Until recently, I’d had a really hard time getting her to let me in. And I mean, all the way in, not just some surface level shit that she lets everybody see.
She’s shown me the real, authentic version of herself and I love it.
I loveher.
Not that she’s let me tell her. Every time I’ve opened my mouth to say it, it’s like she can sense it, and shuts me up.
A kiss.
A hand to the mouth.
Sex.
That first day I said it, it was all she wanted to hear. But now, she’s either sick of it, or worried it will lose its meaning.
Not that it ever will.
She’d even go as far as to tell me she didn’t want to hear it, only for her cheeks to turn beet red. I knew it was a blatant lie.
Stepping out of the cab in front of the Lotus, the driver pops open the trunk for me, and I pull out my single suitcase before wheeling it inside the bar where I used to work.
Technically, I guess I still do.
I push the door open, noting the lack of crowd that a Wednesday afternoon brings, where my colleague, Shane, stands, wiping down the bar top to prepare for a night of nothingness.
“Hey, man,” he says, looking up and away from the bar, toward my hand carrying my luggage. “Need a hand?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“I’m alright. Thanks, though. Good to see you,” I reply with a nod, wheeling my luggage behind me, heading up the narrow staircase toward my bedroom.
A part of me hoped that while I was away, Oscar, the owner, would’ve had the apartment turned into a livable space for whoever occupies it next, but not only has he not done that, he’sfailed to maintain it at all. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes has somehow gotten worse since I was here last. The stained yellow walls darker than they were before.
Flicking on the light switch, no sign of electricity illuminates the space, not even an attempted flicker. I make a mental note to call Oscar, before throwing my suitcase onto the bed, and unzip it to pack away the rest of my things.
There isn’t much, maybe a few pairs of board shorts, some old t-shirts and my single ceramic plate and mug.
I could’ve just walked away from it all and never looked back, but part of me felt like I had to come say goodbye to it, as though this place had feelings of its own and would miss me.
I shove my hand between the mattress and the wall out of habit, and pull a dollar note out that was wedged in between the springs.
Smiling to myself, I leave it on the kitchenette for the next person to pocket.
Opening the oven, I find an old t-shirt that doesn’t have the smell of beer ingrained into it, and throw it into my bag before I close it.
Giving the space one last look, I close the door behind me and make my way back down the stairs.
“Out so soon?” Shane asks, stacking glassware on top of each other to form a mini tower.
“I guess this is goodbye,” I say with an awkward laugh. “Here.” I throw him the keys, and he catches them mid air. “See you around.”
I wheel my suitcase the three blocks, appreciating the feeling of the Californian sun on my skin. I make a mental note to head to the beach the moment I’ve unpacked and had a decent sleep in my new, enormous bed.
I know I’ve spent the last three months on a bed that my feet didn’t hang off, but it’s nice knowing my new place is no longer temporary.
It’s even better knowing my girl lives right below me.
Literally, one floor down.
And she’s none the wiser.
