“I know, that’s fine. Please, it’s urgent,” I told the clueless lady with a Texas accent.
“Okay…” She tapped away on her computer and I held my breath. “Based on the card number you put in when you called, it looks like your balance was just paid a few hours ago via…” She paused: “Cash drop off at our Phoenix location.”
Motherfucker.“Who did it?” I growled.
“Excuse me?” The woman sounded distraught. “Didn’t you? You’re the sole card holder, Ma’am.”
Breathe. Just fucking breathe.
“Actually, that’s the issue. I didn’t. My ex-husband did, without my permission, and I need you to return the funds.”
She chuckled. “Return the payment? Honey, all my ex-husband gave me was a rash and a mountain of debt.”
Eww.
“Look, can I speak to your supervisor? I really need this returned. It’s complicated.”
She paused.
“Oh, alright. I’ll ask him what’s possible. Please hold.” Her voice held a little more compassion then.
I paced my room, wearing foot marks into the area rug I’d gotten in the clearance aisle at Wal-Mart. Bryce wouldn’t stop, he would do this until I went back to him. At work, they called him the Bird Dog. He would run after clients and not let up until he brought one back.
Alive or dead.
“Hi, this is Daniel, the supervisor over here at—”
“Can you please return my payment?” I was getting really annoyed with this overly polite bullshit. No one loved working customer service that much, and didn’t they know my life was falling apart?
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, if it were a wire transfer or check I could. This was paid in cash, so who would I return it to but you?”
Fuck.
Defeat crept into my very bones then. Bryce knew what he was doing.
“Okay … thank you.” I hung up and fell face-first into my bed, screaming in frustration into my pillow.
I wrestled with what to do about the situation over the next hour as I got ready for my night out with Angela. Did I call Bryce? Tell him to fuck off? Tell Ethan he paid off my credit card? Tell the police he was the nicest stalker in the world paying off my shit?
Everything felt hopeless and wouldn’t heed the results I wanted. Calling Bryce would only give him what he wanted, which was contact with me. Telling Ethan would only enrage him. Calling the police for something like this was a joke.
I was going to go out tonight, get completely smashed, and forget that this shit show had ever happened. After showering, I looked at my two options for dresses. Option one, a super adorable pink sundress that was flowy and would look sexy with black heels. Option two, a total fuck-me-from-behind black tight number with mesh cutouts on the sides.
Ethan’s Kings club meeting was tonight. He would totally be out there watching me as I walked to leave…
With that in mind, I chose option two.
Bryce would have thrown me in the closet and tossed away the key if I ever wore something this provocative. After trying it on in the store, I’d put it back, but Angela had encouraged me to buy it.
“Honey, trust me, one day you will pop out three kids and your boobs will be at your knees and you will regret never wearing a dress like this,” she’d said.
She was right. Hailey 2.0 liked her body and wanted to show it off once in a while. Especially when Ethan was around to see it.
After packing my booty into the size four dress, I curled my hair and put on make-up. Bryce had never let me get to a size six. Any time I gained weight he would repeatedly mention going to the gym and not eating carbs. It was only now that I looked at the dress size number, which was a bit snug since I’d last tried it on, that I realized he’d probably given me an eating disorder. I’d been eating a bit more carefree with Ethan and put on a healthy five pounds; that would have never happened in L.A., not without consequences. Each time I realized a part of myself that Bryce had tainted, it made me horribly sad. Taking a deep breath, I shook it off, choosing to focus on the good.
Holy shit, I was going out with a girlfriend and Bryce wasn’t there to shoot daggers at me if I said something stupid or danced funny or talked to another guy. This was going to be epic!
When Angela texted me that she was getting into an Uber and on her way to pick me up, I made my way out of my room. A group of male voices floated up from the shop room floor where their “meeting” was being held. Their meetings consisted of drinking beer—though I noticed Ethan never seemed to drink too much—and talking shit about other people and each other. Who had a nicer bike, who was more buff, who fucked the most girls blah, blah, blah. I would listen to their chats waft up over the staircase and chuckle sometimes. Men were so predictable. Motorcycles, working out, and sex was about all they cared about.
