Chapter 3
The guy on the phone from the school’s housing department comes back on the line. “I’m sorry, but no dorms are available, and there is a waiting list.” Great, my worst fear has materialized. No dorms are available, and they are not even free.
I lay my head back on the headrest, wanting to drive back and punch Jimmy in the face. But then the fear of what he might do if he sees me returns. The look of anger clouded his eyes when he pushed me because I was leaving him. I wish I had time to figure things out. I would have preferred the dreaded “I want to see other people” speech than finding out the way I did.
“Alright, put my name down. If there are any cancellations, please call me right away.”
“Will do,” he says and hangs up. I moan in defeat. He didn’t even ask me for my name or phone number.
Last night, after driving for hours not knowing where to go when I left Jimmy’s house, I parked under a tree in the lot at a local park and cried my eyes out, feeling sorry for myself. I replayed what happened in my mind countless times. What he said. She acted sorry, but I knew it was a lie. People only say sorry when they get caught. If she didn’t know about me, that is one thing, but she did. They both knew what they were doing, and they didn’t give a shit about it. The way he shoved me without a second thought. I didn’t mean to push past him, but he blocked the door when I tried to leave.
I tried to find blame within myself, to think about what I could have done differently to prevent him from doing what he did, but I found nothing.
After another two hours of crying, the hate for being naive kicks in. I should have never moved in with Jimmy. I wouldn’t be sitting in my car in a parking lot with nowhere to go and no money to get there.
After three years of dating and many arguments with my parents, Jimmy convinced me to move in with him. I ignored all their warnings about me moving too fast and giving up my spot in the dorm on campus.
I should have listened to my parents. I should have listened to my gut instinct. I felt it the first month. I ignored the signs when he would watch TV, play video games, sleep, and not help me around the house when I was cleaning after him, but I wanted to prove to everyone that I made the right decision, especially my parents. They always thought I was incapable of doing things on my own, sheltering me when I didn’t want to be sheltered.
Now I know why he didn’t want me to pitch in for rent. He manipulated me so I would feel like I owed him. I hated that he was a slob, but I did love him. The worst part was I thought he loved me back. He ended up being a lying, two- timing piece of shit bastard.
My phone goes off for the eighth time since I called the school. Eight missed calls. I had to place it on silent last night to fall asleep. He’s called me twelve times since I left the house.
When my voicemail was full, he resorted to texting me. The messages started out apologetic—he was sorry and wanted me to return home. Then they got demanding— angrier. Like I better get home now or I’ll be sorry. And you can’t run away from me.
I glance at my screen.
Jimmy: You’re not leaving me. I love you.
He’s delusional.
He must be out of his mind.
I think the cold and too many hits playing hockey have affected his brain cells. He pushed me, threatened me, and fucking slept with someone else. There is no way I’ll consider going back to him. I can’t even stand the thought of going back there. Just thinking about it makes me sick. Remembering the look in his eyes before I left was terrifying. It was a glimpse of what he would do if I stayed.
We’re over.
I look down at the same clothes I was wearing from yesterday. My eyes cut to the wet spot on my thigh. I’m so tired. I haven’t slept and would kill for a warm bed and a hot shower.
I pull the visor down to look in the mirror and see the dark circles under my eyes. I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “Come on, Ari.” I sniff. “Get it together.”
My fingers find the key in the ignition, turn the car on, hear the time belt screech, and wait for the warm air from the vents to hit my skin. I had to turn the car off to save gas because, right now, every penny counts. The temperature dips when the sun decreases as the fall season moves in.
During the day, it gets hot. My air conditioner doesn’t work, but the heater does.
Jimmy promised to check it out or at least find someone affordable to fix it, but of course, like everything he says, it was a lie. He couldn’t care less if I sweat like a pig during the summer months or freeze my ass in the winter. He preferred me to drive his car, but he insisted on being in the passenger seat to make sure I didn’t put a scratch on it.
At first, I thought it was cute that he let me drive his car, but now I realize it’s because he didn’t want to drive. I dodged a bullet. My car makes a rattling sound like it can read my thoughts, warning me it’s on its last leg, but thankfully, it doesn’t quit on me. That would be the worst thing that could happen right now. To be on foot like a hitchhiker rolling my suitcase in the middle of the night on the side of the road with my thumb sticking out, looking for a ride.
My thumb swipes across the screen, ignoring Jimmy’s text. I thought of calling my parents, but I couldn’t tell them what happened because no one likes the “This is what you get for not listening to your parents” speech. I also can’t show up there and ask for money they don’t have because they will know something bad happened. Parents have a sixth sense about these things.
My parents are not wealthy and practically work paycheck to paycheck. If they discover the truth, they will make me withdraw from school, and I could kiss my future goodbye. I’d end up getting a job at Subway and living with my parents until I’m forty. I have to figure this out on my own. The first step is finding a job.
I find the cheapest drive-through and order from the dollar menu. I decided to eat early before finding a spot to park my car and call it a night. I have a big day tomorrow. I also can’t risk using the bathroom at night when most places are closed and gas stations are notoriously full of weirdos. The bathrooms are always out of order, or they only have outside bathrooms, and you need to get a key from the cashier from the little drawer .
When I opened the door, my first thought was that there was a dead body inside when the putrid smell of shit and urine flooded my nose. I held my breath while I peed, stood, and almost passed out.
After the first night, I couldn’t wait until morning to use the bathroom at the grocery store or fast food down the road when it opened.
After waking up feeling run over, I wipe the sleep from my eyes. The sun glares through the windshield. Large shadows loom as people walk on the paved pathway. Some are on their run. Their breaths form clouds from the cold.
When I move to sit up, my shoulder is stiff and sore. The painkillers I bought from the gas station yesterday have long worn off, but I manage to start my car, drawing glances from the people walking by when they hear the horrible noise.
At six thirty in the morning, I drive out of the parking lot before anyone calls the cops for violating the No Overnight Parking sign. My car draws too much attention, and I’m sure the same people I see at the park already know.
The dark circles under my eyes are darker when I look at myself in the rearview mirror. It seems like I was on the cast of The Walking Dead . My hair looks like straw. I tossed and turned the entire night. I woke up every two hours when the cold was too much and had to turn on the heat from the car. At around three o’clock, the fear of someone attacking me through the window set in. It was horrible. I didn’t know how homeless people slept outside in the dark. How they weren’t scared. I was grateful I had a car.
I turn left to catch the highway. One thing about the full-service gas station off the road is that no one cares how you look as long as you have clothes and shoes on.
Everyone looks like shit when they walk inside. Truck drivers look haggard from driving all night. Workers finished with their graveyard shift. People traveling across state lines needing to use the restroom.
After I freshen up in the accessible stall and make sure no one needs to use it, I pause when I look in the sink to brush my teeth. My stomach turns, thinking of all the germs floating inside, the string of hair at the bottom near the drain, and the smell of the water. I step back, brushing my teeth as fast as possible, trying not to think about it. After sipping from my water bottle, I rinse my mouth and spit in the trash.
After using the restroom, my determination to start my new job motivated me to overlook the bad and look forward to the good. The more I save, the less I need to find a restroom that doesn’t look like fifty vagrants have used it before me.
I thought about using the restroom on campus, but the less I hang around, the less people notice me. Word has gotten around on social media that Jimmy and I broke up. The last thing I want is to run into someone he knew or, worse, him. I don’t know how far he will go with his threats, but I don’t want to find out.
I don’t want people to know I’m vulnerable because I have no place to go. It would give Jimmy power over me to know I have nothing and no one. No friends. No money. I have already given him so much.
My trust. My heart. My firsts.
I refuse to give him any more pieces of me. I refuse to let him see how he broke me or that I’m scared of him. Deep down, I know he will hurt me if he finds me.