Category: Black Sheep in Society: Season 2

I walk down the long streets of Manhattan through the snow with my phone in my hand. Every other block I pass, I look down at my phone to see if I’m going in the right direction. I would’ve voted against meeting a high-profile celebrity in the streets of New York City, but I figured this would be best and the least awkward thing to do. The last thing I need is the media camped out in front of my house waiting for Kalia to walk out in tears or some shit.

I finally get to the small coffee shop in the Upper East Side. I look around and immediately am surprised at how pretty the neighborhood looks. The fallen snow is all grey and slush-like back in Brooklyn; here it looks like the snow hasn’t even been touched by a tire of some sort. Anything that looks like a page of a perfectly scripted and edited piece has Kalia written all over it.

I walked into the coffee shop that Kalia suggested to meet up at. It’s one of those coffee shops that has all the pastries and baked goods displayed near the front window of the shop; the ones where you can’t tell if they are actually real or fake considering they look the same no matter what time of the day it is. I took a seat at the table towards the back of the coffee shop. It was something that I picked up when I was dating Kalia; if you’re toward the back of a place, there’s less of a chance anyone from outside will see you or find you once they entered. I looked around some more one I got comfortable at the table. It wasn’t long after that I saw a young woman with sunglasses and a head scarf walking toward my direction. She immediately sits across from me, then takes her sunglasses off.

“Glad you’re not one of those people that wear their sunglasses indoors,” I mentioned to Kalia. Kalia just looks up to me.

“That just makes you more suspicious and prone to getting approached in public,” she said as she placed her sunglasses in her purse and put her bag beside her. She looked back up to me and smiled. “I was happy that you messaged me. I was afraid you didn’t have my number still.”

“You still have mine?” I asked, not realizing what she meant by her statement until I had already asked. Yeah, dumbass, on her second phone. “Don’t answer that–“

“I do,” Kalia answered anyway. “It’s… hard to delete off of my phone.” I continued to look at Kalia as she looked at the menu. I was confused into my she was; it’s a small ass coffee shop that sells like 5 different things. Her eyes peaked out from behind the menu. “Do you know what you want already?”

“I mean, I can’t order a pack of cigarettes in here so I guess a coffee will do,” I answered, sighing. Kalia placed the menu back on the table.

“I thought you quit smoking,” Kalia mentioned. I shrugged my shoulders as a response.

“Picked it back up I guess,” I answered and began to get up from my seat. “What do you want to have? It’s my treat.”

“Micah, you don’t have to,” Kalia insisted. I hated when she did that in our relationship. Every time took hr out for a date, my money was never enough for her. She would buy everything without letting me spend a dime of my own money. It made me feel less of a man at times in our relationship.

“What do you want?” I repeated, just trying to get a straight forward answer from her.

“Caramel Macchiato with a chocolate eclair,” Kalia answered. Is it sad that I already knew what she wanted before she told me? Kalia was a creature of habit, in a way. She hated to try new things so instead she would always order what she knew she would like. I caught on pretty quickly to them as we were dating. I walked toward the counter and order the food and drinks for us. To my surprise, the pastries and baked goods in the display were not fake after all. I walked back to our table and handed Kalia her pastry and coffee.

“Thanks,” she simply said as she took a sip of her coffee. I sighed before I said anything.

“Of course,” I began to say, rubbing my hands on top of my thighs. “Listen, Kal, I wanted to talk about what happened last night at the gala.”

“I know,” Kalia said as she placed her drink back down on the table. “And I’m sorry if I was babying you with the whole alcohol thing.”

“Thanks, but there’s more to it than that,” I looked at Kalia. “Maybe it’s about time we talk about everything that was unsaid between us before we broke up.”

“I agree,” Kalia said, looking directly at my eyes. I took a moment to put my thoughts together; I didn’t want to say things out of anger. The wound was healing, but still felt so new watching her sit across from me. “Is it okay if I start?” she asked before I got the chance to say anything.

“Sure,” I said, leaning back on my chair.

“When we broke things off before I left, I really didn’t want to lose you completely,” Kalia began to say. She looked down at her fingers as she spoke. “Before all of this… you were my friend.” I look at Kalia and remember when we were back in high school. She was a junior when I met her in my band class; she was the only girl drummer in the ensemble and thought that was dope. She was super talented. We spoke about possibly recording a song or two and sending it out as a demo once we graduated from high school. I think about that Kalia a lot; the Kalia that just wanted to play music in my mom’s dance studio and didn’t care about what other people thought about her. I lost that Kalia when she began to accept the fact she was the daughter of a well-known actor. It’s shitty to say this, but I miss the Kalia that was afraid for the world to know who the fuck she really was.

“I know,” I simply responded, not really knowing what else to say.

“I hate that I left the impression that I didn’t love you anymore,” Kalia continued to say. “But it wasn’t fair to you to have a long distance girlfriend whose career was now going to take up so much of her time.”

“But who made you decide that for me?” I interrupted. I was annoyed that Kalia always felt the need to make decisions for the both of us without including me in that process. “Maybe I didn’t mind that. Maybe I was already used to the fact that your career came before us.”

“Would you have been okay with that?” Kalia asked back. “I already feel like you felt a certain way being my boyfriend before the movie role came into the picture.”

“That doesn’t matter,” I started to say. “I don’t care if you were the fucking president’s daughter. I was with you for you.” I was with you because I was holding out faith that the Kalia I knew was still alive in her.

“Micah, we weren’t perfect,” Kalia mentioned.

“Who called us perfect besides the media?” I pointed out. “We had a long way from being the perfect couple, but I felt like you wanted to show the world that we were.”

“No,” Kalia corrected, looking a little annoyed now. “I wanted to prevent the media from being in all of our business.” I scoffed as an answer, knowing it was nearly impossible for her to sway the media to paint us the way she wanted. Kalia didn’t like that. “I feel like I can’t even talk to you about these things without you already having a judgment about it or about me.”

“Kal,” I started to say, trying to not allow my anger about the situation completely take over me. “I’m sorry. You have to understand that I still hold some sort of resentment about everything that happened. You have to understand that when you made the decision to cut things off because of the distance, I was still in love with you.”

“I was too,” Kalia said and stopped herself from continuing. “I still am.” I looked up at Kalia when she said that. That was unexpected. I can tell Kalia felt exposed; her face looked worried and she seemed like she was gonna jolt any second.

“Me too,” I confessed. Kalia looked relieved that her confession wasn’t a mistake to make. She let out a dragged out sigh and leaned back in her chair. “Kalia, we literally broke up not too long ago. Those feelings weren’t going to easily go away.”

“I know,” Kalia said. “I just thought you’d hate me for how things ended and all of that.”

“It wasn’t the smoothest way to end things,” I pointed out. “But things happened the way they did.” Kalia straightened in her seat, gaining back her composure.

“You know if I didn’t have to film in Sweden, I wouldn’t have ended things,” she said, playing with the napkin in front of her on the table. “I know this is asking for too much, but…” Kalia started to look nervous again. I don’t like when Kalia looks this nervous, but it reminds me of the Kalia I knew back in high school. High school Kalia used to be nervous every time I would tell her to hop on my bike as I rode it after school. She would hold onto me tight, sometimes screaming and laughing at how fast I would go down the deep hills. She would call out my name every time the bike would go faster, and I always would reassure her that I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.

I still wanted nothing bad to happen to her.

“Can we start over?” Kalia asked, finally letting out the question. I didn’t answer right away, not because I was really thinking about what to say, but more so because I didn’t know what to ask her back. Starting over means getting to know each other again as if all of the memories we shared don’t exist. Some of the memories I have with Kalia are some of the best memories I have, because I was in love with a girl that was in love with me. I let out a deep breath before answering.

“Let’s leave,” I said, getting up from my seat. I put my hand out for Kalia, in which she slowly puts her petite hand in mine, helping her out of her seat.

…

The garage door opens as Kalia and I look into it. I was the first one to walk in; Kalia quickly followed along as I turned on the garage light and closed the door behind us. Kalia looks around the garage, confused as to why I took her here. I walk to one of the corners of the garage and turned back around to see Kalia. She looks at me with her arms crossed along her chest.

“Why are we here?” Kalia finally asked. I turned around and lifted the car cover from the motorcycle. I smiled as I turned around to see Kalia’s reaction. Of course, a smile flashed on her face.

“I haven’t rode it yet,” I said, turning around to see the brand new looking motorcycle. It still had its shine from when I first got it.

“You didn’t get your motorcycle license yet?” Kalia asked, walking closer to the me and the motorcycle.

“I did,” I answered, looking now at Kalia next to me. “But it never felt right to ride it after everything that happened.”

“Micah, you could’ve rode it,” Kalia stated. “It’s yours.”

“Yeah, but I remember promising my girlfriend that when I got my first motorcycle and my license that I was going to go on my first ride with her,” I pointed out, smiling at Kalia. “The weather isn’t bad and the roads aren’t icy.” Kalia cocked her eyebrows up.

“You want to ride it now?” Kalia asked. “With me?”

“Of course with you,” I answered. “I miss hearing your voice call out my name when I used to ride my bike too fast back in the day.” Kalia smiled as her initial response.

“I remember those bike rides,” Kalia recalled. “God, we would go around the entire borough of Brooklyn on that damn bike together.” I smiled as she spoke. I turned to her and lifted her chin so that I was able to kiss her. Her lips were still as soft as I remember. They had a slight taste of vanilla from the lip balm she would always put on. The first time I ever kissed her, I was nearly addicted to the taste of it. I didn’t realize just how badly I needed to taste the vanilla on her lips again, and I didn’t realize just how much Kalia would allow me to kiss her after everything that has happened between us.

“I missed you,” I let out in the middle of our kiss, confessing how I was feeling. She looked up at me and smiled.

“Me too,” she confessed. I looked at her for a moment, wanting to stare at her face for hours. I guess she wanted to do the same, because her eyes did not leave mine until she smiled and looked at the motorcycle. I followed her gaze. “Wanna show me around the city again?”

“I would love to,” I answered, quickly kissing her again as I walked toward the motorcycle to get it out of the space it was sitting for months.

Where I was sitting for months wanting nothing but Kalia to come back in my life.

The last time I saw Kalia was when she told me she was going back to Sweden to film in a movie she was starring in. I knew that dating someone like Kalia would run its course someday; she was the daughter of a well-known actor in the entertainment industry and because of that, all eyes were now on her. I didn’t care back in high school; I just knew that I really liked Kalia and to my surprise, she liked me back. It was a difficult start of the relationship; it was my first yet and the one that everyone in the public knew about. The relationship was good until it wasn’t good anymore.

“Kalia?” I said once I heard her call my name at the banquet. She walks closer to be and suddenly wraps hr arms around me for a hug.

“It’s so good to see you, Micah,” she said, burrowed in my suit jacket. She pulls away and looks at me with a smile. “How have you’ve been?”

“Okay,” I said, not wanting to share any more information with her. “How about you?”

“I’ve been good, filming wrapped up for the holiday season so my father and I came back to America to attend the gala,” Kalia recalled as I nodded my head in response. “How’s school going?”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Spring semester doesn’t start for another couple of weeks.” Kalia nodded her head, now looking a bit uncomfortable where she’s standing. “Well, I should get going, check on Reese and Dyl and shit.” I begin to walk away from Kalia before she calls out my name once more.

“Micah,” Kalia said. I stopped and turned around to face her once more. “I… really hate how things ended between us.”

“It ended, it’s fine,” I nonchalantly said. “I’m over it.”

“If you were over it, you wouldn’t be so cold with me right now,” Kalia mentioned, crossing her arms along her chest. “I thought we could be cordial and catch up, like normal people.”

“We were never normal,” I said, cutting her thought off. “Normal people don’t break up because one of them randomly is leaving to film for a movie. Normal people also don’t gift a motorcycle as soon as they break up with each other.”

“I didn’t have a choice, Micah,” Kalia sternly said. “This is my job.”

“I’m not saying anything about your job,” I snapped back. “I’m saying that you don’t get to choose whether or not we can be cordial.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong for you to be acting this way,” Kalia pointed out, now annoyed. “I could’ve broke up with you without even telling you why.”

“You might as well did that,” I said, louder than my normal speaking voice. “Then I wouldn’t have ever known that you kept me in the dark about your career choices.” I walk over to the bar and request a drink; the great thing about these events is that they don’t care how old you really are, they will serve you alcohol no matter what.

“Micah, you’re not legal age yet,” Kalia whispered to me as I get the drink in my head. “You’re going to get everyone in trouble–“

“Kalia,” I said to cut her off. “I don’t give a shit, just how I don’t give a shit about rekindling whatever this was.” As I try to walk away from Kalia and down my drink, I turned around to see a reporter approach us. Kalia then quickly turns on the switch: the smile that hides everything that just happened within the last 5 minutes. I find it how scary she’s able to switch; I guess that makes her a good actress. I turn away, try to escape the reporter before it was too late. Newsflash: It was already too late.

“Hi, Sheila Forbes, Channel 8 News,” the reporter introduces herself to us before she turns back around toward the camera. “We are here at the annual Gala at the Banquet Palace; an event where all entrepreneurs small and big celebrate the accomplishments of the previous year and begin a new one for their business.” The reporter turns to face Kalia and I. “Joining us for an interview is up-and-coming actress, as well as Joel Holder’s daughter, Kalia Holder. Hi, Kalia,” the reporter finally puts the microphone toward Kalia and I feel sick to my stomach.

“Hi, Sheila,” Kalia smiles as she greets the reporter. “I’m glad to be here supporting the businesses of the attendees here tonight.”

“Sources say that the wrapping of your first full-length feature film as taken a break for this event; what does it mean for you to be here?” the reporter asked. I tried to slowly move away from Kalia and leave, but I notice the camera is now in my face. “Here to support your boyfriend?”

“His family, yes,” Kalia said as she smiles to me. I try to fake a smile as well. “His mother is a world-renowned business owner, teaching generations of dancers that go on to be featured on Broadway and other huge projects in the dance community.” Kalia answers the questions like a pro. I wonder if this is something they have to teach you being in the limelight; to be fake and positive and never bring too much attention to your own personal life and details. The reporter now looks at me before she speaks.

“What do you feel about Kalia’s first movie as the lead actress?” The reporter now points the microphone at me.

“I’m proud of Kalia going after for what she wants by any means necessary,” I said, looking at Kalia who looks nervous that I am the one speaking. “I wish her the best.”

“It must be hard to keep a long-distance relationship when one is off in a different country filming for a movie and the other is back here,” the reporter mentions. “How are you guys able to keep the love going with all this time apart?”

“Easy,” I answered before Kalia does. “So easy in fact, it’s like there’s really nothing keeping us from each other.” Kalia looked at me, horrified.

“Yes,” Kalia continued. “Even the distance doesn’t keep us apart during these times, but I’m glad to be here to support him and his family and the other business owners tonight.” The reporter wraps up the segment and thanks both Kalia and I. Once she walks away, Kalia looks at me, now annoyed.

“Why would you say those things?” Kalia asked, not amused.

“Why would you say those things?” I returned the question. “We aren’t together anymore.”

“Yeah, well the media doesn’t know that,” Kalia confesses. I scoff, not surprised that Kalia wouldn’t want anything negative to reflect on her growing public image.

“Didn’t you call off your relationship to only focus on your career now?” I mimicked the news article that came out a couple of days after I last saw her.

“Yeah, but for me to be seen with you after that would’ve made things even messier,” Kalia explained, looking around the ballroom for any other reporters. “Most likely, someone already has a picture that they will sell to the media by the end of the night.”

“Good luck with that,” I throw my hands up. “I’m not lying for you just so you can keep a clean and perfect image.”

“I’m not asking for you to do anything,” Kalia snapped at me. “I will deal with my life on my own.”

“Yeah, well keep me out of it,” I said before turning away from her. I walked away down with trying to reason with Kalia.

…

I feel the vibration of my phone on my face, which ultimately wakes me up. I groan and stretch, looking at my phone before picking it up. It’s Tanner, so I picked up.

“Yo,” I said as I rubbed my eyes. “What’s up?”

“Dude,” Tanner began to say. “Dani’s gonna kill you for getting back together with Kalia.”

“I’m not back together with that girl,” I said, getting up from my bed. “WHy would Dani think that I am?”

“It’s all over social media, dude,” Tanner pointed out. I put my phone on speaker before going onto the web browser to check.

A Rekindled Love? Kalia Holder spotted at NYC Entrepreneur's Gala with on-and-off again boyfriend.

“Rekindled love?” I said out loud, very annoyed. “Bro, these reporters will run with anything.”

“You were with Kalia at the gala last night though?” Tanner asked. “I thought you were with your family for that.”

“I was,” I said, getting dressed with anything I see in sight. “Until Kalia found her way to me and wanted to be cordial and catch up.”

“Dude,” I hear Tanner over the phone.

“She came to me,” I emphasized. “She went to Sweden to hug penguins or some shit for a movie, that’s why she broke up with me all those months ago.”

“Sweden is not in Antarctica,” Tanner pointed out. I rolled my eyes.

“You know what I fucking mean,” I spat out, now losing my patience. “Kalia was talking to the reporter and making it seem like she came back to come and see me or some shit. Like, why not just say that you’re fucking single and came to the gala for some clout?”

“Because it’s Kalia,” Tanner answered. “You know all that discreet shit flew out the window once we graduated high school.” I sighed listening to Tanner talk. I look at the mirror in my room as I listen to him speak on the phone. “What re you gonna do?”

“I gotta tell Kalia to set the deal straight,” I said, tying my hair up in a ponytail. “Like you’re not dragging me into this narrative just because you want to seem like your life is picture perfect.” I look down at my phone as it vibrates. I get a text from Dani saying “you better fucking explain this bullshit” with a link that shows a picture of Kalia and together at the gala, very much looking like a fucking couple.

“Dude, Dani just texted me the picture of Kalia and I,” I said as I scrolled down the article. “These fucking reporters would do anything for a paycheck. I’m gonna text you, I’m going to squash this shit with Kalia once and for all.” I hung up the phone and put my phone on my desk. I reached into the drawer of my desk and pull out another phone. I scroll down to Kalia’s contact and send her a message.

Micah: We need to talk, Kal.

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?”

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.