Page 35 of Love Rewritten

Instincts kick in and I search for Sam’s car. It’s not in the mostly empty lot. I remind myself that it wouldn’t matter if it was. He’s not here. Can’t be here. So, I slow my breathing and steady my pulse. Everything still looks the same. Not a hair out of place. I take a tentative step off the walking path toward the building, ignoring every sense in my body that screams at me to stop and turn around.

Something other than me, something outside of me, guides me to the front door, up the steps, and to my old unit. I still have a key. I haven’t gotten rid of it yet. Maybe I’m still clinging to a piece of that relationship, the good memories, but they’ve been tainted.

I can’t go back. I won't. But maybe I need this. Whatever this is. Closure? A final termination?

The key still unlocks the door, and my body tenses when I see the interior. The place is trashed. I’ve seen it trashed before, but never this bad. I take a step forward. The cushions from the couch lie scattered around the living room along with the few decorative pillows. The entertainment center has been ripped apart. All the DVDs are strewn about the floor. A few random books have been left open on the coffee table.

In the kitchen, multiple drawers have been left open. The junk drawer sits on the counter dumped out. A coffee mug is shattered on the floor. It’s the one I got him as a birthday gift last year. We weren’t big picture-taking people, but we did have one attached to the refrigerator with a heart-shaped magnet. It’s no longer on the fridge. It’s crumpled on the floor near the mug, a rip almost separating the two halves.

I force my feet through the polluted apartment into the single bedroom at the back. Dresser drawers are pulled out, most of them empty, but the bed is covered in clothes. It’s almost like he was looking for something or going to pack to leave again but was stopped in the middle of his escape. I didn’t ask how or where they found him, but I wonder if they came to serve the warrant again and finally managed to be here when he was.

I take another step but my foot hits something on the ground in front of me. The picture that used to sit on my nightstand. The one I threw in the trash that final day I moved out. Dallas had been looking at it and it made me so furious I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I’m not sure why, but I hated that we looked so happy in that picture. Dallas and I were there to move me out so I could escape the torture, and yet, at the time, you wouldn’t be able to guess why just by looking around because everything looked so normal. We looked normal in that picture.

But now it’s shattered on the ground, bits of glass littered around the frame.

I’m not sure why that’s what hits me so hard, but suddenly I’m crying and shaking and can’t swallow past the knot in my throat. My legs threaten to give out under me, and I’m thankful I left the front door open so I can run out of here as fast as possible.

Once I make it outside, I collapse on the sidewalk. Everything is muffled and I can barely hear myself cry. But I let it happen. I let myself sob until I can’t breathe, until my whole body is screaming at me to relax from being so tense. I can’t get myself home like this. Not when every part of me is yelling so loud I can’t hear myself think, and my legs won’t hold me up long enough to walk the short fifteen minutes back.

I click frantically through my phone until I hear the dial tone.

“Abby?” Logan’s voice is calm. I never call him. He knows something’s up. I take a shaky breath, trying to form the words,anywords. But I don’t have to. “Where are you?” he asks, voice now a little wary.

“Old apartment,” I manage to say between heavy breaths.

He doesn’t question it. He simply says, “On my way,” and hangs up.

It’s only minutes before Logan shows up on his bike. He parks it close and hops off. Dallas isn’t with him. I’m a little relieved at that. I’ve mostly composed myself now.

He doesn’t say anything as he sits down on the sidewalk next to me, knees pulled up to his chest. I wipe my tear-soaked eyes and look over at him to find him watching me carefully.

Sometimes, I like it when Logan doesn’t know what to say. He just sits there, waiting for me to make the first move. It makes it easier to compose myself when no one’s asking what’s wrong or how they can help. Sometimes, I just need to sit in it. Ride the wave of emotions.

“Where’s Dallas?” I hate that that’s the first thing I ask, but it’s the first thing on my mind right now.

“I left him at home. He was in the shower when I left. And since you called me and not him, I figured you didn’t want him here in the first place.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He smiles and waits for me to speak again. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I don’t know how to explain how I ended up here without sounding crazy. He takes that as his cue to ask his question.

He looks around. “Is there a reason we’re here of all places?”

I let out a breathy laugh. “I went for a walk, got caught up in the moment, and found myself here. I even went inside. That was an awful idea. And then I bolted from the apartment and didn’t think I could get myself to walk back.”

“You went in?” Both his brows rise in surprise.

I sigh. “Yeah. Not my best idea. I don’t really know why. I think I thought it might give me some sort of closure, but all it did was crush what little faith I had left.”

“Well, it is almost dinner time, and tomorrow’s a new day, so you can start over with a new bout of faith. But don’t feel bad for trying. Trying is the most honorable thing you can do.”

I gape at him, at his sudden burst of wisdom. “Okay, who broke Logan?” I joke, a smile finally forming on my lips.

He laughs, too, before saying, “I’m serious. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve been through a lot lately. I can’t imagine how hard your body has been working to keep up with itself.”

“You have no idea,” I mumble to myself. It’s been a long two months. Everything keeps catching up with me in one way or another.

“Come on. I brought your helmet.” He nods toward his bike before standing and offering his hand.

---