by CY Jones
Taking out whatever bags I can find, not caring if they are mine or The Turd’s, I make a mad dash for the walk-in closet and grab as many clothes as I can from my side and stuff them in the bags until they are practically bursting. I do the same with the drawers, grabbing up all my jewelry and whatever shoes I can fit in the bags I have left. In the bathroom, I take my toiletries, tossing them into my purse. Whatever else I consider important and can’t live without from the apartment I grab as well. Chaz’s place is already furnished, so I’m not worried about the furniture. The proverbial who bought what argument is not high on my priority list right now. I won’t be sleeping on the floor, so that’s something. At this point I’d sleep in the public restroom at the subway station to get away from The Turd.
My cell beeps with a message and I pull it out reluctantly and then breathe out a relieved breath. The Turd is having dinner with his father and won’t be home till late. Good. More time for me to get the hell out of dodge. I might as well cancel the movers, 'cause right now might be my only chance to get away. He’s gone insane in the membrane, and after what he said about sending the intern to the airport, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had one casing the place, keeping an eye out for me leaving. Fuck, how am I going to get away from here without him knowing? An idea forms in my head and I call for an Uber before I call downstairs for Franklyn’s assistance.
“Hey, Frank, I have a strange request. I’m going on a sudden trip. Do you think you can help me carry my bags out the back entrance?”
“Sure, Miss, do you need me now?”
“Yes, the Uber will be here in five.” After hanging up, I wait for Frank. Security will keep anyone from entering the lobby without permission and with Franklyn’s help, I can sneak out the back door.
It doesn’t take long for him to get to my door and when he sees all the bags, his eyes widen in surprise. “Are you going on a long trip? You just got back,” he asks curiously.
“I’m going to level with you, Frank. I’m leaving my fiancé. Have you seen anyone hanging around the building who shouldn’t?”
He’s quiet and I didn’t think he was going to answer. Have I gone too far? The Turd is a resident here too. Maybe his loyalties are to the one wielding a dick. Bros before hoes.
“My granddaughter was in the same situation as you. You may not have any external bruises, but I know the look of someone running from a controlling man. I was there to help her and it would be my honor to help you too.” I’m all choked up and could cry. Damn it. I’m made from tougher stuff than that.
“Thanks, Franklyn. You don’t know...”
“No need to thank me,” he interrupts my weepy apology.
"I saw Mr. Chatworth talking to some young looking kid outside the building. When he jumped in the cab the kid stayed out there. I assume he’s keeping a lookout for you.”
“You assume right. What did the guy look like?” I ask.
“Redhead, freckles. Young enough to still be in college.” That would be Matthew. He’s a senior in college and has been an intern for the company for the last two years. I should have known he’d choose him to spy on me. Matt is such an asslicker, just like The Turd. But couldn’t he be more inconspicuous? The Turd had to know I’d spot him right away unless he doesn’t care that I know. He’s that fucking unhinged.
“We should go,” I tell Franklyn, loading myself with bags while he grabs what’s left. I’d rather get everything in one trip. I don’t want to ever have to come back here. I’m still leaving a lot of shit behind, but who cares. It’s just stuff. Mostly bought by him.
Per my instructions, the Uber is parked out back and I toss what I can in the trunk, putting what didn’t fit in the back seat. Another good thing about having the Uber come in the back is the address is different for some reason. I’m lucky I randomly knew that when an Uber I had before put in the wrong address. I may be paranoid, but if The Turd somehow does get to the company, he won’t be able to find my driver and after what Frank told me, he won’t snitch on me. His little spy is out front and unless the security company in charge of this building wants a lawsuit, they won’t be snitching on me either, no matter how much The Turd offers to pay them.
“You’re all set. Take care of yourself,” Franklyn says before shutting the door for me and I give him a little wave as the driver takes off.
Evening traffic is heavy like it’s supposed to be and it takes us a while to get to Upper Manhattan. When we’re close, I can easily tell the difference. The parks are picturesque, like a Hallmark movie. All the homes may be old, but they are well preserved, leaving the character and the history of the prestigious area. The streets are completely clean, not a city bum or someone who’s not supposed to be here in sight. Nanny's push kids in strollers and holding the hands of the ones who can walk, the pretty twiggy jogger in her bright workout clothes and expensive headphones run by, and a dog walker with way too many pampered pooches is dragged by, barely holding onto all the leashes twisted together. Town Cars drive past with probably a rich couple in the back on the way to some charity event or a silver spoon teenager too spoiled to ride the subway or take the bus.
It may sound like I don’t like rich people because really, I don’t have a problem with them. My brother is one of the one percenters now and Chaz was born into it. It’s not like I lived in a dump or a bad neighborhood even. Nothing says rich like Upper Manhattan. It’s just the mentality of those who didn’t have to lift a finger to get where they are that drives me crazy. Those are the ones I dislike because they think they are better than everyone else due to the size of the bank account they were born with.
The Uber driver is actually a nice man and helps me carry my bags up the steps and to the door of the townhouse. Outside, it’s beautiful. A row of townhomes with white washed brick and a wide satin painted black door with gold accents. I dig in my purse until I find the set of keys Chaz gave me before I left. I'm still in disbelief that he’s letting me stay here rent-free. I’m going to have to thank him somehow.
If I thought the outside was charming, inside is the house of my dreams. A touch of flashy like Chaz with an eye catching black iron chandelier that hangs from the high ceilings of the foyer. The lines and curves are a work of art. A showpiece that leaves everyone talking. The round lights peaking out are subtle enough to blend in, but not to get overshadowed by the dark iron.
The stairs are right at the door, but I pull my bags into the entryway and leave them there so I can explore. I rather not lug a bunch of suitcases up the stairs right now. I am way too tired for that shit.
The living area is just as grand as the entryway, decorated to keep its charm. On one wall is the same exposed brick as the outside covered with a black iron roman numeral clock and iron pieces of art instead of paintings. There’s a real fireplace, not one of those fake electric ones like at my brother and Paige’s place. Artistically spaced on the mantel are Tiffany & Co silver frames with black and white photos of Chaz and some really hot Asian dude that must be his ex, Michael. He said he hasn’t been here since the breakup and that I’d find things belonging to him and his ex that he didn’t bother to take with him. Chaz doesn’t talk much about him, not even mentioning a name. He must have been really hurt by him. In these pictures, they look so young and free and so fucking happy. Did the distance really kill what looks like the perfect couple?
Setting the picture back down, I walk over to the sectional and flop on the cream cushions. They aren’t as hard as I thought they would be and I immediately sink into them. Grabbing the chocolate mink throw, laying neatly across the arm, I wrap myself in it, burrowing my face in the softness of the fur before my eyes grow heavy and close on their own volition and before I know it, I’m sound asleep. It has been a long day. I’m off tomorrow, but I have a feeling the aftermath of my leaving will be explosive. I need all the rest I can get.
The next morning, I wake feeling refreshed, having had plenty of rest the night before. My original plan for today was to be directi
ng movers, but since I have no intention of ever going back to my old apartment that freed up a lot of time. Chaz’s place has furnishings, but it doesn't have any food or coffee. Food, I can live without but coffee, never. I’m the type of person that if I didn’t like pain, I’d guzzle the shit straight from the drip. The first thing on today’s agenda is a shower then coffee. Everything else can wait.
After a quick shower in one of the most luxurious master baths I have ever been in, I dig through one of the bags I left in the entryway finding a suitable outfit. I don’t plan on running into anyone I know, but this is New York where fashion is a requirement for membership. Hopefully, skinny jeans and a soft cable knit sweater and flats will do. Until I put my clothes away and see what I got, I won’t be able to make any substantial clothing choices. My hair is actually behaving today, so I leave it down, only putting product on it to keep it from frizzing. I forgo makeup. I think today I’ll rock the natural look.
It’s freezing out today. Digging through more bags, I find a nice beige trench coat only slightly wrinkled. “Score,” Gloria cheers. Shaking my head, I grab my keys and purse off the counter, lock up and hail a cab once I get to a busier street with more traffic. Starbucks is my normal spot to feed my obsession, but the cabby was real chatty and had a go-to place for me to try. I love discovering new treasures, so I take him up on his suggestion. Besides, The Turd knows I’m a coffeeholic. For all I know, he has spies stationed out front of every Starbucks in the city, waiting on me to show my face to get my next fix, so they can drag me back to that sex prison. In the short time I was gone, Drew has changed and I do not like the person he’s turned into. What the hell happened to him? Maybe he has always been that way and I just didn’t notice.
The thing I liked most about him was that he was down-to-earth. Yes, he’s a rich pretty boy, but he didn’t act like a pompous ass. Our relationship was even, smooth. We’d give and take from each other, but now it’s take, take, take and I’m not even his to take from. I have nothing to give, yet he’s insistent I give more. He took the senator from me and last night... God… I don’t even want to think about how he took me by force and made me do things I didn’t want to do.
The coffee shop is small but charming. Ordering a cup of heavenly brew and a blueberry muffin, I take a seat next to the window and look out into the city. It’s early, but the streets are already full of the daily hustle and bustle. It’s chaotic, yet I couldn’t see myself living anywhere else. California is nice and all, but it’s too still. I’m the type of person who has to stay in constant motion or the day isn’t right. This jungle I live in, I love calling it home. I thrive here; when in Cali, I felt stifled. I love Justin and my brother, even Paige and Chaz, but to move back there. I just can’t.
My thoughts drift back to Justin’s email. I haven’t answered him back. When I woke up, I just stared at it, reading it over and over. How can I write him back after what I did? He has so much faith in me, he’s trying so damn hard yet…”Yesterday was not your fault,” logical Sophia whispers.
“It was. I did everything he told me to without much argument. I got off. If I didn’t want him to fuck me, I would not have cum.”
“You don’t need me to tell you that’s not true,” Sophia replies.
“Yes, she does, she’s being an idiot,” fuck it Nancy comments.
“No one asked for your two cents,” I growl.
“Want me to go back and burn his flat down?” Gloria suggests.
“Are you insane?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes, batshit,” she laughs and believe it or not, I smile. With a lighter heart, I hit reply on Justin’s email and write.
Dear A Broken Man
You’re not a scientist, but a real estate broker, so what’s with the sudden change in your career path? Although I won’t deny you’d look crazy sexy in a lab coat, I wouldn’t want to see you hurt that pretty face when you blow up the lab. I think your idea is crazy, but call me insane because here I am, going along with it. How does this work exactly? Do we ask a bunch of questions? Tell each other our dreams and greatest desires like you’d do Satan? What do we do in these modern age love letters? As I’m sure you know, I’m back and I’m still settling in. Tomorrow, I start work, so fingers crossed I don’t get fired for speaking my mind because let’s face it, no way am I sitting back and keeping my mouth shut. I can’t really think of anything to write, so I’ll wait for you to get back to me with answers to my questions.
PS: Are there cookies at the end of this ride, because if there are, my favorite is chocolate chip?
Love,
Temporarily Damaged
Guzzling what’s left of my coffee, I order another to go and hail another cab to the Publix I saw while walking. It’s within walking distance of the townhouse and nowhere near my old neighborhood, so the chances of running into anyone I know are slim. After buying a couple bags of groceries and a lot of coffee, I walk back to the townhouse, feeling better than when I left. The neighborhood is just as beautiful as yesterday and I even smile back at those I pass on the sidewalk like a well-functioning people person. I can do this. I just need to keep seeing the brighter side.
After putting the groceries away, I turned my attention to my bags still in the doorway, looking like a giant eyesore, and for the rest of the day, I spend it hauling bags up the stairs and putting away my things I brought with me. My wardrobe was incomplete, but I can get by with what I have for now. It’s not like I have rent to pay, so I can always go shopping later. Justin didn’t respond to my email, which bummed me out a little, but I didn’t exactly jump at his either, so now is a good time than any other to work on learning patience. He’s probably busy working. I know for a fact to spend so much time with me, he put off a lot of engagements, now that I’m gone, it’s only natural he’d be playing catch up and there’s no such thing as a weekend off in real estate. In fact, that’s when it’s the busiest.
I finally got around to calling my brother, letting him know I made it back and I'm safely at Chaz’s. I did not inform him about what happened with my ex. That mouth vomit wouldn’t have been good for anyone. It wouldn’t have mattered what Paige tried to do to stop him, he would have caught a private jet back here and murdered The Turd for sure. After speaking with my brother, I called Chaz and gushed over his place, thanking him once again for his generosity. I don’t know what I would have done if I was stuck with nowhere to go and forced to stay with The Turd. Forget my brother, fuck it Nancy would have killed him herself. She has no problem with wearing an orange jumpsuit for the rest of her life. Constantly I have to remind her that prison wear is not on the cusp of fashion.
8
Blackmail
Early Monday morning, I’m apprehensive about going to work, but I get dressed anyway in a look to kill. My armor for the masses that will be sure to attack. My pencil skirt is tight and forms to my body like butter, the silk blouse I’m wearing is vintage with delicate hand stitching and tiny pearl buttons. Roped around my neck is a chunky pearl and gold Chanel necklace, and Louboutin peep-toe heels. Pearl Chanel earrings for my ears and on my wrist is the gold Rolex Harrison bought me last year for my birthday. I look good and I know it. My statement shouts I don’t need a man to dress well.
I was surprised when I didn’t hear from The Turd yesterday. I was so sure he’d call and have a hissy fit about me leaving him. Surely he freaked out after he got back from his father’s and his little watch boy couldn’t tell him of my whereabouts. My only guess is he’ll ambush me at work, but what’s done is done. There will be no winter wedding and reception at the Four Seasons, I’m never going back to the apartment, and he can’t make me. I’m fucking free and it’s about time I spread my wings and fly.
A much too short ride on the subway and less than a mile walk, I arrive and stare up at the Chatworth Media Inc. building like it’s the destination spot for my impending doom. Suddenly, I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate. Maybe, I should have brought a paper bag with me an
d kept it handy in my purse. I can do this. Breathe in, breathe out. It’s just a building we work at, not some dungeon tower. We won’t need rope or long-ass extensions to escape. We can walk out with our own designer heel covered feet. Sophia is good at pep talks. I feel better already. Freak out over and out.
I march into the building like I own the place. Once in the building, we’re supposed to stop at the checkpoint and show our work badge, but since security is used to seeing me, they don’t bother to check. Besides, the slackers are far too busy checking out my ass as I walk through the metal detector to worry about a little silly thing like an ID. Good thing bombers are mostly male and not hot, or we’d be screwed.
Pressing the button for the elevators, I wait with the other ants, and we all pile inside when the doors slide open with a cheerful ding, filling the stainless steel rectangle to capacity. I know quite a few of them, most work on my floor, some on The Turds’ and I wait, bracing myself for their judgy stares. My ringless finger is just blaring, ‘hey, I’m single now’, but to my surprise, all I get is a few nods in greeting and that’s it. I should have taken that as the first sign that things just aren’t right in the neighborhood. Thank you Mr. Rogers.