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The drawer that was empty now.
“No,” I whispered.
I raced around the room, searching for something of hers, but there was nothing. Her clothes were gone. Even the little basket where she kept her dirty laundry was gone. I ran out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, but there was no bright green toothbrush next to my red one in the cup.
In the kitchen, there were only the few dishes I had before she moved in with me. The bottle of apple juice she always had in the fridge was gone, and the little tan mug with the moose on it was no longer sitting to the left of my plain, black coffee cup.
I stood at the center point of the apartment where I could see into the kitchen and living room easily but also had a view of the bathroom and bedroom doors. I looked quickly at each area of the living space I had shared with Tria, and then my gaze landed on the little blue bookshelf in the corner of the room, which was completely empty.
My legs gave out, and I dropped to my knees.
She was gone.
I was never one to completely break down, but I couldn’t stop the tears.
Chapter 18—Inject the Poison
I turned the apartment upside down trying to find something—anything—she had left behind that she might have to come back to get. Then I spent about five minutes just smashing shit in the kitchen. After that, I took a shower in the hope that it was going to calm me down, but I was only reminded of how often I used to jerk off in the shower, and how I didn’t have to anymore.
Except that I did, because she was gone.
Punching the tiles of the shower really, really hurt. I tried to focus on the pain in my knuckles, and even hit the tile a couple more times until one of my hands started bleeding, but it wasn’t enough. I had the feeling I could have thrown myself out the window, broken every bone in my body, and then been run over by a truck, and it still wouldn’t be enough to make me stop thinking.
Soft, brown hair that always ended up tickling my nose in the night.
The way her hips moved back and forth when she was cooking.
The scent of her skin after I fucked her.
I turned most of the furniture upside down or threw it against the wall. With a scream, I yanked the top two drawers out of the dresser and flung them to either side of me, dumping the contents all over the floor. I smashed the television, ripped the cushions off the couch, and grabbed the bookshelf.
I was about to smash it to pieces, but I just couldn’t.
I dropped down to the floor in the middle of the living room and stared at carpet fibers for God knows how long as I tried to just force the shit out of my head. I was good at that, and it should have worked, but it didn’t. I stared at the smashed television screen, but I ended up with my head full of movies and TV shows Tria and I had watched together.
My jacket was on the floor within reach, so I grabbed it and pulled out a pack of smokes. I smoked half the pack sitting there, but I just ended up in a coughing fit and remembered how Tria came to the bar just to bring me my cigarettes.
She doesn’t even like that I smoke.
I leaned my back against the couch and lit another cigarette, but then I forgot I was holding it and burned the shit out of my leg. Focusing on that kind of helped a little, but it still wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed something that was going to take all the painful memories away.
With shaking hands, I stood up, slowly pulled my jacket around my shoulders, and walked out. I didn’t even bother to lock the door as I left, just headed down the hallway and out into the street. I made my way across the pavement and to the alley heading south.
My heart pounded in my chest, and my throat tightened and ached. I tried not to think about where I was going or what I was going to do. I had given my word I wasn’t going to do this again, and I was about to violate that promise.
Yolanda would have killed me if given the chance.
The smell was exactly how I remembered it. Sweat, urine, unwashed bodies—it was like a VW van in the middle of Woodstock if Woodstock was held in a nasty old swamp instead of out on a farm. Max was sitting on a couch at the far side of the room with some strung out chick hovering around him, begging for a slam and offering to blow him for free if he just gave her a little. I approached him slowly as she looked up at me with dead eyes.
“Teague!” Max cried out as I came near. “How ya doin’, bud? Haven’t seen you in forever! Damn, you look like you’ve been hitting the gym! I thought you were all cleaned up or some such shit now. You got a job at a bar or something, Lee?”
Max had a tendency to ask a lot of stupid questions, none of which he actually expected to have answered.
“Hey,” I said, trying not to cringe at the use of the nickname, which had never been a favorite of mine. “What’s been shakin’, bro? I need a bit.”
“You know I’m your man,” Max said with a grin. “Anytime, anywhere! You name it, I got it. Weed, blow, meth—what you want, bud?”
“Just some H, bro,” I told him. I didn’t know why he was bothering to ask—I never touched the other shit. I hadn’t even smoked weed more than a handful of times. It was always about the smack. I just didn’t see any point in going halfway on such shit.
