hung up on me.
Somewhere in the fog of my thinking, I am aware that I need to get myself out of this rut. But knowing and doing are two different things. I’m stuck back in that spiral I can’t climb out of. Even if I try to put a leg forward, I get sucked back into the vortex. Not that I’ve tried too hard just yet.
Maybe I should just go home. There’s no need for me to be here anymore. I’ve angered a whole heap of people. My publishing house is going to write me off. Rob has given up. I haven’t taken my editor’s calls. I don't care that James Garvey is riding high in the bestseller charts. He can take my crown.
I’m sick of writing, of the relentless schedule. I'm sick of making words mean something when life itself has no meaning.
I reach across the floor trying to grab the packet of potato chips lying just out of my reach. I stretch over, reaching out for it, and fall off the couch, hitting the floor with a thud.
Crap.
I knock over a half full can of Pepsi. The coffee colored liquid sinks, bubbles and all, into the beige carpet, leaving an ugly stain.
I growl in annoyance. She’s not even here to clean it up.
The doorbell rings, but I’m not expecting anyone. I ignore it and climb back onto the couch with my bag of chips but the doorbell rings a few more times, and pisses me off even more. Eventually, I drag myself up to answer it.
“I’m coming!” I holler, when it rings again. There’s a persistent fucker on the other side of the door. Who the hell could it be? Jamie knows better than to come here.
Mari?
Has she come to make amends?
But when I open the door, it’s Jamie’s ugly face I’m staring into. “What the hell do you want?” I snarl.
His eyes narrow. He doesn’t look too enamoured to see me either. “I need to get some more of Mari's clothes.”
I sneer. “She sent you again? What are you, her lapdog?” I open the door to let him in.
“I'm here because she never wants to see you again,” he says, telling me something that is no surprise at all.
I scowl. Didn't he just take some of her things last week? “Take everything. Take the whole goddamn lot.” I really don't want to see him here again. Or her.
I walk up the stairs, he follows. Even though he knows where her room is now, I feel the need to see it again for myself.
I haven’t stepped foot inside here and as soon as we enter, I catch a hint of her floral scent. The dresser has a few things still on it. Jamie walks over to a closet and grabs a few clothes.
“Take it all,” I bark.
“She only needs a few business suits.”
I don't want him here and I don't want any memory of her. “Take. It. All.”
Jamie's face hardens. “I don't have time for that. We're busy. She’s busy.” It's the way he says it that catches my attention. They are busy doing what?
“How is she?” I ask. I'm curious to know, now that he's pushed all thought of her to the front of my mind. I'd buried all thoughts and feelings about her. Pushed them to the back, trodden on them and kept them down, and now he's brought them all to the forefront again.
He doesn't answer, but instead, pulls out her clothes. What does she need business suits for? “Did she find another job?” Or maybe she has an interview. I hope she gets the job because she needs the money.
He throws a few things into his bag, and picks up suits on hangers. His silence troubles me. “Is she okay?” I ask.
“As if you care.” He gives me a dirty look.
I do care. I’m in sore place right now, but I do care.
“You’ve got sugar all over your beard,” Jamie points out. I wipe it away quickly with the back of my hand. Then I smooth down the front of my t-shirt because I’m suddenly conscious that I must look like shit. That I probably smell, and that he knows it. I look like a slob. I feel like a slob. He’ll go back and tell Mari what a train wreck I am.
“What’s happened to you?” he asks. “You look like a mess. Do you miss her that much?”
I run a self-conscious hand across my beard, hoping to wipe away all traces of sugar,