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AMELIA
My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel, and I stare through the gap in my apartment complex’s parking garage. Gray buildings are all I see. No green. Not even any sky. Just gray.
Welcome home.
I pull the keys from the ignition and grip them firmly in my palm, one key sticking between my fingers in case someone’s waiting for me to show up here. I wonder if I’ll live another day of my life in the ignorant bliss I bathed in before all this. Or if I’ll always transform my fist into a weapon upon leaving my car.
It doesn’t help that I’m not supposed to be here. I think. Lorenzo told me not to come back to Vegas, but he’s told me a lot of things, and plenty have been bullshit. And this morning he didn’t have enough care to stick around and give me directions.
My heart pangs, and I blink back tears.
Really, I didn’t mean to come here. I was on autopilot most of the drive in Lorenzo’s black Audi. I drove aimlessly for an hour, and when I spotted the sign for Vegas, I followed. I think part of me wanted to drive to Lorenzo’s casino. Bang on the door and demand for him to let me in. I’d throw my arms around him, plant my lips to his, and when my lungs couldn’t take the lack of oxygen any longer, I’d pull away and tell him what he couldn’t hear last night. And what I hoped to say this morning.
I love you.
I’m not the level of idiot it would require to go through with that fantasy. But I am the level of idiot to go through with this.
I step out of the car and trudge to the elevator. My finger hovers over the floor I’d take to get to my apartment, but I don’t press it. I don’t have a key. I hit the button for the lobby and am in a daze as I make my way there. The metal key still protrudes from my fist, but I’m far from alert.
“Ms. Norwood,” Esteban says, standing up from his post at the lobby. His brow is creased, and his lips are pinched with concern.
I nod to him and pull the key back into my palm. “Good morning, Esteban.”
His gaze flicks to my dirty clothes and then quickly back to my face. His frown deepens. “Good afternoon, Ms. Norwood.”
I glance at the clock behind the front desk and see it’s one in the afternoon.
“Right. Listen, I misplaced my key. Can you open up my door for me?”
He nods and grabs a set of skeleton keys from under the counter. “Of course, miss.”
We ride the elevator together in awkward silence. Normally, I’d be making polite conversation, asking him about his daughter who just turned six, but I don’t have it in me today.
He tosses concerned glances my way, and I consider telling him to stop. Yes, I know. I look like shit. I don’t care.
When we get to my apartment, he inserts the key in the lock and throws open the door. “We weren’t planning on shipping everything until next week, but if you’d like I can move up the timeline?”
Shipping everything?
We step into my apartment, littered with boxes. They’re stacked on top of each other carrying the things that made this place feel like home. Now it’s all empty walls and sparse floors.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say in a weak voice. I don’t know what lie Lorenzo told my apartment’s manager, but it was genius. Now I’m not even missing.
“Okay… It’s good to see you, Ms. Norwood. I wasn’t expecting you back.”
“Neither was I,” I whisper, staring blankly into my kitchen.
Esteban hovers, but then he slowly backs out of the room and clicks the door shut behind him.
I stand still for a few minutes, taking in my old life. It doesn’t even feel like me.
My eyes spot my cell phone on the kitchen island, and I snatch it up and study it like it’s a bomb.
Why would Lorenzo leave this? Did he know I would come back?
I press the home button, and a picture of me and my friends lights up. It’s from the last night I saw them. The four of us sit at a round table at a bar, smiling victoriously with our fruity cocktails in front of us. Jasmine set it as my wallpaper right after it was taken.
I unlock my phone, and the call icon shows I have fifty-three missed calls. Three hundred and seventeen text messages.
