“We’ll think of another way,” he insists, glancing at me.
“James didn’t exactly give me much time,” I reply, frustration sharpening my voice.“He wants it to happen this Friday night.”
Matthew lets out a sharp breath through his nose, gripping the wheel until the leather creaks.He turns into Hydra’s lot fast, too fast.He pulls up beside my sedan and jerks to a stop.
Pressing my lips into a tight line, I unbuckle my seatbelt.“Thank you.”It’s barely a whisper as I reach for the door handle.
Matthew’s hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my wrist.
My pulse hammers in my ears.Being back here, parked next to my car, reality descends fast and hard.Even though he’s halted my exit, I do not look at him.
“Amy—”
His grip tightens.He falls silent, as if the words are stuck in his throat.
“I have a tendency to disappoint the people who care most about me,” I whisper, the words scraping my throat.“When it comes to James, I have no choice but to disappoint you.I’m sorry.”I twist my wrist free, shove the door open, and flee.
TWENTY NINE
DON’T DO IT, Amy.
Matthew’s words, his strained calm, and the impossible choice James forced on me swirl like a fog as I navigate back to the apartment.Icy dread pools in my stomach as the building comes into view.
Just an hour ago, I was strolling near a sunlit lake with Matthew’s arms around me.Now, I walk alone down this dimly lit corridor.Fingers tight on the cold metal key.My feet drag.The door feels like a portal back to the life I need to dismantle.
The click of the lock echoes a finality I can’t fully grasp.Entering this apartment is like trespassing on an archeological dig of my own recent past.
The silence is absolute.
There is no comfort here.Only the cold reality of the task ahead:
Pack all of my belongings.
Erase myself from this space.
Forcing my legs to move, I walk past the dining table, avoiding eye contact with the ghosts of shared meals.I head straight to the bedroom.I go directly to the walk-in closet, filled mostly with James’s things.Tucked in the back corner is my scuffed black suitcase.My faithful companion through too many transitions.
I pull it out, wheels rattling on the hardwood.Heaving it onto the pristine king-sized bed feels like placing a coffin where a life used to sleep.
The zipper hisses open.
The sound pulls me back.The past becomes a sudden, visceral memory…
I’m laughing, pulling colorful sweaters and worn paperbacks out of my suitcase.I hang dresses on the empty rod space he cleared for me.I stack books on my newly appointed bedside table.
James sits propped against the plush headboard, watching me with that lazy, possessive smile that used to make my heart flutter.
“I’m telling you, Mimi, this is the last time you unpack that suitcase of yours.”His words delivered in that silky smooth voice.
And I believed him.Oh God, how completely I believed him, feeling the deep relief of finally, finally putting this suitcase away for the last time.
The memory dissolves, leaving my harsh present reality feeling cruelly unreal.
I just stare.
I stare at the empty, fabric-lined interior gaping open on the duvet, waiting to swallow the debris of my life.
Packing again.
