Page 15
Did Owen stay true to his word?
Unlikely.
I honestly don’t even care anymore.
If he wants to live in filth, let him. My days in this godforsaken place are numbered and the nastier it gets, the more motivated I’ll be.
Opening the door, I let out a quiet gasp.
I wouldn’t have thought it possible but somehow, it’s worse than it was this afternoon. More beer cans are piled up on the end table next to Owen’s recliner and some are spilling onto the floor now. Owen is sound asleep in that damn chair, some sort of game show blaring from the TV.
Jesus.
Why aren’t the neighbors banging on the damn walls to get him to turn it down?
Turning towards the kitchen, my jaw drops. It seems Owen did pick up all the empty food boxes but instead of taking them to the dumpster at the other end of the parking lot, he just tossed them onto the floor next to the overflowing can.
As I take another step into the apartment, I gently close the door behind me and my gaze rakes over the damage left behind by this fucking man child. New dishes have been added to the sink and there is a small gaggle of ants scurrying around on the counter next to it.
“You have to be joking,” I hiss, my horror growing as I step into the kitchen. There is what looks to be spaghetti sauce splattered on the linoleum floor, left to dry. My eyes trail up to the counter where two empty cans of Spaghetti-O’s are sitting, one on its side, dripping sauce down the front of the entire cabinet.
Good fucking God.
How hard is it to grab a paper towel and clean up after yourself?
The fridge is also half-open and to my left, there is an uneaten bowl of cereal just sitting on the counter.
Why even make a bowl of cereal if you’re not going to eat it?
It feels fucking malicious at this point.
This will take hours to clean and I haven’t even inspected the living room, bedroom or bathroom yet. My two days off from the hotel will be filled with trying to straighten this all out and make it livable again.
All I want to do is sink to my knees on this dirty ass floor and sob.
I’m so fucking tired.
As I stare at the mess around me, anger slowly seeps into my veins.
No.
Fuck this.
I’m done.
I have no damn idea what I’m going to do or where I’ll go but I don’t care. Hell, I’ll sleep in my fucking Jeep if I have to but I am not spending another second in this hellhole.
Or in this relationship.
With shaking hands and my mind made up, I square my shoulders and quietly walk past a still unconscious Owen to the bedroom. I make a beeline for the closet and pull two suitcases out, unzipping them and laying them out on the bed before heading back to the closet to grab my clothes. A lot of them are dirty, something I was planning to work on during my days off, but that’s a problem I’ll worry about tomorrow. Maybe I’ll find a laundry mat or see if I can use Mila’s washer and dryer.
I don’t know.
But I’m not staying here.
Once I’ve gathered all my clothes, tossing the dirty ones into one suitcase and the clean ones into another, I start tossing shoes in both bags. My toiletries bag is lying on the floor of the closet and I grab it before slipping into the attached bath. I move quickly, gathering all my things from that room and shoving them into the bag haphazardly. There is a fairly good chance that something is going to leak but again, that’s a problem for another day. When I step back into the bedroom, Owen is stumbling through the door, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Hey, baby,” he says, flashing me a crooked grin that I swear, I used to find charming. Now, I’m fighting the urge to recoil. God, what the hell did I ever see in this man? “Whatcha cooking me for dinner?”
