When the threat of losing her first crept in, panic took over. I was willing to twist into a pretzel to get her back. Promise to give more, tryharder. I told myself I was fighting for love, but the truth is harder to admit. I simply didn’t want to admit to being a failure.
It wasn’t just about losing her, but failing at the life I thought we were building. I can’t tell if I miss Chanel or if I miss the version of myself who believed that a mature relationship was possible. All I know is that I didn’t realize how deeply she had carved herself into me until she was gone. Until wanting her became something I could no longer have. I’m starting to question whether it was really ever about her. Especially after all of my tests came back normal, adding to the many questions about her and our relationship. But I don’t have any spare time or energy to devote to figuring out what happened there. That’s a puzzle for another day.
I haven’t settled into a new routine yet. I found a rental, but it’s outdated and a little drafty. The kind of place that reminds you you’re only passing through. Most of my things are still in storage. I had a few guys from a recent job help me unload the truck, promising myself I’d sort it all later.
This is the wake-up call I needed. From here on out, all of my energy goes into the business. Finding the right property. Running the numbers. Chasing down all of the required permits. Building a career I can be proud of. Not dealing with sketchy, down on their luck women who manage to pull the wool over my eyes.
I return the rental truck and start toward the office when the door swings open. A blonde young woman in a baseball cap brushes past me, her ponytail swishing behind her. The faintest hint of something fruity trails in her wake.
Glancing back over my shoulder long enough to take her in, I find she’s already gone.Hellfire, man. What had you just been saying?Forget women. You’ve got an empire to build.
Focus!
Grace
I walkinto the rental truck office like I have a mission.
Get your life back on track, Grace.
I worked a ten-hour shift today. My feet still ache, my hair smells faintly like strawberry air freshener from the dollar store shampoo I purchased, and I’m already so tired my bones feel as if they are crumbling beneath me like the ruins of an ancient burial ground. God how I miss the leisurely days where I could relax into a warm bath with the freshly made soaps I’d created. Vanilla and lavender and scents that spoke of calm, not artificial dollar store fragrances that remind you of a gas station bathroom deodorizer.
Yet it wasn’t the mental and physical fatigue that had me blinking into an abyss when I arrived home. As bad as things had gotten between us lately, nothing prepared me for what waited behind my front door.
Brad being gone.
And not just gone. It’s like he was never there. He, nor most ofmypossessions. Most of what’s missing was paid forby me.
Once the shock of it all sank in, and I could take inventory of the situation, I realized it was more than the couch and the television. He took my grandmother’s lamp. The blender I bought on sale and paid off in installments. My damn jewelry box. And the fucking towels. Every. Single. One. He even took the coffee maker. And he doesn’t drink coffee!
But the worst part was my car. Between us, mine was the only reliable one. They both have over 200,000 miles on them. But at least mine would still start. I never knew what I was in for with his truck.
Out of the blue, my inner Tuesday monologue gets all fired up. “And just like a lazy man, he couldn’t even be bothered to leave a note. No half-assed apology. He left a whole lot of nothing.”
Basically, the same thing he put into this relationship.
Was it all for spite? Was he selling it all on Facebook Marketplace? I mean, why take all of the towels? Is there a high demand for used towels? Maybe Ryan Gosling’s. But certainly not mine.
I should’ve seen it coming. The signs were there. It was becoming increasingly more apparent he was a freeloader. In hindsight, there were an awful lot of evenings that I’d crawl home after work or taking care of Mom, only to find him out. “With the guys,” he’d said.
Yet in all the time we’d been together, I hadn’t actually met any guys. Had there been someone else? Or perhaps multiple girls? Had all that time on his phone been spent trolling for dates on Tinder?And here I was worried it was porn.The thought is both anger-producing and nauseating in equal measure.
Part of me is madder than a wet hornet. I want to storm down to the police department and press charges. But how? How would I prove what was here and that it belonged to me? It’s not like I have itemized receipts or insurance on any of it. Quite honestly, the effort it would take to put myself through it would cost more than any of the items are worth. Not to mention continuing to fuel this anger and betrayal. It’s not that I don’t think I’m worthy of going after him. I’m not a wimp.
I’m simply exhausted.
Incredibly tired by all life has thrown my way, day after day. From the effort it takes to keep my chin held high after each blow the universe hurls in my direction. Pretending that it doesn’t bother me, not wanting to give my enemies the satisfaction, or my mother or friends cause for concern.
So here I am, ready to pick up the pieces and move on. Another hard lesson learned. This time, it’s going to stick. I don’t care how charismatic or good looking they are. They can keep?—
“I’m sorry, Miss?”
“Oh, yes?”
“Can I help you with something?”
Great balls of fire, Grace. Get it together.“Yes. I need to rent a truck,” I tell the clerk. “One of the smaller ones.”
“For moving?”
