see if maybe there was someone calling out my name.

“Kalia?”

Black Sheep in Society: Season 2

40-Ounce Black Sheep: A Rosie Monologue.

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.

Black Sheep in Society: Season 2, Twelve Letters of Lizmas: 2022

A Black Sheep’s Trust Issues: Two Monologues.

I couldn’t concentrate, and that pisses me the fuck off.

Dani kept looking at me whenever I fucked up a chord or missed a beat in rehearsal. If it weren’t for Tanner, she would’ve definitely ripped my head off. But the truth behind it was that I was fuming. My body was hot like it was on fire. For fuck’s sake, Roe; are you that fucking stupid?

I immediately hung the phone up when I saw Rosie walk out of that asshole’s car on campus. The more I looked at him, the more I wanted to punch his plastic-looking teeth in, and the more I looked at Rosie with him, the more I wanted to yank her away and punch his fucking face. She looked up at him and fucking smiled in his face like everything was peachy-fuckin-keen and like he didn’t hospitalize her a month ago.

She looked at him like she completely forgot about kissing me that night at my place.

“Yo, dude!” Dani calls out. I rolled my eyes at her.

“What?” I said, more annoyed than anything. Dani placed her notebook on the chair next to her.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” Dani asked. “Like, you fucking suck today.”

“Well if I suck, then why the fuck did you want me for your rehearsal?” I spat back.

“If I knew you were going to half-ass it today, I wouldn’t have bothered,” Dani quickly snapped back. Tanner, like he always does, comes to stand in between us to cool us off.

“Don’t you both have an off day of not cussing at each other?” Tanner said. Dani doesn’t respond and I don’t either. Tanner sighs, and then looks at me. Why the fuck am I always the one that gets looked at first? “Dude, are you okay?”

“Fuck this shit,” I got up and started to pack my things. This wouldn’t have been the first time I allowed my emotions to get the best of my rehearsal time. The last time something like this happened, it was when–

“I thought you walking out of practice would’ve stopped after Kalia broke up with you,” Dani emphasized. “Guess bitches will always get you in your bag.”

“Fuck you, Dani,” I spat more than actually said. “How about you worry about your goddamn self and your relationship instead of getting in my business.”

“Come on, dude, just–” Tanner began to say, but I was also tired of his shit at this point.

“Shut up, Tanner; just tend to your annoying ass bitch,” I responded and grabbed my bag. Dani ran after me, but all I could hear is Tanner trying to calm her down.

“Fuck you, Micah! You aren’t shit and you aren’t ever gonna be shit!” Dani yelled.

I slammed the door shut and left.

The thing about me is that I learned that no matter what, you’ll be by yourself. You were born alone, and you’re gonna die alone. So, why as a society we allow other people get to us? Why do we let them affect us so fucking much to the point you’re fucked up in the head? Why the fuck would I ever let a girl like Rosie Delgado get to my fucking head?

Rosie has proven herself time and time again why she can’t be trusted. Rosie is the type of person that will tell you one thing, but then will go to another person and say something completely different. She will say one thing that makes you think she’s letting you in, and then she will act like you’re a complete stranger. When you tell her that you care about her and her well-being, she would literally tell you to fuck off. So, once again; why the fuck would I ever let a girl like Rosie Delgado get to me?

I walk down the streets of Brooklyn with my equipment in my backpack and my hands deep in my coat pockets. The cold air turns hot with every breath I let escape my mouth. I looked around as I walked under the train tracks that the D train run on. Grown women with short dresses and high heels walk toward cars that are parked along the sidewalk. They remind me of Rosie. Fuck, wouldn’t be surprised if that was–

Micah, don’t.

I shouldn’t have kissed Rosie the same night she told me about her junkie ex-boyfriend in Philadelphia and how she used to pick up dates to make extra money in the streets. She bluntly told me that she did what she did because she was comfortable doing it. Did that mean she was comfortable with men treating her like shit? Does she think so poorly of people in this society that she would just shrug off the shitty way that people treat her? Has she lost faith in humanity because she’s seen it all being out in these streets? Again, these were the things about Rosie I never understood; one minute she could be a normal girl hanging out and talking about college assignments and art stuff, and the next she can be dressing up like a 26-year-old trying to pick up older men that have steady jobs so that she can get paid more money. Maybe I never knew Rosie. Maybe I shared some personal shit with a complete stranger.

That pisses me the fuck off.

I walked into a corner store and walk towards the back where the fridges were. I grabbed a bottle of beer and confidently walked toward the counter. I guess it was always about how confident you walked with the alcohol in your hands that makes people not check to see if you’re actually old enough. Or maybe people just didn’t give a shit anymore. Maybe I gotta stop giving a shit.

I didn’t go home that night.

I took off my shirt while the shower was running. I stood in front of the mirror in my bra, looking at the bruises on my hips. They don’t hurt much these days, but I do wish they would just go away. I wish a lot of things went away.

I told Hudson I was going to do better the night I got discharged from the hospital. I watched him pack my things into bags and get everything together. Sometimes, I just watch Hudson and get so fucking sad; I don’t deserve someone like him caring about me like I was his daughter. I’m not his daughter, and sometimes I think he forgets that; a part of me feels like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time he had with his own daughter that was kidnapped and killed when she was a teenager. I don’t feel worthy being a place-holder for his daughter. His daughter would’ve probably made better decisions than me.

“So, you’re going to call me when you go to and from the campus, okay?” Hudson said as he zipped one of the bags. I nodded my head, too tired to really say words. “Okay, Rosie?” Hudson emphasized.

“Okay, okay; sheesh,” I answered back. Hudson walked toward me and sat in the chair across from where I was sitting.

“Rosie, I have to trust you in order for me to keep an eye on you,” he explained. “You can’t tell me you’re one place when really you’re in trouble.”

“I know, Hudson,” I wanted nothing more than to get this conversation over and done with. Hudson was growing annoyed with me.

“No, Rosie; you don’t,” he stated. “I’m not trying to micromanage your every move, but when I get a call that you’ve been hospitalized for a man putting his hands on you, things are different.”

“Oh, so because a man decided to beat me up, now I’m the one that gets punished and has to check in at every fucking point of my day?” I asked, angry that Hudson feels the need to watch over me even more than he does.

“Who was he, Rosie? Huh?” Hudson asked. He’s asked me the same question ever since he got to New York to be with me during my stay at the hospital. I didn’t want to make this a bigger deal than what it really was, so I told Hudson I didn’t know the guy. I gave him some half-assed story about how I was fighting off the guy that attacked me for my money. Huh, good thing I wasn’t dead; my coroner’s report would’ve shown that I didn’t fight back the attacker at all. But, I know Hudson knows I was lying to him. He knows I know who it was, and even though he’s not pushing me to know the answer, he knows I know who the guy is. Someone who doesn’t know you wouldn’t have known to bruise the already bruises that were on my body.

“I don’t know, Hudson,” I said, defeated. “I just want to go home. Can you please drop me back at the dorms?” He didn’t know I lived off of campus in some shitty abandoned movie theater apartment either, making it even easier to feel like I don’t deserve someone like Hudson caring about me.

He didn’t fight me anymore about who the guy was. He did what I asked him to do without questioning me any further.

Before I could get in the shower, I hear my front door being banged on. I turned to look outside of the bathroom, terrified at who it could be. It’s fucking 11 o’clock at night; who the fuck is banging on my door like that? I put my shirt back on and walked out of the bathroom. I walked towards the closet nearest to me and took out the broom for protection. I held it like a bat in my hand. I slowly walked closer to the door as the door kept being banged on.

“Rosie? Rosie, I know you’re fucking in there,” the voice from outside said. It finally clicks.

Micah?