“Everything seems good here.” The landlord dug in the pocket of his jeans and removed an envelope. “Here’s your damage deposit.”

I accepted the cash, having been the one who’d paid it long before Jack moved in.

“Keys?” The landlord extended his open palm.

Jack and I placed our keys in his hand, our fingers brushing against one another. I felt a pull in my lungs. Everything was suddenly real, and I was brutally aware that I may have just touched Jack for the last time.

“Alright, you’re free to go.” The landlord moved aside, allowing me to leave through the front door.

Stepping onto the curb, my eyes landed on the pile of black garbage bags balanced around a telephone pole. There were ten or more, filled with everything I had collected over the last six years of my life.

Jack exited the house and turned, heading for his car. I watched his back, hearing the garbage truck in the distance coming toward us.

Chapter 76

I tried to open my eyes but they were sealed shut, caked in sleep. I rubbed them until I was able to pry them open. It was completely dark in my room. The curtains were drawn, as they always were. Rolling onto my side, I reached for my phone, but it wasn’t there.

I rose from my bed like someone who was learning to walk for the first time. My hands were shaking, my body was vibrating. I needed a cigarette.

“Don’t look in the mirror,” I muttered to myself, approaching my vanity.

I fumbled in the drawer until I found my cigarettes. Placing one between my teeth and biting down on the filter, I lit a match. The flash of the flame lit my face in a red-orange glow.

My face was swollen and puffy. Blood was smeared beneath my nose. I picked the dried blood from my upper lip and it flaked, collecting under my fingernail. I slowly inhaled, then exhaled a cloud of smoke through my nose, feeling the pain.

How fucking poetic. I stared at my reflection. How fucking pathetic.

The nameless guy lying in my bed stirred, shoving the blankets to free one of his arms. He held it out in my direction without moving his face from the pillow. “Hey, can I have a draw of that?”

Pretending I didn’t hear him, I walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door open behind me. I wanted him to go. I wanted to be alone. I pulled on a jacket and headed out the front door, knowing that by the time I returned, he would be gone.

As I walked, the afternoon light stung my eyes. My head was throbbing. I thought about sex, and how my perception of it had always been skewed. The moment I entered puberty, boys began treating me like an object—and I accepted it, using myself as a bargaining chip. I used sex as a means of manipulation. Men were so easily manipulated. I knew how to accentuate aspects of my appearance to make men want me. I wore red lipstick; it made them think of my mouth. My mouth on their mouth. My mouth on their cock. I wore clothes that clung tightly around my hourglass-shaped body. They wanted to know what was underneath. I slept with people I didn’t want to sleep with just to feel wanted, to know that I was desirable.