“Ugh, fuck my life.”
I gathered my duffle bag from the train tracks and walked behind one of the pillars as the D train passed by, going towards the city. It’s literally about to be midnight and these trains are passing by like it’s rush hour. Once it speeds by, I get out from behind the pillar and place my duffle bag back on the tracks. I take out a couple of paints and begin to spray the wall. This was the best time to practice my art on a larger canvas, plus it seems like no one has found this spot beside me.
I needed to come out here and get my mind off of things. It’s been a while since I had a chance to come here and just do what I love doing. I look at the mural of all the drawings I’ve done since moving to Philly a little over a year ago. Some are faded from the cruel New York weather, and some are partially covered in dirt and debris from the passing trains. I don’t mind, though. It’s just nice to know I haven’t got caught and arrested for vandalism yet. Shit, imagine if you did? Hudson would flip out on you, bitch!
Hudson is the parent I never had; in a way, he’s been more of a parent-figure in my life more than my actual parents ever were. We met when he was working on a missing person’s case; his daughter’s case to be exact. He had a feeling she was roaming around the streets of Philly as a runaway. I was taken in after I tipped him off when really I was trying to escape my shitty boyfriend and his junkie ass friends. At that time, we needed each other. I really wish I was able to be a better person for at least him. He’s the reason I was able to come to New York and go to college. I wish I was able to come to him with things when I needed advice. But, I’m too ashamed. You’re just a fuck up, Rosie.
I get back to my place around 2 o’clock in the morning. The streets are fairly quiet besides that one screeching couple that always fights at this time of night a couple of buildings down from mine. I closed the door behind me and dropped my bag near the door. I wash my hands in the kitchen sink since the bathroom one still needs to get fixed. Fuck; Rosie, we need money to get that fixed. I dry my hands and walk toward the tiny couch in the open area and sit down.
I look around the place at what I call home. I got this place from the guy who owns this building; he was looking for someone to take the place when he found out he could rent it out to poor, desperate college students who can’t afford to live in a dorm on campus. I lived in worst places than this. This is the closest feeling to home for me.
So it bothered me when Micah looked at my place like it was a piece of shit. I roll my eyes at the thought of Micah; fucking asshole. I couldn’t understand what his motive was at times; it’s like he gets off on looking after me like I’m some troubled-ass girl. Something always threw me off about the way he just became friends with me. I hated feeling like I was some sort of project for people to feel good about the good deeds they do. I’m a grown-ass woman and I don’t need people looking after me.
I am always taking care of myself, even when I was younger. My parents were these two self-centered people who decided a child would solve all of their marriage problems. My father cheated on my mother more times than I can remember. My mother couldn’t keep her hands away from drugs. Then there was me, a kid that had to learn how to cross the streets on my own because I needed to go get milk and cereal to eat. I learned how to tie my own shoes. I learned what was right and wrong. I taught myself how to live this life, and that’s why it pisses me off when people waltz into my life and think they know what’s best for me, especially Micah Kamalani.
I look at my phone and my stomach immediately turns. There’s articles about Prescott getting taken in by the police after what happened the other night. I squeezed my eyes shut, and opened them as I let out a deep breath.
“Prescott,” I pulled him towards the bathroom to get some privacy. I saw him smiling, and he immediately begins to unbuckle his pants once I close the bathroom door behind us. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean? You pulled me in here,” Prescott answered.
“Yeah, to tell you that I never agreed with this,” I admitted. Prescott scoffed and began to tighten his belt. “You had no right to bring your friend here thinking I was just this rag doll you throw around and share with other people–“
“Rosie baby,” Prescott interrupts me. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I pay you to be whatever I want you to be. You agreed to that.” Prescott grabbed my face, squeezing it tight and hurting my jaw. I tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he’s too strong.
“Prescott, stop!” I screamed out. Before I could get out of the bathroom, he slams the door in front of me, in which part of my hair gets caught on the door. I yelp in pain. He doesn’t care.
“Tonight, I want you to be a good girl for me and our company today,” Prescott softly said as he kissed my cheek. I pushed him away, which gave me time to leave the bathroom in a hurry.
I walk into the living room to see Prescott’s friend sitting on the couch, man-spreading and his arm extended on the back of the couch. I stop when I see him.
“You need to leave,” I sternly said. the guys gets up from the couch and laughs in disbelief.
“What?” he said. Shortly after, I hear Prescott coming into the living room area.
“You need to leave my apartment,” I said once more. Prescott comes up to me and grabs my wrists, pretending to be affectionate towards me. He squeezes them tightly. I swear I can hear my bones crack in place.
“She’s just playing, man,” Prescott said. He pushes me to walk towards my bed, and I begin to panic. I begin to yell and scream, in which his friend backs away.
“Look, man I’m out of here. Your escort is so entitled,” the guys aid and began to walk out. Once he left, Prescott saw red.
I jump up when the wind knocks something over from my nightstand. I walk over to it and pick it up. I don’t know why I can’t sleep in my own bed tonight, but my body just slides down the side of the bed and I start to cry. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.
Letters From Liz. 