Page 3 of Strength in Submission
Derek blinks. “Okay?”
The blonde lowers her phone. Blood drips onto her faux-vintage Def Leppard tee. I hope it’s dry-clean only.
I step over the salsa river separating us and head straight into our bedroom. His laundry basket overflows with shirts I folded. His gym socks mushroom under the bedframe I tightened monthly.
The framed photo on his nightstand—us at Coney Island, my cheeks windburned, his arm slung over my shoulders like a taxidermied python—catches the light as I yank open drawers.
“Vi—” He’s in the doorway, backlit by the carnage.
I toss his limited-edition Pokémon cards onto the bed. The holographic Charizard winks at me from its protective sleeve.“You’ve got one minute to leave me alone before I go fucking psychotic on your ass.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “You wouldn’t.”
Our eyes meet. For three years, I mapped the gold flecks in his irises, traced the laugh lines he swore weren’t from smoking. Now they’re just holes in a face.
“Fifty-nine.”
He slams the door.
Before I do anything, I pick up the card and rip it into a million little pieces. That was one of his most prized cards, and now it’s nothing. Just like our relationship I guess.
I empty my half of the closet into a Trader Joe’s reusable bag. The polyester strains against my denim jacket, the sundress he said made me look “approachable,” the Docs I wore when we got caught in that thunderstorm. Through the wall, I hear him whining—baby, clinic, and crazy bitch.
My fingers brush the velvet box hidden behind the winter scarves. Inside: two tickets to the immersive Van Gogh exhibit, purchased four months ago with overtime tips from the brewery. Date circled on our shared Google Calendar in neon yellow.
No way in hell am I going to leave them here.
The blonde’s gone when I emerge, but her presence lingers in the cloying vanilla perfume and the boot-shaped dent in the drywall. Derek hunches over his PS5, controller clicking furiously. Doesn’t look up as I toe the last evidence of myself into my bag—a hair tie around the bathroom doorknob, the Burt’s Bees on the windowsill, the chipped mug proclaiming WORLD’S BEST BARISTA that he’d rolled his eyes at forever ago.
“Bye, you dumb fuck.” I say to his hunched shoulders.
He grunts and kills a zombie onscreen.
What he doesn’t realize is that his entire life is about to be fucked up. My name is on the lease. I’m the one who paid the security deposit and all of the rent… and when I call my landlordand explain my boyfriend kicked me out, I’m sure he’ll make Derek apply to be a resident there. Guess what? He won’t pass the background check.
You want to fuck me over? Fine.
I’ll fuck you over twice as hard.
Chapter Two
WHIP
“Is everything all right?” I ask my little sister, yet I already know the answer.
I call her my little sister, but in actuality she’s not so little anymore. Ashley scowls far too much for my liking, especially when we're at her favorite burger joint.
At twenty-four years old she’s grown into quite the incredible woman, following my own career path. I’m a criminal defense lawyer who dabbles in a few other areas of expertise, but my sister, Ashley, is passionate about immigration law. Most likely because our mother came to the United States with us when I was about ten and my sister was two.
Ashley’s dark brown eyes look up to me as she takes a break from her phone, “No, I’m about to beat someculo’sass for the way he’s been treating Vi.”
Vi, my sister’s best friend in the whole wide world. Vi isn’t just Ash’s best friend though, she’s also the woman I’ve had my eye on the last couple years. But, she’s gone from endless deadbeat boyfriends into more shitty relationships.
There hasn’t been a damn moment I can slide in and test the waters with her, but the fury on my sister’s face makes me feel like this could be promising.
“He just told her to get her ass out of their apartment, you know, the one she put the security deposit and first month’s rent on… said he got a new chick and she fucks better than her. The new girl was there!” Ash’s face starts to visibly turn red and fuck, I’d pay to see her go at the son of a bitch who said this shit to Vi.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I hiss.
