Page 64 of Arrogant Puck

I close the door and retreat to my bedroom—former bedroom—not knowing where to start. The space feels smaller somehow, like it’s already rejecting me.

I decide to start with the bathroom. As I pack my toiletries, I realize this will be my last shower in this place. The water feels too hot against my skin, but I let it burn anyway. The tears come without warning, mixing with the shower spray until I can’t tell where the water ends, and my breakdown begins.

What am I doing with my life? I could move back to the city I ran from, but that would mean facing my ex. I could call my mom, but she’s been an alcoholic since I was sixteen and can’t even take care of herself, let alone help me. My dad is a deadbeat doing God knows what with God knows who.

I grab my phone and dial the one person who might actually care—my best friend from high school who lives in a different time zone. Maybe I can catch her on her day off.

“Sage!” she answers, and her voice is bright and energetic. “Guess what I’m doing right now?”

“Oh my god,” I say, trying to inject excitement into my voice as I dump my bathroom products into a trash bag. “What are you doing? Tell me.”

“I am finally taking that spin cycle class!”

“No way!” I force enthusiasm into my voice. “Is today your first day?”

“Yes! I’m so excited! I have to go, but tell me what your new job is like?”

My heart sinks. Of course she has to go. “Oh... uh, it’s good. Yeah. Really quick before you go—my roommate was too good to be true. She tried pulling a move on me while we were out and then a guy I work with saved the day and I blacked out. ButI have three-day work trip out of state, so I have three days to figure out what I’m doing.”

“Bitch! What!” she’s astounded. “No! No, this cannot be another basketball player.”

“He plays hockey.” I wince even saying it.

“That’s even worse! Hockey is not a nice sport.”

“I know. I know.”

“You cannot live with him.”

“I’m packing my apartment because my roommate is serious about kicking me out. She already replaced me.”

“That’s illegal as fuck, Sage. She can’t do that.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to stay. I’m uncomfortable. She wants to hook up with me.”

“I bet she has a stash of dildos.”

I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “Okay, that’s my update. Call me later. I need your energy.”

“Take a spin class!” she calls out. “Love ya. Talk later.”

“Bye.”

The silence after I end the call is deafening. I stare at my phone for a moment, then throw it onto the bed and start attacking my closet with renewed fury.

Trash bags. That’s what my life has come to. Stuffing everything I own into black garbage bags like I’m some kind of refugee. I yank clothes off hangers with more force than necessary, not caring if they wrinkle or tear. What does it matter? I don’t even know where I’m going to be wearing them.

The bag rips as I’m shoving in my winter coats, and I have to start over with a new one. My hands are shaking now, whether from anger or panic, I can’t tell. Maybe both.

I grab my books next, the few novels and textbooks I’ve managed to hold onto through all my moves. They’re heavy and awkward, but I refuse to leave them behind. They’re proof that I’m more than just a series of bad decisions and failed relationships.

My jewelry goes into a smaller bag, along with the few photos I have left. Most of them are from before—before Tyler, before the video, before my life imploded the first time. Looking at them now feels like staring at a stranger.

The dresser drawers stick as I empty them. I have to put my whole-body weight behind getting the bottom drawer open, and when it finally gives way, I nearly fall backward.

Underwear, bras, socks—all the intimate pieces of my life that I never thought I’d be packing in trash bags again. I was supposed to be building something stable here. I was supposed to be starting over, doing better.

Instead, I’m right back where I started: homeless, dependent on someone else’s charity, with nowhere to go and no one to call

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