Page 77 of Flawed

"Easy for you to say," I mutter.

"Dude. Come on. Are we good?" he questions, then holds his hand out again.

Tired of fighting, I finally grumble, "Yeah. We're cool." I slap his hand and get in the car. I rev the engine, get through the gates, and then resume driving on the expressway.

I pass Chanel's exit three times before I finally can't handle it anymore. I cave and veer off the ramp.

What am I doing?

We need to figure out how to be together.

There has to be a way to keep her safe.

There isn't.

I pull up to her place. There's a big moving van in front of the building. Something about seeing it makes me panic. The doors are open, so I race through the building and go to her apartment.

Chaos reigns in her unit. Movers are there, as well as what looks like new tenants.

A bald man turns. He glances over me and asks, "Can I help you?"

My pulse pounds harder. I reply, "Yeah, where's the girl that used to live here?"

He shrugs. "How the fuck would I know?"

I try to contain my anger, quizzing, "Well, did she leave a forwarding address?"

He looks put out. "Not sure, man. Go talk to the landlord. I don't have time for this." He turns to the movers. "Yeah, put that TV over there."

I stay planted for a few minutes.

He stops and looks at me again. "Is there something else you need?"

Defeated, I respond, "No." I leave the apartment.

The neighbor next door is in the hallway. She has several bags of groceries. I go over to her and grab one of the bags. "Here. Let me help you."

Surprised, she looks up. Within seconds, she gives me a flirtatious smile, purring, "Oh, thank you. Do you live in the building?"

"No. I wonder if you know where the woman from next door went," I inquire.

Her face falls. "Sorry. She moved out a couple months ago."

"A couple of months?"

She nods. "Yeah. It was kind of quick. I mean, she left. I don't even think she was here when the movers packed her crap."

"And you don't have any clue where she might be?"

She gives me a smile filled with pity. "No, but not a lot of people really knew her. She kind of kept to herself. But I think she was too busy working. She was always dragging around her suitcase."

My heart sinks further. "Thanks for your time."

"Sure. Is she someone special? Or are you single?" the woman asks.

"Sorry. I'm taken," I lie, then return to my car, feeling suffocated.

How am I going to find out where she went?

---