Ten Years of Lies He Never Loved Me

I walked past the barbecue place we always used to go to. The owner was closing up for the night. She spotted me and paused. "Hey, sweetie, all by yourself tonight? Where's that man of yours?"

I gave her a smile and kept walking.

A little further down, I passed the bus stop. Once, after a fight, I'd jumped out of the car and bolted. He chased me down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into his chest. I struggled twice but couldn't break free. He told me to knock it off, said we'd talk about it at home. I said I wasn't going home. So he threw me over his shoulder.

I kicked him. He smacked my butt and said if I kicked him again, he'd toss me in the dumpster.

The people waiting at the stop all laughed.

I laughed too. And somewhere in the laughing, I stopped being angry.

I was twenty-four then. He was twenty-six.

I thought that was forever.

Now I looked up at the same bus stop. Empty. Rain had soaked the bench through. A flyer on the ad board was waterlogged, its edges peeling, drooping down like something giving up.

I stood there for a while. Drenched to the bone. Hair plastered to my face. Water running down my neck and pooling inside my collar.

Then I kept walking.

At the apartment gate, Old Mr. Barrow leaned out of the guard booth. "Oh, honey, look at you! You're soaked through. Come in and dry off!"

I waved him off, swiped my card, and went in.

I was alone in the elevator. The mirror showed me a wreck of a person. Hair hanging in wet clumps. Eye makeup smeared into two dark streaks down my face. Clothes clinging to my body like I'd just been fished out of a river.

I stared at the woman in the mirror.

Who was she?

I'd followed her for ten years, and suddenly I didn't recognize her.

The elevator doors opened. I stepped out, fumbled for my keys, unlocked the door.

The apartment was dark.

I didn't turn on the lights. Just stood in the entryway, breathing in the familiar scent. The lemongrass diffuser I'd bought. He said it smelled like dish soap. I told him he didn't know the first thing about anything.

His car keys were still sitting on the entryway console. He'd taken my car to the bar tonight, said his had an odd plate number and couldn't be on the road.

His shoes were on the rack. Sneakers tossed at lazy angles, sprawled next to my boots, which were lined up perfectly.

In the living room, the instant noodle cup from last night was still sitting on the coffee table. He hadn't thrown it away.

His jacket was draped over the couch, tossed there when he left that morning. I hadn't folded it. Just left it where it landed.

I walked into the bedroom. My side of the bed was neat. His side was a tangle of blankets balled up, pillow knocked sideways.

The closet door hung open. He'd torn through it looking for clothes that morning, and my T-shirts had been shoved to one side, wrinkled into a ball.

I stood in the middle of the bedroom, dripping water onto the floor.

Then I walked to the closet, pulled open his side, and started yanking his clothes out one by one. Throwing them on the ground.

Dress shirts. T-shirts. Hoodies. Jeans. The coat I'd bought him. The scarf I'd knitted. Two months I'd spent on that scarf, pricked my fingers more times than I could count. He never wore it. Not once. Said it was ugly.

All of it, on the floor.

Then I crouched down, picked up the coat, and held it against my chest.

It still smelled like him. Aftershave. Cigarettes. A faint trace of liquor.

I buried my face in it and breathed in deep.

Then I let go and threw it back on the pile.

I stood up, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the shower.

Hot water poured over me, and my body finally stopped shaking. I stood under the stream with my eyes closed, mind blank. Not thinking about anything.

I didn't know how long I stayed like that. When I finally stepped out, the mirror was completely fogged over. I reached up and wiped a streak through the condensation, and my face appeared.

White. Eyes swollen. Lips drained of color.

I stared at that face for a long time.

Then I walked out and picked up my phone.

A flood of unread messages.

From a coworker: "Girl, what happened?? What's that flower on your social media about?"