the board held by the homeless man. I'd ridden the elevator down, and walked out of the apartment building.
Every step I'd taken had echoed the thumping of my heart. I am doing this. Really doing this. I am leaving him. Good thing I had gone online and returned the money already. A few days ago, I'd checked my bank account and the zeroes in my account had brought home exactly how much I stood to gain from this relationship. I could pay off my debts, expand my business, ensure my parents are taken care of for the rest of their lives... And he'd always take me for granted. He'd known that I could be bought. Next time we came to an impasse... He'd know how to get his way. Throw more money my way...
And no, it’s not only the money that binds us. There is so much more—emotions and conflicts and a buzzing physical attraction that shows no sign of abating. There is so much there to build on... But the money...would always be a barrier... Unless he looks past it. Unless I take a risk, and leave him... Give him space to figure out his shit, while I do the same thing. I'd pushed forward, and had almost stumbled across the outstretched legs of the homeless guy.
"Excuse me," I mutter and step around him... Which is when I spot his shoes: tailormade, Italian leather, spotless, and polished to within an inch of its life. They seem familiar. Huh? I stare at them. Where have I seen them before?
"Pretty fancy, huh?" Homeless guy chortles, "Think these will impress the ladies?"
I glance up at his face. "I am sure they’d have an impact," I say. "Where did you get them?"
He frowns, "You mean, what's a man like me doing with shoes like these?"
My cheeks heat. Hell, that hadn't come out polite at all, had it? "I meant, uh... They seem familiar. Someone I know had a similar pair."
"Boyfriend?" He asks.
"He's...ah, currently no friend," I mutter.
"Ach!" he cackles, "Had a fall out with your man, huh?"
"Maybe, probably." I raise my shoulders, "He's an arrogant so-and-so. Know what I mean? He thinks he can buy anything."
"Not you, obviously." He nods.
"Exactly... See?" I flick my hair over my shoulder, "And he claims to love me."
"Do you?" he shoots back.
"Huh?" I frown, "Do I what?"
"Do you love him?"
"Yes," I reply. "Wait, I mean... No... I mean, yes...but..."
"No buts." He tilts his head up, pulls his legs up to sit cross-legged, "You gotta tell him that."
"I do?" I scowl.
"Absolutely," he jerks his chin, "better to take the risk and be sorry than to be a coward and—"
"Regret it," I complete his statement. "Yeah... Well..." I glance away. A pressure builds behind my eyes and my heart begins to race. What the hell is wrong with me? This constant back and forth... This not knowing my own mind... It's bloody tiring. So much easier to plan out a menu and bake. Even though the outcome of a dish is not completely in my hands, at least I can control the environment... Decide the ingredients. And if I change something, hell, I know the risks of what I’m doing. But with him...? I can't predict a thing. Not my reaction to him, not his ability to throw me off guard... Well, except for that sizzling attraction between us that throbs and ties us together. For better or for worse—that is one thing I can count on. The one ingredient that would never fail to liven up the dish... I mean, the relationship... I mean... I blink, turn to him. "I should, right?" I ask.
He lowers his board to the ground, then glances toward the apartment. "Go on, then."
I take in his features, those intelligent eyes undeniable, despite his unkept whiskers.
"Who are you?" I frown. "What are you doing here?"
"All the world's a stage and we are but actors," he chuckles.
"First Byron, then Shakespeare?" I stare at him. "You have a thing for poets?"
"Or for pompous wankers who churned out pretentious shit."
"Sounds like someone I know," I mumble.
"Don't we all?" He rises to his feet, sketches an exaggerated bow, "Don't delay, young lady." He snatches his hat with the change inside and slams it on his dreadlocks. "Goodbye." He hauls the board over his shoulder and walks off.
"Bye." I turn, retrace my steps toward the apartment. What a strange man. He was well educated, no doubt about it. And his accent... I could have sworn he sounded almost posh.