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She needed to get back to being strong. She needed to forget about this little detour into the lap of luxury and get back on track, back to reality, get back to being Scout.
She leveled her gaze on Parker, full of fresh resolve. “Okay. I’ll move in with you, but I’m going to pull my weight. I have an account with two hundred thousand dollars in it. It’s not mine, but I can—”
His eyes momentarily bulged then he shook his head. “Scout, I know what it would take for you to touch that money. Leave it. We’ll keep track, and once you start getting checks from Clemons we’ll square up. I’ve saved a ton of money since I started working. You can pay me back.”
She smiled. Parker understood her pride wouldn’t allow her to take, even from him. She was glad he didn’t fight with her about such things.
Energy suddenly coursed through her limbs. “Should we pack?”
He looked surprised. “You want to leave tonight?”
She met his gaze, knowing her smile was full of sadness, and admitted, “I hate it here. Everything reminds me of him. I want to forget him, Parker. You’re helping.”
His expression was gentle, but unreadable. Slowly, his fingers coasted over her cheek. “Okay, Scout.”
Chapter 24
“With him, life was routine; without him, life was unbearable.”
~Harper Lee
To Kill a Mockingbird
Packing was an anticlimactic affair. Parker followed Scout around the apartment for the more pathetic part of an hour as she shifted through belongings like a thief and took what she felt was either earned or necessary. Unfortunately, it was only by mentally classifying herself as a whore that she could justify her right to take certain things she couldn’t leave behind. In the end it was a trade, one mental insult as her penance in exchange for whatever item she wanted in her bag.
Certain things were expressly given as gifts, for Christmas or her birthday. Those items were not as difficult to take, but were, for the most part, cumbersome and useless and therefore left behind.
She filled a small duffel with sensible clothes. It was getting warmer, so she was able to pack more, bringing only a few sweaters. Her toiletries were thinned down to the basics, shampoo, deodorant, a razor—she would never be able to go back to not shaving—and some very basic cosmetics.
Parker had filled four paper sacks with food. “Don’t you have food?”
His shoulder lifted and fell. “Sure, but this stuff will just go bad. Why waste it?”
He had a point. She grabbed another sack and began to fill it.
“How far is your place from here?” She probably should have asked that before.
“We’ll have to get a cab. It’s not far. You’ll still be able to walk to work, but it’s late and we won’t be able to lug all this crap.”
***
By the time they arrived at Parker’s apartment, it was almost eleven. Scout’s adrenaline had not stopped pumping since she made up her mind about moving, but she knew a crash was coming. When Parker left with most of the bags to hail a cab, she quietly shut out the lights and locked up the apartment, locking away that part of her life once and for all. She left the key inside, not wanting the temptation of returning hanging over her head.
As she waited for the elevator, a sense of dread filled her as though she were consciously drowning herself. It took every shred of false dignity she could muster to get on that elevator and walk away. As the doors to the elevator shut and her body descended to the first floor, she felt as though a part of her life had been ripped away and entombed forever.
Gone. Lucian and everything connected to him was no longer a part of her life.
It was possibly one of the most painful moments of her life, and she would have buckled, rushed back up to her apartment, had Parker not been there to tug her along.
He loaded her things in the back of a yellow cab and she silently sat, allowing him to direct the driver. So long as she kept moving she wouldn’t be carried away with the tide.
They pulled up beside a nondescript brick high-rise. Parker handed a few dollars to the driver and unloaded the bags. She filled her arms and followed him through the glass double doors.
The halls smelled like a mixture of ethnic cooking and paint. Gray carpeting stifled the sound of their footfalls as they made their way to the elevators. The place definitely wasn’t a dump, but it was nothing like Patras or even her vintage-inspired severance apartment. Parker’s place was . . . functional.
He seemed nervous as they took the elevator up. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“A couple months. It’s not fully decorated. I was more concerned with getting off the streets. I’ve saved a lot, not really sure what the point of decorating would be.”
