🐦

Miwa

Itch. Itch. Itch.

Miwa hopped from one platformed boot to another. She felt another itch prickling from the back of her neck and alleviated it. Then another near her leg. Anyone might think her skin was being attacked by an army of mosquitoes or that it was a nervous tick because she was backstage and in just a few moments notice, the DJ would pass the floor to her and her band.

But it was neither of those things. One— why would there be mosquitoes inside of a building that reeked with the aroma of nutty alcohol and foul stench of body odor from everyone dancing until they dropped? And wasn't the temperature getting colder? So it definitely wasn't mosquitoes. And two— it wasn't her nerves speaking because not only did she have experience performing in front of an audience only several hundreds of times, but tonight her band was going to perform one of her favorite songs: 'Black on Black', by The Riot Dolls— only the best all-girls band in punk rock genre. On the contrary, she was excited for that.

Her itching and scratching was. . . an inconvenience. A growing inconvenience that almost tempted her to run back to her dressing room and check her phone to see if that jerkface Tobias replied to her text. But she was way past that now. Any moment and—

"What's up, party people?!?" The DJ's voice boomed through the mic. "The music is hot but this crowd is hotter because only the best get into Nocturne! This is DJ Razor and now let's give it up for a performance brought to you by The Hellcats!"

A round of applause followed. Then the curtains pulled back. Miwa and the rest of her band piled onto the stage. The band's drummer, Vincent, did four taps with his drumsticks, launching Miwa and her friend Greg to initiate the intro of the song with a distorted sound that came from their electric guitars. Then stepped Bea, the band's lead singer, to the center of the stage, microphone in her hand. In the spotlight, Miwa seriously thought her friend was Avril Lavigne, for they rocked that leather-jacket-and-corset-tutu-skirt-dress outfit and long-hair-with-shaved-side hairstyle. It also helped that Bea almost sounded like Avril when she sang the first note, which reminded Miwa why Bea was deserving of the lead singer role.

Combined with the ragged but smooth transition of the bass guitar from their bassist, Dylan, it was the perfect recipe for the first couple of rows to stomp their feet and clap and whistle. Miwa would never, ever get tired of this— the slight stinging sensation leftover on her fingers from her guitar strings, the sharp vibrations that shook her core like jelly, the adrenaline rush— even if she got to only experience these familiar feelings and sensations for one hour every Saturday night, she felt like she was living in a world she didn't ever want to leave from.

The crowd exploded into a ring of applause and whooping as Miwa and her band ended their final song. They waved in gratitude and stepped down, handing the stage back to the DJ. No more than a few seconds after DJ Razor turned his mixtape back on, Bea and Vincent glued their lips together like two attracting magnets, Bea jumping up and looping her arms around Vincent's neck while straddling her legs around his waist.

"Oh my god, get a room." Miwa made a face as she unstrapped her guitar band. No matter what place or time it was, Bea and Vincent were always in a horny mood. Once, they got turned on simply by inserting the keys into the janitor's closet in high school.

"Can I help it if he looks so-o-o sexy after playing?" Bea squished Vincent's cheeks and gave him another kiss.

"You're making me regret choosing your boyfriend to be our drummer."

"But I can play good, right?" Vincent grinned like he knew he had a point.

"Well, that's the only reason why you're here."

Bea smiled innocently. "I came as Vince's free package deal, so what's there to get sour about? You're the one who put us together so this is mostly on you."

Miwa also felt herself smiling, too. Bea was unbelievable at times, but she couldn't deny that what she and Vincent had was special.

Her and her bandmates walked their way back to their dressing room. Immediately, Miwa reached for her phone stuffed in her bag and went straight to messages. Nothing. Over an hour had passed and not even as something as a voicemail? What the fuck?

Tobias, you asshole.

She scratched her nape. Her leg that was crossed over her other one bounced up and down as if it were having a bad case of sugar-rushitis. She held her phone close to her chest and turned her back away to avoid any spying.

Answer

My

Damn

Messages

You

Jerk

By all means, Tobias could be asleep. Sure, that was a possibility. Miwa would've believed it if she hadn't known him since high school and knew by now that he loved nothing more than to endorse himself going to lavish boat parties, meeting with a new auto-show girl every night, and conducting 'business' with his clients either from his dorm or meeting in the most disreputable places of New York City. No way he believed in the concept of 'beauty sleep.'

"Say, Bea," Greg said, unzipping his guitar case, "however did you manage to convince the manager to let us play here?"

It's not that Miwa and her band didn't perform at nightclubs often— they practically performed wherever their gig took them, whether at raves or social events hosted by their university— but this was the first time a nightclub this posh and upscale (that wasn't a nightclub on campus) let them play on their first ask.

"Let's just say my sister is really friendly with the manager and when I told her about how we were scoping for new areas to play at, she put in the favor for me." Bea leaned against the wall, watching everyone pack up.

"How 'friendly' are we talking about here?"

Bea snorted. "Does it really matter? You should be thanking me."

"And I am. I just need to know if we can make it a habit of performing here."

"Relax, Greg the Jeg. I think we got this one in the bag."

Miwa never would've thought that what started as a drunken idea of creating a band when she and her bandmates were in high school would become a reality. Then she wrote a song in a fit of inspiration and roped Bea into singing it— which was then uploaded to YouTube by Dylan. It didn't get many views at first, until some middle-schooler left a comment asking if they were a band willing to play for free because according to them their middle school dance desperately needed music. Greg wanted to reply back with something like "Sorry, kid, but we're not exactly a Big Time Rush with our own personal Gustavo Rocque!", but Miwa sorta really tampered with his reply and instead answered with "Sweet! Where do we sign up?" While she was scolded for placing the responsibility of providing music for a middle school dance on their shoulders, Miwa assured her friends she would get a few songs written in no time and that they had a two weeks notice to rehearse.

Needless to say, she proved them wrong. The big day rolled around, she and her friends enjoyed the experience of their performing for a live audience, and the crowd loved them. They gained notoriety on Facebook and landed their first gig: playing for their high school's prom. From there, history was made.

Miwa knew if they could perform here at the club often, the likely it was that they might secure other clubs and concert halls looking for some performing engagement. And if that happened, the likely it was that they would catch the interest of a producer and probably land a record deal! With her share of the money she could at least start saving up to build that nightclub she dreamed of owning.

A soft buzz drew her attention back to her phone. She felt a wave of relief when she saw the incoming message, only for that wave to be overpowered by another of disappointment and (slight) annoyance when she saw it wasn't from Tobias.

Church Bitch 👹: Get over here. Where the hell are you?

Miwa grit her teeth. This bitch. . .

Miwa: Why?

Church Bitch 👹: Emergency. Just come here.

She probably needs my help choosing an outfit for her tea party with the Queen of England. Before you criticize her for putting a monster emoji and her exquisite choice in contact names, let it be known that no amount of church service or prayer would ever expel the 'devil' out of that girl. If her baptism didn't get rid of it, would anything would?

"Sorry to cut this evening short, but I gotta go," Miwa mumbled, quickly putting back her guitar in its case and grabbing her bag.

"Aw, now? We were just about to get something to eat!" Bea pouted.

"I wanted to go too, but emergency." Miwa wiggled the phone in her hand.

"Emergency? Or your roommate?" Dylan raised a brow. When you knew, you knew.

Miwa sighed. "It's gonna be a bigger headache if I don't see what she wants. It's not that big of a deal."

"It is when you keep blowing us off to hang out with that bitch and that pack of beasts you call 'friends'."

"Woah, Dylan," Vincent said. "You don't say that about a lady."

"Actually, it's true, Vince," Bea countered. "You wouldn't know because you didn't go to our school, but all that wicked witch of the west and her flying monkeys did was make anyone that got in their way miserable because their mommies and daddies donated buildings."

Greg tried for a sardonic smile. "All that money to buy their admission into university, but they couldn't pay for their brains."

"Still, I don't understand why you hang out with them." Dylan frowned at Miwa. "This isn't high school anymore. Whatever you think you owe them, you don't."

Actually, you're wrong. But she'd never say that. He wouldn't understand. "Just let me go see what she wants, k? It'll be quick. I'll catch up with you guys."

Dylan's frown deepened like he wasn't sure she could follow through with her words, but he went back to organizing the cables and mics in the black box he carried.

"Fine, if you must go—" Bea relented, though she looked less than pleased "—take a selfie with us first?"

Miwa set down her things and huddled with her bandmates, Bea being in the middle and holding out her phone. It made more sense for Vincent to do it since he was the tallest, but Bea was the photography major here— she knew how to get the best angle and lighting.

"Okay! In three. . . two. . . one. . .!"

The camera flash went off. Bea showed everyone the result, and it made Miwa smile fondly just seeing everyone smiling and making the peace signs. That was something real friends did— take pictures like the one just now and print them out to pin on a bulletin board or preserve in a scrapbook. It made her feel a little sad and shriveled inside.

"Hey, make sure to send me that, alright?" Miwa reminded Bea, gathering her things. "Catch you guys later!"

With her case in one hand and her bag flung over her shoulder, she left through the club's back door. She imagined her friends shaking their heads and whispering to each other if she was even aware that her roommate was a psychotic, sadistic witch and an insult to everything the Bible she was forced to read during Sunday school stood for.

The sad part was, she was already aware of that.

***

She checked her phone. Again. The word Delivered under her recently sent messages made her want to snap her phone in half. She wouldn't be bothered this much if Tobias actually read her damn messages. But she wasn't surprised. Disappointed? Yes. But surprised? Let's just say this wasn't the first (or really the last) time that moron ghosted her. She was considering of giving him a call, but what were the chances he wasn't going to answer because he was drunk or in the middle of sex? No thanks.

"I'll get off here. Thank you," Miwa told the driver, paying the fare and getting out of the taxi. She crossed the street to reach the luxury apartment complex. She went inside and took her keycard and swiped the entrance. When she got to the door that blocked the way to the elevator and looked at the keypad, she cursed to herself.

Damn brain fog. She snapped her fingers and tried her best to remember. Why the hell would this bitch change it anyway? It took a couple of moments, but the number sequence came back to her and she punched them in. She almost asked herself what kind of apartment complex installed a door with a passcode just to get to the elevator, and then she remembered. Duh. Of course. This is a LUXURY apartment complex.

She stepped into the elevator, pressed number 9 on the control panel, and sighed as the doors closed in front of her. She grabbed onto the railing as the elevator car grumbled, moving upwards until she heard the familiar DING! She let out another sigh. Even if she lived here, it was still mentally draining going and leaving this place.

Once the metal doors opened, she dragged herself down the hall to her door. She inserted her key into the keyhole, twisting it and using her foot to sling the door open. She set down her case to take off her boots, sliding on her black house slippers. Despite her roommate's insistence that she had no need to follow the 'shoes off inside' tradition here, Miwa still did it. You try getting rid of the shoe culture your parents indoctrinated you to follow since childhood.

"About fucking time," a voice said. The clicking sound striding across the floor grew louder as Miwa's roommate made herself shown. She looked like she just had a mini fashion show— faux fur jacket, leather skirt, black tights— and decided she'd give up mid-way. Her brown hair that was usually kept straight was crimped and reminded Miwa of a cocker spaniel.

Except Liezel was no cocker spaniel; she was a Doberman. Just replace the spiked collar with a Tiffany&Co. necklace and the barring razor teeth with pearly whites and that was what you'd get.

"You off to a party?" Miwa asked. "Or off to church to repent?"

Liezel's lips curled up into a mocking smile. "That's funny; I've already repented. Besides, do you really think they'd allow me to wear something like this to service?"

"You did make me and Kimberly wear leather and lace to service that one time in high school," Miwa recalled. "What did you say? Oh, that's right— your father asked you to invite us to an early service since it was for college exams, but you tossed us slutty get-up and told us to 'make an entrance'. Now Kimberly and I are effectively banned from your father's church."

Liezel's family were strict Filipino Catholic, which meant no dating anyone who didn't go to their church; losing your virginity before marriage; and avoid wearing clothing that could attract a boy's attention. All three Liezel broke, by the way. Miwa then stared down at Liezel's pointed slingback kitten pumps. Apparently, her parents' strictness did nothing to direct her unwavering respect towards tradition.

"Well, like Paris Hilton said: 'do something really bad so you never have to do it again'. I know that's not the exact quote, but still." Liezel paused to relish a chuckle. "The way my dad's voice cracked was super funny, however. I thought it was because he was surprised by yours and Kimberly's small tits. Maybe that's why Kimmy's mom paid for her boob job as her senior present."

Miwa scoffed. "Bitch, what about yours? You still trying to move up to a cup B?"

"Don't hate me because you know I can choose to get breast implants. But then I'd be like Kimberly who'd rather be an artificial little toy than be content with the body God gave me. Did you hear she's considering of getting a butt lift? Ha! Who's going to tell her that we already have a Kim Kardashian?"

Who was the one who complained to God about your eyes again? When it was about others Liezel would laugh her ass off, but the humor turned upside down when it came to anything about her. Of course it wasn't as funny anymore if you were the receiving end of joke. A cruel one, actually.

"Get on with why you asked me to come here. You're pissing me off," Miwa said.

Liezel nodded. "That's right! Follow me."

Miwa followed Liezel to her room. Probably the most interesting thing in there was the walk-in closet that came with the room, and Liezel had no shame in filling up every shelf and drawer with designer clothing, shoes, handbags, and jewelry. Half of the stuff she bought she hardly even used— maybe two or three times out of the entire year— but it was okay because she could afford it. Or rather, her parents could afford it. Who do you think signed the lease on this apartment on the conditions that she still attend mass, join their church's choir group, and choose a major that was worth their invested money and why they let her attend a non-Catholic institution.

Piles of clothes were heaped on the floor. Heels of all assortments were cluttered around. The nightstand had an ashtray with a cigarette butt leaning upright, wisps of smoke curling updraft. She also had one of those fancy lighters you'd see kingpins use in the movies next to the ashtray. If there was one thing Miwa was grateful for living with Liezel, it was that at least she had her own room. How did Liezel manage to sleep in a room that always smelled like tobacco?

"So you were having a fashion show?" Miwa eyed every strewn piece of clothing and shoe.

"My parents are hosting a charity on the church grounds sometime this week or the next— I don't fucking remember— that will raise money for cardiovascular disease research. The director of one of the biggest hospitals who specializes in cardiovascular disease and stroke is coming and he has a son that I want to look good for; I need to find something red to wear," she emphasized like she wanted Miwa to get the hint.

Just when Miwa thought Liezel cared about something else that wasn't her for once. "Seriously?" Miwa laughed in disbelief. "This is what you had me come over here for? Why not call Kimberly? She'd know more than me."

"Because the only thing that bitch loves more than 'borrowing' my clothes is making some remark about my color blindness," Liezel sneered. "But you know better, right? When I want to wear something green or red, you help me? You make me look good, which should make you look good because you're the cause of someone else's confidence. Doesn't that make you happy?"

Liezel's personality was dog shit, but her color blindness made Miwa pity her in some kind of way. Unfortunately, Liezel was the one in two hundred women with the condition and had to experience the impacts that came with it when it came to choosing clothes, identifying ripe fruit, and when stopping at traffic lights. She didn't even know the rainbow had seven colors and not five when she was in the eighth grade. But her condition was also the one thing that could make her scary real quick if joked about in the slightest. Miwa witnessed firsthand such a consequence when Liezel gave a girl who went to high school with them the brutal smackdown of her life when she made a passing joke and calling Liezel 'blind'. At the end of it, Liezel's knuckles were stained with blood and the girl ended up in the hospital.

Miwa learned to keep her mouth shut after that. Tobias still made comments here and there, for he knew Liezel was no match for his strength and size if she tried to hit him. But Kimberly apparently had yet to learn. It was only a matter of time before she ended up getting scratch marks to the cheek or a chunk of her hair ripped out.

"Really?" Miwa frowned. "A month ago you were cursing and bashing me out because according to you, it was my fault you were in a bad mood when you saw Elise Watts wearing the same red top I chose for you."

"Is that what happened?" Liezel tapped her chin like she remembered differently. "I remember being upset, but not necessarily towards you. It's not like you could've known that Elise the wretch would wear the same top as me, even though my pride fucking hurt. But it's fine. Poor Liezel, huh? Can't get used to the fact that she'll never be able to pick her own goddamn clothes."

The hint of accusation in her tone made Miwa's stomach twist into a knot. She knew what that witch was doing. She'd seen it a hundred times. She always chanted in her head, Don't fall for it. Don't fall for it. Don't fall for it. Don't fall for it.

"What exactly did I say? 'You useless fucking bitch!'? Ah, right. I was obviously referring to me, you dummy." She laughed in sickly sweet tune of hers, playfully hitting Miwa's shoulder. "I'm the one with the condition here. You only try to help. That's what friends are for, right?"

Friends aren't also supposed to treat each other as punching bags for something that was out of their control. But Liezel wouldn't know the definition of the word 'friend' even if she had a dictionary shoved up her ass.

"And like all friends do—" Liezel took a step forward, smiling condescendingly. Her peaked eyebrows and small nose were features Miwa envied for "—they look out for another. I know you were expecting a little payment from me for putting up with my burden, but I couldn't give it to you. I know that's why you had to ask your brother for money— and for that I'm sorry— but your little 'condition' worries me. I don't think I can keep enabling it."

Miwa felt another itch, but she resisted scratching. Her palms were sweaty. She didn't want Liezel to win. But Miwa had to ask herself: was it not really her fault? If she hadn't made Liezel angry over the matching tops situation, she would've been paid for her troubles and gotten what she needed right now. Instead, Liezel probably told Tobias what happened and that's why he wasn't responding because he knew she had no money!

Miwa swallowed her pride. "You had a right to be upset." As if. She didn't like it, but she needed to be on terms with her. If not. . . "I completely misunderstood you and for that I'm sorry. But please, Liezel. . ." There was a sliver of desperateness in her voice, and Miwa immediately hated herself for it. She hated how she couldn't do anything about it. "I-I ran out of my stash and who knows when my brother will give me the money, but if I don't get my juice then I'm going to die!"

The chink in her armor had been stabbed once again by Liezel. Her lips twitched upwards as if to say, gotcha. Her face crumpled in fake worry. "Aw, sweetie. Come here."

Liezel led Miwa to the bed, sat down, and cradled her head, allowing Miwa to weep all she wanted. Miwa didn't know if her tears were of frustration, hopelessness, or self-loathe. Maybe all three. How long would she have to endure through this hell? Until she graduated? Until the day she died?

"Still, I don't understand why you hang out with them. This isn't high school anymore. Whatever you think you owe them, you don't," Dylan's words echoed in her mind.

When Miwa said he and the others wouldn't understand, she acknowledged his rationality. He was right. What did she owe them? In a tangible sense— nothing.

But there was something funny about how intangible debts worked. Even if you didn't see the rope that bound you to your debt collector, that didn't mean it wasn't there.