The offers thatwerein on my apartment? Gone. They’ve vanished, disa-fucking-ppeared into thin air. My realtor saidno onewas looking at my property because of the recent disturbances. My jaw hit the floor and I had to do whatever I could to clear my apartment’s name!
I just had one, teensy-weensy, little problem. I couldn’t sell this fucking place if I couldn’t get them to leave me fuck alone! No matter how many times I called the police, after the first time at least, they were either gone by the time they showed up, or they just left when the cops asked them to. My favorite was when I’d ask to press charges for harassment, I was told, ‘There’s nothing we can do, Ma’am.’
Motherfucking why?! WHY NOT?!Hot tears started pouring down my cheeks like it was a fucking competition to see which side could produce more. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t keep it together lately. Why I couldn’t go days without crying. I spent more and more time at work. Even sleeping there. Two nights ago when Caleb showed up drunk, I saw the notification, called the police from the floor of the hospital I was on. I let them know I wasn’t home, my ex was harassing me at my home and my landlord was about to kick me out. I said I wanted to press charges.
“I know this call is being recorded, so I want it recorded that I called again and again for help from the harassment I am receiving from my ex-husband and his mistress. It has been two months. How much longer until something can be done? I see everything she’s doing on camera right now!”
I knew I sounded creepy thanks to the calm of my voice, but I was genuinely so upset that no one had done a damn thing. I wanted them to know in case Caleb turned out to be crazy or Becky went ballistic one time and broke in.
Yes, it was my last night, but I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to spend even one more night in this hellhole! I didn’t know what to do and the last time I called the cops, I just burst into tears when he said that there wasn’t anything he could do,with a straight face. He said that to my face. I asked what I was supposed to do then.
His response?
“Have you considered moving?” The dark, humorless, chuckle, or cackle, based on how his face contorted, I let out must have given him a clue as to what my next words would be.
“I’ve been trying to sell this place for two months, Officer. Word aboutthemhas gotten out. No one wants to buy the place of someone they think is keeping a child's father from it, even though they’re the ones who had the fucking affair in the first place! No one gives a shit that I’m the one who was cheated on, not the other fucking woman! So, I ask again, Officer. What. Do. I. Fucking. Do?” I gritted out, my chest heaving by the end of it, from trying to hold back the angry tears that were ready to show him just how furious I was by his insensitive suggestion. My voice was thick with emotion as I continued before he could open his mouth and say something else insensitive and uncaring.
“I don’t mean to cuss at you. But I’m doingeverythingI can think of that I should be doing. I’m calling you guys. I’m trying to get it documented for a restraining order. I’ve got the paperwork inside for the witness statement they want me to give because my ex, who keeps coming to beg me back, got raped, by the woman shouting about what an absolute, wretched bitch I am. What. Do. I do?” I begged! My emotions during that conversation two days ago with the police were like a wave, going from really high off that swell of anger, then to small and sad by the end of it. Because I was so tired.
I couldn’t keep doing this.
Eddie wrapped me in a hug, bringing me back to the present. I sobbed. Harder than I have in months. Harder than I thought I would for a long time. He somehow got us out of the cab and into my apartment. Somehow, he got me into my bathroom, and soaking in a warm bubble bath. While I bathed, he got me my favorite of his college sweats, one of the only outfits I hadn’t packed up yet. When I was done soaking, I toweled off and put them on. I opened the bathroom door and he walked me over to the bed, sitting behind me, brushing and braiding my hair. I felt like a doll.
I should never have told them I was fine.
I’m not.
I'm not okay.
Eddie held me, for how long, I don’t know. What I do know, is that he held me until the knocking on my door began. I use the term loosely. I tensed as soon as I heard it with his drunken mumbling again. My phone pinged with a notification. The doorbell camera, showing Caleb swaying back and forth.
My whole body flinched as soon as it started, the noise, the repeated knocking and mumblings, as well as the phone pinging. Eddie tensed when I did, his hackles raised on the defensive.
Shit.
This wasn’t how I wanted him to find out.
“W-wait,” I said, already reaching for my phone to call the police again. He was already standing, ready to give either a verbal tongue lashing or an ass-whooping to who I knew was Caleb, Eddie didn’t know that. He had no idea who it was behind the door that was making me tense up like this. I grabbed his hand as he took his first steps toward the door, anchoring him feebly to me. I looked up at him, but he kept his eyes locked on the door like whoever was cop-knocking was going to somehow break the door down with their fist.
If that’s all the stronger my door was, I’ve got bigger problems.
“Who.” He demanded and I held his hand tighter, as I looked at the floor. He was gonna be so mad at me. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to take a moment, but it was clearly not quick enough for him.
“Who, Devin Fia?”I knew he was seconds from snapping if I was getting the full name. I was only ever ‘Fia’ to him.
Ever.
Once my mouth opened, it all spilled out like it was one big, giant, long word instead of separate ones that formed actual sentences.
“One of two people who have been doing this for weeks. All hours of the day. All twenty-four of them. My apartmentwon't sell because of them and the cops told me to move. That was the great advice they gave me from all sixty-five times I have called them in the last two and a half months.”
“Fia. I’m trying to have…any kind of patience. But I’m about to break their fucking hand if they keep knocking on this door. Man or woman. You’re just fueling the fire. Now, how hard can I swing? Bitch or whore?”
“Caleb. It sounds like Caleb’s drunk ramblings. It doesn’t sound like Becky’s banshee screeching,” I muttered, hoping he couldn’t react like this. But I should have known better. He’d never let anyone treat me like this, let alone one of them!
He broke my grip on his arm and stormed the front door, flinging it open, damn near ripping it off its hinges. Caleb stood stock still in the doorway, looking like a deer in headlights. All confusion and disbelief after the door not opening for weeks. He was looking up at Eddie like he’d just pissed himself, and he might have. It wouldn’t have been the first time he got too drunk and pissed his pants.
Eddie was huffing, standing over top of him, and looked like he could have had smoke coming out of the top of his head. I knew he was about to make a scene. A loud one, if his stance was anything to go by. Partly in, partly out, of the apartment, and turned to the side, giving just enough of a glance into the apartment so everyone who looked could see in and see me standing there.
