Moving Forward

Chapter Six

I listened for the sound of a car or a vehicle, but got nothing. Pulling the curtains, I spotted him strolled out the road. Why would he not have a car? Everyone had a car... well except for me, but why would he walk by himself so late in the night?

Why would he even come this hour knowing that he didn't have a ride? Why did this bother me? I shook the thought. Only when I took a seat on the couch, I realized that the bloody panty was still in my hands. Ugh!

I held it mid air, "You see how you have embarrassed me?" And here I was, speaking to my underwear. I couldn't get any crazier than this.

I stormed into the bathroom and threw it in the bin. If I'd done that in the firat place, I would have saved myself the embarrassment. Please. I hoped not to see him again. The news had ended and a long time soap opera had started -- probably a replay of what had aired during the day. Honestly, I had no interest in watching anything again but I needed to clear my mind from.that horrid scene.

What bothered me was the ghastly expression on his face, like he'd never been grossed out like that before. It served him right. He should have never looked up there. This was my apartment, I was entitled to put anything where I wanted. How was I to know he would visit?  It wasn't my fault. It was his.

I shut off the TV, figuring that I should just lie on my bed, but then an unsettling feeling crept up on me. There it was, the picture of Malik and me stuck to the mirror. I should have removed it. Now, my mood took a dive for the worst. I wanted to remember. I wanted to see him. I wanted to fill that void knawing at my mind.

Ignoring the warning bells ringing in my head, I pulled my bedside drawer,  taking out a small childhood album. They were pictures I often looked at when I wanted happiness. When I wanted to remember him. But this time, it was for something else. I wanted it to fill the empty space in my room.

As I flipped through it, I couldn't help but smile at the goofy photos of Malik and me at the beach. Some were taken at the park and others at the movies and random shops at the mall. I could  vividly recall each memory as if I were right there, in that time and space.

God, I missed him so much. Even the album smelled like him. Everything that belonged to him or the both of us smelled like him. It's like the scent never died despite the many years. I brought the album to my chest, inhaling and exhaling.

Why?

Why him?

Why me?

As I choked back the tears, I let the album slip from my hands and tumble to the floor. My body flopped down to the bed, burying my face into the pillow.

I screamed.

I just wanted my brother back.

***

I woke up early the next morning,  hating myself. Three months and I threw it away.

For the past year, I trained myself to not cry, or look at the album. I'd told myself that if I refrained from it, I'd  be better off and able to control my emotions, and that eventually Malik would just be a good memory. But no, I had to mess things up. I should have gotten rid of that stupid album when I made that promise.

"Ahhh!" If only the bed could feel what I'd been going through, then it would understand my wrath. I kicked and punched, filling my lungs with shrieks of anger. The moment I willed myself of the bed, the album would be the first to go.

By 11:45AM I finished the laundry, and prepared lunch. As I cleaned the second to last plate in the sink, my bladder screamed. I'd been shifting weight for two minites straight, but I couldn't hold it anymore.  Never wash dishes with a heavy bladder. Never.

What the heck?

I didn't even make it through the door and water soaked my toes. I felt my crotch, surely I didn't soil myself...

Pushing the door, I froze. What in the kiddies pool was this? Water. Water every where. My face stiffened. Yeah, a plumber all right. "Ugh!"

The so-called pipe Rion had fixed burst open leaving water to gush onto the floor. I used the pipe earlier this morning and it seemed fine, so what the heck happened?

I tiptoed out of the room, pissed that I now had extra work to do when I could be relaxing, and called Ms. Flint my landlord.

"Hello? Ms. Flint? This is Maliah, the pipe the plumber came to fix burst."

"Oh dear."

Ms. Flint was my sixty-seven-year-old landlord who lived directly above my apartment. After her only son died in a motorcycle accident twelve years ago, she miserable from loneliness. She's sweet and kind, but annoying at times.

"Yes, my bathroom is flooded."

"I'll see if I can call him again."

"No... No, don't you have someone else? I don't want him again." I was not in the mood to see him after that ordeal. Besides, he wasn't good at fixing pipes.

"Um..." Ms. Flint thought. "I don't think I know any other. I will see."

"Ok, thanks."

I really hope she found another plumber, but in the meantime, I could see if Anya knew any. I dialled her, venting the moment she answered.

"If you see the shit he did. It messed up my entire bathroom with water! Lucky thing it wasn't the toilet!"

I didn't tell her about the bloody panty, it was too embarrassing to tell. Luckily, she knew a plumber and would send them my way today or tomorrow.

I decided to turn off the water supply for my apartment and get an old sponge and bucket from outside. I didn't bother to change the baby tee and leggings I wore because I had planned on taking a bath anyway.

Thirty minutes later, a knock rattled my door.

My knees cracked and popped as I stood. "Jeez, Anya! Already?" This was why I loved her. Efficient. As I threw the sponge in the bucket, I contemplated changing my clothes into something dryer. But then again, I was almost finished.

I dried my hands with a nearby towel and threw it aside, opening the door.

Like broken glass, my face fell into a million pieces. Rion?

Rion!

Why Ms. Flint? Why? "Why are you here?"

He stood there ogling me like a piece of meat. At first I was confused, but as I followed his gaze, I caught him staring at my peaked nipples behind my top.

...

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