Chapter 2 - The Apartment of Ghosts
I walked into the apartment,
and the silence greeted me like an old friend.
The air smelled faintly of Randy’s expensive cologne,
the one I had bought for him last Christmas.
I walked into the living room and saw his shoes thrown carelessly on the rug,
the rug I had picked out during a weekend trip he refused to attend.
Every corner of this space was a testament to my effort and his indifference.
I didn't turn on the main lights,
instead,
I let the city glow filter through the curtains.
I went into the bedroom and grabbed a stack of black industrial trash bags from the closet.
The sound of the plastic unfurling was crisp,
a sharp contrast to the dull ache that was finally leaving my heart.
I started with the closet,
his side,
the one overflowing with designer labels I had subsidized.
I didn't fold them,
I didn't care if they wrinkled,
I just shoved them into the bags with a cold efficiency.
Suit after suit,
shirt after shirt,
they all disappeared into the darkness of the plastic.
I moved to the bathroom,
sweeping his expensive skincare products into a separate bag.
He used to complain if I bought the wrong brand of moisturizer,
while he never once offered to pay for the soap we used.
I looked at myself in the mirror,
the silk dress still damp,
and I saw a woman I hadn't recognized in a long time.
I saw strength,
I saw intelligence,
and I saw a person who was finished with the games.
I took his gaming console,
the one he spent hours on while I worked overtime to cover the bills.
I took his collection of limited edition sneakers,
the ones he bragged about to his friends.
I moved everything to the hallway outside the apartment door.
It didn't take as long as I thought it would,
because Randy didn't really own much of anything.
He owned the illusions,
and he owned the debt,
but the physical items were few.
I sat on the sofa for a moment,
looking at the empty spaces he had occupied.
The apartment felt bigger already,
cleaner,
more like a home.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table,
and I saw Randy’s name flash on the screen.
The first of many calls,
I assumed.
He was probably at the restaurant,
realizing the card had been declined.
I didn't answer,
I simply muted the device and turned it face down.
I wanted him to feel the panic,
the same panic I felt every time a bill arrived and he claimed he was short on cash.
I wanted him to feel the confusion of being stood up,
just as I had sat at that table for two hours.
I walked to the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea,
the steam rising in the dim light.
I felt a strange sense of peace as I realized I would never have to cook for him again.
I would never have to listen to his complaints about the dinner being late.
I would never have to hear his friends laughing in my living room while I tried to sleep.
I looked at the car keys on the counter,
his keys,
the ones for the Mustang.
The Mustang I had just paid off.
Technically,
the title was still in my name until the final paperwork was processed.
I smiled,
a slow,
dangerous smile.
The car was the one thing he loved more than himself.
And tomorrow,
the car was going to go on a little trip.
I finished my tea,
the warmth spreading through my chest.
I went to the door and checked the locks one last time.
The hallway was lined with his trash bags,
a mountain of his failures.
May you like
I went to bed and slept better than I had in three years,
knowing that the ATM was permanently out of order.
