Page 9 of Switched

We’re done, and that’s on him.

On the walk home, I prepare mentally for the possibility that he hasn’t left.

I slow down a little once I’m close, taking a few moments to steel myself.

All I need to do is tell him to get out.

I don’t need to explain anything. I don’t need to say anything else. I don’t have to listen to anything he has to say. If he won’t leave, I can threaten him with the police.

I can do this. He’ll leave.

When I’m sure my resolve has no cracks in it, I enter the building.

I storm up the stairs to the fourth floor, anger rising as I climb, until I’m fully ready to unleash hell on the asshole who hurt me. I’m so ready to tear a strip out of him that I can’t believe it when I see he’s not inside. His jacket and shoes are gone from the doorway, and the bedroom is empty, the bed unmade.

I’m so mad I can’t think straight. I slap the apartment door shut with a bang, only realizing my fingers are stinging after the sharpness of the sound makes me wince.

Shuddering, I reach out and deadbolt the door.

Every last sliver of rage that was burning through my body seconds ago drains right out of me.

I might have been pissed for a moment that I wouldn’t get to confront that asshole, but it’s better that he isn’t here.

I wanted him gone, and he’s gone. Mission accomplished.

I dump my purse and jacket on the kitchen table, and I let my shoulders sag.

I feel like shit. My head hurts, and my heart aches, and I’m so deflated that I can barely stand.

Emotional burn out, I guess. Haven’t gone through that in a while.

I’ve been up and down a lot, but there was always hope of another upswing before.

Now? I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom, only there is no more up.

Everything’s on one level now. All bad. All the time.

I dig my cell phone out of my purse and call a locksmith.

Ben has a key, and I point-blank refuse to give him a chance to get back in here whenever he wants.

Especially when I might be …

When I might have to …

God, I can’t even think about what I’m supposed to be doing on Saturday without feeling queasy.

The locksmith answers his phone and I agree to pay the extra fee to have him come out straight away to change the lock, then I rattle out my address and hang up with a sigh.

One thing at a time.

I just broke up with my boyfriend. I can’t think about facing my worst fear head-on right now.

It’s too much all at once. I’ve got a couple days to get over Ben’s betrayal.

I need to forget about the other thing.

Cursing under my breath, I wipe a tear away before it can roll down my cheek.

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