The time that she felt the need to go away for a while and never look back was the time she wanted the divorce but felt as guilty to do so. While Cray was doing what he did best, she did her own thing as well but it wasn't the way she thought. She was a mental breakdown when she would have to write down her thoughts, go back to college and do something different with her life in silences. Cray was always wondering about what she was up to but didn't know where she was at all.
Malia felt the need to let Cray on how she felt but since it has been years ago and all said and all. She felt like her words would have been wasted. Not sure if that was part of how she felt but had to be done. Malia started go to therapy a lot to find closure in herself but felt like she was lost in herself a lot. Months has passed and a part of her was gone. Cray took the last of her self-esteem. Now, she realized that she would no longer give anything away any longer that nobody deserved. She felt tired and disturbed.
The street lights were on by the time she got in the house. Dramatically walking in the house like a junkie filled with Mollie. The noisy next door neighbors watched from their apartment windows, acting like they were doing something. Like wiping the windows to pretend to be doing something. Malia walked in the apartment, dropping everything at the front of her door, untieing her coat. Coat dropping to the floor as she fell to the floor. The sickness of her own grieve weighed her down, her heart stopped, the memories that was given was too much to bury.Black shoes walked in along with a black suit pants, came in, locked the door, stood over her. Dragging her by the legs. Malia woke up quickly as she saw Cray face. The puppy she had started to lick her face gently. Waking her up. Malia petted the puppy when she got up, walking into the living room. Grabbing her paints, but the colors didn't mean anything. The time she grabbed the paint, all the anger of pain came back and all she wanted to do was get high, smoke and lose her identity as woman. The moment she felt the need to cry, she held in, painted crazy and in anger, feeling that rage of hate, the rage of sadness, the pain of a woman, the heart of her scorned heart. The love she gave away was no longer the same. Cold blooded veins started to come over her as soon as she felt rage of hell.
The phone ringed.
Who was it? Was it Cray? Was it the enemy? Police? It could have been anybody. A shadow came behind her backyard window and it was the same shadow she saw as she when in awaken of her own overdose. Nobody there but the puppy that she brought a month ago. Nothing or no one was there to help her up from her own self but her. She made it resistable . The paint made it quite clearly that she painted herself being hanged, with her own blood dripping from her skull, next to her slit throat.
Who was by the window? Was she awake when her body was done? Being next to her awaken body and her own self. Although she was still asleep, making her own chaos? Making her own disaster? Malia walked up to the window, opened window and as soon as she did. The man with the black coat grabbed her, choking her as she struggled as she trying to get loose. Dragging her by her arms, then by her legs, turning her around as to make her look like she was struggled in water which was the pool that she lost consciousness in. She stopped struggling as he continued to choke her, leaving marks on her neck. Malia floated downward inside the 10 inch pool. Eyes wide open, staring upward, laying there gracefully, eyes filled with coldness. The man stood over her body, looking down, then walking away from the pool. Sirens turned on, along with the lights as Cray was found out but the man was not noticeable. Was it Cray? Was it a dream? Was it her imagination? Some things are left unsaid.