Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“I, uhhh . . . I’m still owed three hundred bucks,” the woman says, still loitering in my apartment.
“That’s not my problem,” I tell her before waving back toward the door, signaling for her to leave before I really do have to call the police. “Your payday just walked out the door, so if you want to get your money, I suggest you go and get it, but you’re not going to get it out of me.”
The woman huffs before heading to the door. Only she pauses and glances back at me. “For what it’s worth, if I knew this wasn’t his apartment, I never would have come in. Even I can admit this is a fucked-up situation.”
“You think?” I scoff.
She presses her lips into a hard line, and with that, she’s gone, leaving my apartment in peace. I follow her out into the hallway before grabbing all my shit at the door and bringing it in. Then the second I can, I slam the door, making sure to deadbolt it behind me.
Letting out a heavy breath, I fall back against the locked door, my day going from bad to worse. I knew Marc was never going to be my forever. I’ve felt real love before, and that wasn’t it. What I had with him was more like companionship, but still, I wasn’t expecting that level of betrayal. I feel completely blindsided, and now, instead of spending the rest of my day sulking on my couch about losing my job, I’m going to have to disinfect my home from top to bottom.
Oh shit. What if Marc played out his kinky little games with her on my bed?
Gross. Gross. Gross.
Bile rises in my throat, and I take off down the hall, desperate to get to my bedroom. The second I race through the door, I come to a screeching stop, finding my bedroom exactly how I left it, the few decorative pillows precisely in place.
“Oh, thank God,” I breathe, dropping down on the end of the bed, but I still feel icky about it anyway and immediately jump back to my feet. Just the thought of him sleeping in here with me last night has me rapidly tearing off all the blankets, sending the pillows flying across the room.
I need to spring clean this asshole out of my life.
After redressing my bed with fresh sheets, I pull my rubber dish gloves on, pulling them as far up my arms as they’ll go before grabbing every cleaning product in my home and going to town on my apartment. I scrub everything, pouring bleach across the tiles until my eyeballs begin to sting, and only once every surface in my apartment is clean enough to eat off, I grab my box of things from the office and dump them out on the couch. Taking the empty box, I walk around the apartment, collecting anything of Marc’s that he’s left here over the past few months, then using the same tape I stole from the office, I tape up the box and shove it out into the hallway, certain I’ll get around to shipping it off at some point over the next year or two.
The second the door closes behind me, peace settles through me, and I make my way over to my fridge and grab what’s left of the bottle of wine I was so happily getting through yesterday, blissfully unaware of the bullshit that was waiting for me today.
Not bothering to grab a wine glass, I drink straight from the bottle, taking it with me into my bathroom before stripping out of my work clothes and running myself a bath. After adding oils and bath salts, I slip into the warm water, willing myself to relax, but honestly, until I know how I’ll continue to pay the rent on my beautiful apartment and put food on my table, I don’t think the word relax is going to be in my vocabulary.
Starting a business is scary at the best of times, but when there isn’t money saved up to fall back on while you’re trying to get off the ground, it’s terrifying. I’m in a good position though. I have enough contacts to help get my business off the ground, and if I play my cards right, I could be ready to rent an office space within the first six months. Assuming I don’t do something to fuck it up, of course.
But first, I’ll allow myself to enjoy Christmas and New Year’s.
The last time I celebrated Christmas was six years ago with Nana and Pop. Since then, my Christmases have been nothing but a quick call to my grandparents in the morning, and then spending the rest of the day buried in emails and paperwork. Hell, I don’t even have a Christmas tree, and I doubt I could get a real one like we used to have back home.