Page 12 of Savage Keepsakes

His mouth, the same one that once tenderly kissed me, now unleashes words meant to pierce my soul. Miles was the first person to show me love, but that has long since been snuffed out. Everything is a mess, and I can’t believe I ever let him slip the red-flagged wool over my eyes.

“Lucy, you deserve better. I know it’s your house, but if you left, do you think he’d leave?” JoJo asks from where she sits next to me.

Her long brown hair is braided and curls around her neck.

I scootch back into the plump cushion of the metal chair on my best friend’s front porch.

“No, he’ll move that bitch in.”

Leah, the cotton-candy airhead I work with, has cool hair, but that’s about it. She over shares, cracks her gum, and is so fucking annoying. I hated her before, but now I wish them both a painful, tortuous death.

I can’t believe he’s fucking around on me with her. Miles has decimated my self-esteem.

My mother’s words of my worthlessness replay in my thoughts, a constant soundtrack of doubt and negativity. The past has a disturbing way of making its presence known, clawing at your heart and dredging up every painful memory.

“This isn’t on you. You’re an amazing woman. Miles is the fucking shitstain who’s gonna regret this. How’s the unpacking going?”

JoJo fills my glass with iced tea and pours the rest into hers.

“I’ve made a dent, but haven’t put everything away or fixed much. There are temporary patches on things, like plywood over the broken porch planks—don’t want anyone falling in the hole—and dishes out to cover the cracks in the kitchen counter. I’ll get there, eventually.”

“Are you still sleeping on the floor?”

I sip my tea, then say, “Yeah.”

She lets out a deep sigh. “You can’t sleep on the ground. It’s not good for you.”

“I can’t sleep with him, either, and I’m not leaving my fucking house.” I look out into her yard, wishing Miles would just disappear.

“You gotta decide what to do. This is toxic.”

“I know what to do. I want him gone, but he won’t listen. Every time I bring it up, he has a man-tantrum.”

A few days ago, he punched a hole in the wall after I asked him to leave. I’m less afraid of him hurting me and more terrified that this will always be my life, me just cleaning up his messes.

“He needs to get over it. First, if you can’t get him out of your old one, order yourself a bed. Then why don’t we get together and toss him out? Change the locks, all that stuff.”

“Sweetheart,” I say, grinning, “I love you, but you’re five feet tall and maybe one hundred pounds soaking wet. I may be bigger, but he can still overpower me.”

“Do you know what they call people like me?”

Pursing my lips, I shake my head.

“Ankle breakers,” she deadpans, her blue eyes sparkling.

I giggle, but then sober. “No way am I gonna let anything bad happen to you. I’d hate myself forever if something happened to you.”

I pick at the lint on my sweater. The only person I can think of to help is Billy. I’ve called threetaxidermy shops this week but haven’t been able to find the right one.

“What about the bed? You really need to buy one and stop sleeping on the floor.”

“He could fuck her on it to spite me. I can’t deal with the thought. His disgusting lame ass needs to disappear.” I wrinkle my nose.

She nods.

As silence settles between us, the thought of going home fills me with dread, but I have to get ready for work. My expectations for the house were high, envisioning it as a symbol of new beginnings. However, all I’ve experienced is disappointment and heartbreak and the same old bullshit.

Setting down my glass, I rise from my seat. “I love you, but I gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

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