Chapter 4 - The Bill Comes Due
By the time I reached home that evening,
the trash bags were gone from the hallway.
A small victory,
I assumed the building manager had moved them to the curb.
I walked into my apartment and the air was fresh,
no scent of his cologne,
no lingering sense of his presence.
I ordered a pizza,
sat on the floor,
and watched a movie I had always wanted to see.
It was a simple life,
but it was mine.
Around 9:00 p.m.,
the building’s intercom buzzed.
I looked at the screen and saw Randy’s face,
red and distorted with rage.
He was shouting into the speaker,
demanding to be let in.
"Sarah!
Open the door!
You can't do this!"
I pressed the talk button,
my voice calm and cool.
"Randy,
you are trespassing,"
I said.
"Your things are at the curb,
and your car has been sold to cover your debts."
There was a long silence,
then a scream of pure fury.
"You sold my car?
That's theft!"
"Check the title,
Randy,"
I replied.
"It was always my car."
"I just let you drive it."
"Now,
go away before I call the police."
I shut off the intercom and returned to my pizza.
A few minutes later,
I heard the distant sound of sirens.
The building security was efficient,
and Randy was in no state to be reasonable.
I didn't go to the window,
I didn't want to see him being dragged away.
I wanted to remember him as the man at the restaurant,
the one who thought he was a king.
The king was now sitting on the sidewalk,
surrounded by black plastic bags.
I woke up the next morning to a flurry of messages from his friends.
Greg,
the bread-thrower,
was particularly vocal.
"You're a psycho,
Sarah,"
he wrote.
"He's homeless because of you."
I replied with a screenshot of the bill Randy had left at the restaurant.
"He's homeless because he spent all his money on champagne he couldn't afford,"
I wrote back.
"How was the steak,
Greg?"
"Did you enjoy the meal I was supposed to pay for?"
He didn't reply.
None of them did.
They were all parasites,
and now that the host was gone,
they had no interest in Randy’s problems.
They wouldn't take him in,
they wouldn't lend him money,
and they certainly wouldn't help him find a job.
Randy was learning a hard lesson about the quality of his friendships.
I spent the weekend deep-cleaning the apartment.
I scrubbed the floors,
washed the walls,
and replaced the bedding.
I wanted every trace of him gone,
down to the microscopic level.
I felt like I was purifying my life,
removing a toxin that had been poisoning me for years.
I went to the bank and officially removed him as an authorized user on all my accounts.
I called the utility companies and transferred everything to my name alone.
I felt like I was checking boxes on a list of freedom.
Each call,
each form,
was a brick in the wall I was building between my past and my future.
I was no longer Sarah,
the pathetic puppy.
May you like
I was Sarah,
the woman who was whole.
