Ex-Girlfriend's Downfall

I opened the message from Catalina.

"I agreed," I replied.

"Jamari, is it true what your mom said? I thought I was dreaming," she texted back.

"It's true. See you abroad."

Catalina sent a cheerful emoji: "Can't wait to see you!"

I dug out my passport, suddenly realizing I hadn't gathered all my visa documents, so I drove back home.

As soon as I walked in, I saw Laurel sitting on the sofa, clearly upset.

"Jamari, I've had enough of this. You're so focused on the art exhibition that you're ignoring me completely."

"Really, what can you even do right? You just make things worse."

Ever since Curtis returned from abroad, Laurel's criticisms of me had grown relentless.

I tried to smile, wanted to say something reassuring, but the words wouldn't come.

I turned away and headed to the bedroom to pack my bags, quickly gathering my things.

Aside from a few clothes and work essentials, there wasn't much there that felt like mine anymore.

As I dragged the suitcase out, Laurel looked shocked.

"Jamari, where are you going?"

I replied casually, "My mom's not feeling well today, so I'm going to stay with her."

Sensing my mood, Laurel softened, "You don't need a suitcase just to visit your mom."

"Jamari, are you still upset about Curtis and me? I've told you a million times, we're just friends..."

"Yeah, I get it," I interrupted.

Not wanting to hear more excuses, I grabbed the suitcase and headed for the door.

But Laurel clung to me, her face a mix of hurt and pleading.

In the past, I probably would have comforted her.

But now, seeing that supposedly innocent face, all I could picture was her flirting with Curtis, and it made me sick.

"Jamari, your birthday's in a few days. I have a gift for you. Hang on."

She pulled out a piece of clothing from an old box.

"Look at this. It's the latest style. I spent ages picking it out."

Laurel always knew how to keep me tied up in her games.

But I'd had enough.

I glanced at the bizarre jacket, with its strange cut-outs on the chest, and couldn't help but laugh, "Laurel, do you really think this is my style?"

She held it against me, "How would you know if you don’t try it on?"

I snatched the jacket, tossed it to the floor, and checked Curtis's social media.

I found a post from last year, and there he was, wearing the same jacket, posing oddly for the camera.

I showed the phone to Laurel, mocking her, "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? Giving me Curtis's hand-me-downs as a birthday gift—did you think that would make you clever?"

Laurel, about to retort, saw the post and avoided my eyes, mumbling weak explanations.

She thought I was naive, oblivious to it all.

But I'd grown up with my mom taking me to all the high-end boutiques. Just because I didn't like those things didn't mean I couldn't recognize them.

I shook off Laurel's hand and walked out.

Behind me, I heard Laurel's frustrated shout: "Jamari, if you leave, don't come back! Curtis only wore that jacket once. How dare you call it second-hand?"

Leaving that house felt like shaking off an obsession that had trapped me for years.