Shirts folded on instinct. Sweatpants rolled tight. Chargers gathered from outlets I never claimed as mine. I move fast and methodically.
If I think, I stop.
If I stop, I go to her door.
So I keep moving.
She wanted out.
She asked if we should dissolve the contract. Told me I should go.
I’m giving her what she wants.
Even if it feels like tearing myself open to do it.
A sock goes in the bag.
Then another.
My hands don’t shake until I grab the hoodie she wore once because she said it smelled like me.
I stare at it for a beat too long.
My throat burns.
I shove it into the duffel.
The zipper snags. I yank it harder than I should.
My chest is tight. My breathing is too shallow. Like my body knows what I’m doing before my brain can admit it.
Leaving.
Not the room.
Her.
My phone buzzes on the dresser.
Once.
I ignore it.
Again.
I keep folding. Keep my head down. The duffel gapes open like it’s waiting to swallow the rest of me.
Buzz.
A third time. Longer this time. Insistent.
I glance at the screen.
JAX
I almost let it ring out.
Then the screen lights again. FaceTime request.
