4. She didn’t say, “I’m not as strong as I pretend to be.”
4
She didn’t say, “I’m not as strong as I pretend to be.”
Eden
I stabbed the key at the lock and missed—again.
“Stupid piece of—” The kick I landed on the front door didn’t make me feel any better.
Why were keys impossible to use when you were in a rush?
I rolled my shoulders and forced a breath in, then out. Now wasn’t the time for emotions. If I could claw my way out of a broken home and build a million-dollar business, I wasn’t letting a damn door beat me.
It took three attempts, but I stuck the key in the lock, turned it, and pushed my way inside. I didn’t get far. The door jammed to a stop about halfway.
“Fu— oof!”
My feet tangled around the stack of cardboard boxes Zach had been nagging me to unpack for weeks. I lurched forward, landing a hand on the wall to steady myself before my face kissed the hallway floor in a dramatic hello. Fitting. The perfect end to my day…or perhaps…the perfect start to my new life?
I smiled.
The boxes were a sign. Not the sign my therapist had told me—dysfunctional fear of commitment. Please. Future Eden was a genius leaving the mismatched Tupperware and last season’s clothes untouched in boxes by the front door. Leaving was so much easier this way.
I stormed through the apartment, only pausing for a quick stop in the kitchen. Green numbers blinked on the microwave. 10:05 p.m. Zach wouldn’t stumble through the door until well after midnight…if he stumbled in at all.
Would the stench of that woman’s perfume linger on his shirt? Would he sneak into the shower and scrub the memories of her from his skin before tugging back the bedsheets to snuggle beside me as if nothing had happened?
I wasn’t about to find out.
I hauled every bag, every box, off the shelves in the walk-in closet and tossed them on the bed. Clothes hangers disappeared from the railing. I was sweeping my jewellery into an empty shoebox when footsteps padded to a stop behind me. Armed with a sheepskin boot, the box of trinkets, and my chin hiked up, I was ready for battle.
But it wasn’t Zach.
Andie smirked. “I come in peace.” Her shoulder fell against the doorframe, cool and casual. Chaos? Nah. Business as usual.
I lowered the sheepskin boot.
“You left the front door wide open, you know,” she said.
I dumped the box of jewellery on the bed. “I’m in a rush.”
To prove my point, I charged into the closet, ripped open a drawer, and grabbed a handful of my lacy knickers. A neat pile of boxer briefs was stacked beside them. I glared at all the sensible cotton, my jaw clenched tight.
Had Zach’s other woman seen him wear anything in the pile? Had she shoved any down his thighs, impatient to get her greedy hands on what should’ve only been mine?
An ugly laugh bubbled out of me. I ignored the knickers. Instead, I scooped up the folded briefs until they spilt from my arms, and I stormed to the balcony. With a casual toss of my hand, cotton danced on the night air, and—I raced to look over the railing—fluttered to the balcony below.
“Oopsie.”
Oh well, Zach could enjoy the awkward conversation with the old dame in Apartment 14C explaining why his undies were now draped all over her potted lavender.
Andie watched my act of revenge with one eyebrow up. “Wanna explain what’s going on?”
“I’m leaving.”
“I can see that.”
My hands propped on my hips, I paused in the middle of the room, planning my next move. “Did you get here on the Triumph?” The ancient motorcycle Andie was restoring wouldn’t cut it for this trip.
“Nah, I had a feeling I might need the Pajero.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Little Miss Choosy, who prefers not to own a car, can call a taxi if she likes.”
Unamused, I glared at her through slitted eyes.
Andie raised her palms. “The rusty old beast might not look like much—”
“It has the fuel consumption of a small country!”
“It’ll haul all your shit to my place, though, no problemo.”
“Fine,” I huffed, “but I’m planting a tree to apologise to the environment when this is over.”
Snagging an empty duffel off the bed, I headed back to the closet. Andie shuffled close behind me.
“So…” she said.
“So?”
“What did the suit do? Weren’t you going to surprise him with dinner from the Spanish place all the hipsters drool over?”
How long had Yvette waited before blabbing my stupid plan to Andie? Two minutes? “I went.” I crammed a fistful of bras into the duffel.
“And…?”
I sighed. “I schemed my little booty off to get inside the building and talked myself off a cliff to sneak to his office. Too bad I was beaten to him by some blonde with a balayage so bad it should be criminal.”
Andie’s mouth dropped open. “He’s screwing around?” She bit out the words in complete disbelief. She wasn’t at the top of Zach’s fangirl list, but she hadn’t pinned him as a cheater. “That fucking bastard is dead . After everything you’ve done to support him! All the times he blew you off and didn’t put you first. No fucking way.”
“All the fucking ways.”
“What did he say when you confronted him? Tell me you chopped his dick off.”
Shaking my head, I sagged against the wall. “I just—I kinda—freaked out.” I sighed. “I bolted like a pathetic coward.”
“No way, Ed. He’s the coward.”
I stood there, a blank stare settling on the floor. I fought to smother the memories, but it was as helpful as throwing a cup of water on a forest fire. If this is about the other night. The words echoed in a dark whisper at the back of my mind. That’s no one. I folded over, braced my hands on my knees, and forced down a slow breath.
Andie cursed under her breath. “Do you need a—?” Her arms opened wide like she was ready to comfort me with all the hugs I needed.
I raised my hand to stop her. “No hugs. Hit me with all your tough love, but I’ll be a basket case if you get your arms around me. I refuse to collapse in a heap in this apartment. I won’t give him the satisfaction.”
Andie’s chin dropped in a quick nod. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
“I need to get the hell out of here.”
“Then I’m right behind you.”
We shared a sad but familiar smile. The simple exchange mirrored the one we’d had sixteen years ago when we’d stood shell-shocked in Andie’s bedroom. Her mother had wailed while her father had torn apart the living room, hitting walls, demanding to know from his God why he was being punished with a daughter like that. Andie had to stop me from flying out there to plough my fist into his fat jaw, but I would’ve done anything to erase the evil words she’d heard that afternoon. Andie wasn’t broken. She was perfect. And when she’d decided to stuff a backpack full of clothes and run from their disapproval, she hadn’t done it alone. We’d done it together.
Now, it was my turn to run.
The two of us were like a team of well-trained professionals, removing every scrap of evidence I’d ever lived in Zach’s apartment. The photos on the fridge—reminders of brief moments of happiness between his broken promises—were ripped up and tossed in the rubbish bin.
The rest of my belongings were stuffed into whatever bags I could find. There was a mix of suitcases, duffels, and reusable shopping bags for Andie to lug down to the rust bucket parked illegally out front. When we ran out of space in the back, Andie secured the leftover boxes to the roof racks, and I pretended to be useful by tugging on the straps when she barked instructions down to me.
It’s really over.
My steps were silent as I drifted around the apartment, casting one last look over the life I was leaving behind. White, sterile walls. Modern and cold. A house, not a home. I’d convinced myself the colour and warmth would flood in if I just loved Zach enough. We’d be happy. We’d get married, maybe even start a family. We’d grow old together. A sharp jab dug under my ribs. Yeah, that dream was the hardest to let go.
I was successful. I’d made it despite the odds stacked against me. But every achievement was a smokescreen to protect the tiny girl who’d lost a mother she barely remembered and the teenager who’d run away at sixteen, got a job, and a grown-up life way before her time. The celebrity scene had been fun, but Zach had shown me the possibility of a life I’d never dared to hope for. I’d been right to keep my heart locked up tight. Those dreams weren’t for women like me.
Andie cleared her throat.
I appreciated her warning. It gave me enough time to take a deep breath and brush the tears off my lashes. All traces of weakness were hidden under a fake smile when I turned around.
“Wanna torch the place before we go?” Andie scanned the living room. “Too much? We should break something. What does the suit love more than anything?”
Not me. “Work.”
Andie snorted her acknowledgement. “Want to add to the collection of shit you’ve thrown off the balcony?” She nodded to the flatscreen on the back wall. “We could convert that bad boy to a few hundred Lego bricks.”
“I doubt he’d even notice.” Zach was never at home. He probably didn’t even remember he owned a TV. He’d missed every movie night I’d planned with some sorry excuse about losing track of the time.
Andie swallowed. “You’re going to be okay, Ed.” She reserved the softness in her voice only for moments like this. “You’re too good for some jerk who can’t see past his own dick to understand your worth.”
“I know.”
Buried feelings of never being enough had erupted through the clumsily patched cracks in my heart, but I meant my words. Zach was out of the picture. My first proper relationship had ended in disaster. So what? I still had my friends and my business. I’d lived a fantastic life before him, and I’d make damn sure I lived an even better life now that I was kicking his sorry booty to the kerb.
I locked in the promise to myself with a nod.
I dropped my fluffy cat keychain on the kitchen counter, and I didn’t look back before slamming the door shut behind me.