Page 32 of Broken Trails
The thought pushes me over. “Fuck,” I grunt, hips jerking as hot spurts of cum hit the shower floor. The water takes it all away, along with whatever shred of dignity I had left.
And still, I can’t stop thinking about her.
13
The house is quiet, save for the low hum of the fridge and an occasional creak of timber beneath my bare feet as I walk through the kitchen.
I’m still trying to convince myself that today might feel less off-kilter than yesterday. The mug I’d half-filled with tea two hours ago sits forgotten on the bench.
By the front door, the kitten bats at the crumpled plastic bag that’s been sitting there since yesterday—the same one he’d brought with him when he stopped by. Its rustle fills the quiet, like it’s mocking me for leaving it untouched.
With a reluctant sigh, I cross the room and pick it up. It crinkles in my hand as I move to toss it in the bin, but something about the weight stops me. It isn’t heavy, exactly, but not light either—there’s something solid tucked down in the corner.
I frown and peer inside, pushing the plastic open just enough to see what it might be. My eyes blink rapidly, and my heart skips a beat. Of course, he left it here. He didn’t even step foot inside, yet somehow, a part of him is still in my house.
I fish out the black bi-fold wallet slowly, holding it in my hand like it might burn me if I’m not careful. The leather is warm, worn down on the edges, the stitching frayed in one corner.
I place it on the bench with a quiet exhale, just as the kitten appears like a summoned spirit. Her paws, which appear to be way too big for her body, pad softly across the floor before she leaps effortlessly onto the ottoman beside the kitchen bench. Why is that even there?
This place needs all new furniture. Well, more like a refurbishment, but alas, not my problem. It is a rental after all.
“Get down,” I mutter without much conviction. She meows in response, and it’s unapologetically loud. Her yellow eyes narrow slightly as her collar shifts, the small gold disc attached to it catching the light. I lean in slightly, and a deep, exasperated sigh escapes me.
His number. Engraved into the metal in small, neat lettering.
As if he knew she’d end up here. As if it were part of some unspoken plan. A dry laugh escapes me as I punch his number into my phone with dramatic flair—before I give myself the chance to overthink it.
Me: You left your wallet here. And how convenient that your number was also on the collar.
The response is almost immediate.
Unknown number: Who’s this?
Me: Oh, you know exactly who this is.
I rub the back of my neck, fingers catching against the knot that’s been building there since this morning. My shoulders are drawn too tight from tension I haven’t yet figured out how to shake. This isn’t how I imagined today unfolding—not that I imagined much. I just wanted quiet. Maybe a clean kitchen. A moment of calm. Instead, I’m standing here in the middle of my kitchen, holding a wallet that doesn’t belong to me, surrounded by the traces of someone I never invited in the first place. His cologne still lingers, faintly, but nevertheless still present, woven into the plastic bag he left behind. My phone buzzes in my hand, dragging me back.
Unknown number: Oh crap! That’s where it went. I’ve been looking for it everywhere.
Yeah, I’m sure you have. I let the silence hang between us for a few seconds, refusing to rush into another reply, even as I stare down at the wallet like it might explain itself. As if it might tell me why a man like him—cocky and too charming for his own good—could carelessly misplace his wallet so easily.
Unknown number: I just know you’re rolling your eyes right now.
Me: You need to hurry up and collect your belongings now.
Unknown number: Jesus, if you wanted me back at your place, all you had to do was ask, love.
My jaw clenches, fingers tightening around the phone. I swear the man was born to test my limits—pressing on boundaries I’ve only just learned how to set.
Me: I do not! Come and get your wallet AND the cat while you’re at it.
I sink onto the couch with a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. Surely enough, the kitten soon follows, meowing with what sounds like protest before leaping onto the cushion. She flops onto her side in an exaggerated sprawl. I need coffee. Something stronger than tea.
It’s too early to be feeling this tense.
I walk to the kettle, pocketing my phone, silently willing it not to light up with more unwanted messages.
The kitten trails after me, head-butting my legs. Are all animals this clingy? The fuck?
