Categories > Original > Drama > Goodbye My Lover
Chapter 6
I wake up a few hours later on the bathroom floor. My cheek is cut from having slept on a bit of the broken mirror. I put a hand to my face and run it along the gash. Fuck, that stings.
I peek out the door into the bedroom. On my nightstand I see my clock reads 1:30PM. And the alarm is still going off for several hours earlier. The neighbors are probably pissed. These walls are like fucking paper.
I go into the kitchen and grab a broom and dustpan. I sweep the broken glass into a trashcan by the toilet. I wash my face again in cold water and pull back my hair. The cut on my face has ceased from bleeding and now just sits reddening. I'm not even going to bother with makeup.
Back in the bedroom now I slide whatever pair of jeans I have laying on the floor. The top I had on had a trail of blood from my incision, so it joins the pile forming near the door. In a dust-filled drawer I find one of your shirts. Holding it in front of me, I remember it was the only one you wore for a long time. Covered now with mild bleach stains and holes, I slip into it. It feels so good against my skin.
Not bothering with shoes, I grab my keys and enter the world in nothing but bedroom slippers and a little bit of you.
I found I hardly had need for a car anymore. I walked everywhere nowadays. I figure it'd be harder for you to find me if you ever came looking. Walking always takes longer, and people hardly pay attention to other people when they walk.
The sun is hidden behind clouds and you can tell it rained. The air is thick and smells of something fresh. Like wet dirt, or freshly cut grass. A few blocks later I find myself inside a small run-down grocery. Not one of your super-mart jobs, just a dinky little establishment to grab last minute essentials.
I grab a hand basket and meander down the aisles. Some milk, bread, peanut butter, and frozen dinners are enough for me. I was well stocked on my beloved flavored water and diet soda products. The cashier is an older man with the fakest friggen smile I'd ever laid eyes on. When he asks me how I am, I merely glare at him and smile my fakest friggen smile right back. I hate everyone.
~~~ * ~~~
Back home I realize my cell phone had been forgotten. It's on the table, face-up, it's little red indicator light flashing on and off madly. I'd missed a call.
Flipping open the shell I see Torrin's name in big, bold letters. A quick press of the green button with my finger and it dials. What does she want me to say now?
Maeb, it's Torrin.
I gathered that. I called you, remember?
Yeah, right. So listen, Jackson called me.
I froze. Dammit. He DID know it was me the other night. Still, I tried to remain cool.
Why? What's he want?
To know about you. He got another silent caller last night. Says he's sure it was you. Maeb, you didn't try calling him again, did you?
Well, I did go out for a walk that night. But who's to say I called him?
Maeby!
Ok, Fuck, Tor, I called him. So what?
Sweetie, these kinds of calls aren't going to get you anywhere. What are you expecting?
Nothing! I know I fucked us up. I know I fucked up. I just want to apologize to him.
Then do it, if it'll make you feel better.
I can't. It won't do any good. Because if I apologize I'll start expecting more to come from it. And it won't. Because he's moved on with that whore.
Amy isn't a whore, Maeb. And you know that.
Well she didn't waste any time getting to him after he left me. And he certainly didn't object.
So he's a whore, too?
No, Jackson's perfect. He never did a damn thing wrong and I shit all over him. All over us.
Maeby, he was wrong, too. He didn't take the time to understand you.
No, he tried. And you know he tried. Stop trying to make me fucking feel better, all right?
Ok, I'm sorry.
Great. Now I'm being a bitch to my best friend.
No, it's not you. I don't know what the fuck is going on with me. I'm having a hard time here. I know why he left I just can't get over the fact that it happened. I don't know wh--
A knock at the door. Who the hell could that be?
Tor, I'll call you back. Someone's here.
I know.
What?
He said he was tired of playing your game. He wants to get it out once and for all.
SHIT. I mouthed into the phone. I flipped the shell back down and tossed it on the sofa. I closed my eyes and took a deep breathe as I slowly made my way to the door. I made a quick glance into the peep hole.
Standing there, in all 6-foot-blonde-haired-blue-eyed glory, was Jackson.
I wake up a few hours later on the bathroom floor. My cheek is cut from having slept on a bit of the broken mirror. I put a hand to my face and run it along the gash. Fuck, that stings.
I peek out the door into the bedroom. On my nightstand I see my clock reads 1:30PM. And the alarm is still going off for several hours earlier. The neighbors are probably pissed. These walls are like fucking paper.
I go into the kitchen and grab a broom and dustpan. I sweep the broken glass into a trashcan by the toilet. I wash my face again in cold water and pull back my hair. The cut on my face has ceased from bleeding and now just sits reddening. I'm not even going to bother with makeup.
Back in the bedroom now I slide whatever pair of jeans I have laying on the floor. The top I had on had a trail of blood from my incision, so it joins the pile forming near the door. In a dust-filled drawer I find one of your shirts. Holding it in front of me, I remember it was the only one you wore for a long time. Covered now with mild bleach stains and holes, I slip into it. It feels so good against my skin.
Not bothering with shoes, I grab my keys and enter the world in nothing but bedroom slippers and a little bit of you.
I found I hardly had need for a car anymore. I walked everywhere nowadays. I figure it'd be harder for you to find me if you ever came looking. Walking always takes longer, and people hardly pay attention to other people when they walk.
The sun is hidden behind clouds and you can tell it rained. The air is thick and smells of something fresh. Like wet dirt, or freshly cut grass. A few blocks later I find myself inside a small run-down grocery. Not one of your super-mart jobs, just a dinky little establishment to grab last minute essentials.
I grab a hand basket and meander down the aisles. Some milk, bread, peanut butter, and frozen dinners are enough for me. I was well stocked on my beloved flavored water and diet soda products. The cashier is an older man with the fakest friggen smile I'd ever laid eyes on. When he asks me how I am, I merely glare at him and smile my fakest friggen smile right back. I hate everyone.
~~~ * ~~~
Back home I realize my cell phone had been forgotten. It's on the table, face-up, it's little red indicator light flashing on and off madly. I'd missed a call.
Flipping open the shell I see Torrin's name in big, bold letters. A quick press of the green button with my finger and it dials. What does she want me to say now?
Maeb, it's Torrin.
I gathered that. I called you, remember?
Yeah, right. So listen, Jackson called me.
I froze. Dammit. He DID know it was me the other night. Still, I tried to remain cool.
Why? What's he want?
To know about you. He got another silent caller last night. Says he's sure it was you. Maeb, you didn't try calling him again, did you?
Well, I did go out for a walk that night. But who's to say I called him?
Maeby!
Ok, Fuck, Tor, I called him. So what?
Sweetie, these kinds of calls aren't going to get you anywhere. What are you expecting?
Nothing! I know I fucked us up. I know I fucked up. I just want to apologize to him.
Then do it, if it'll make you feel better.
I can't. It won't do any good. Because if I apologize I'll start expecting more to come from it. And it won't. Because he's moved on with that whore.
Amy isn't a whore, Maeb. And you know that.
Well she didn't waste any time getting to him after he left me. And he certainly didn't object.
So he's a whore, too?
No, Jackson's perfect. He never did a damn thing wrong and I shit all over him. All over us.
Maeby, he was wrong, too. He didn't take the time to understand you.
No, he tried. And you know he tried. Stop trying to make me fucking feel better, all right?
Ok, I'm sorry.
Great. Now I'm being a bitch to my best friend.
No, it's not you. I don't know what the fuck is going on with me. I'm having a hard time here. I know why he left I just can't get over the fact that it happened. I don't know wh--
A knock at the door. Who the hell could that be?
Tor, I'll call you back. Someone's here.
I know.
What?
He said he was tired of playing your game. He wants to get it out once and for all.
SHIT. I mouthed into the phone. I flipped the shell back down and tossed it on the sofa. I closed my eyes and took a deep breathe as I slowly made my way to the door. I made a quick glance into the peep hole.
Standing there, in all 6-foot-blonde-haired-blue-eyed glory, was Jackson.
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