Page 1 of House of Desire

Dinner was awful, silence owning the space. The boy I loved sat across from me but never saw me. Never even looked at me. His dusty jeans and dirty boots left behind a trail, just in case he needed to find his way out.

But he doesn’t need to find his way out.

I do.

My floral bag is packed and tucked into the coat closet. The closet he rarely uses because he almost never puts his fucking boots away. The bag has been there for over a week and yet, he hasn’t found it. Hasn’t seen it.

I don’t know why I picked that closet. It’d only take him opening it once to discover my plan. Why didn’t I pick the linen closet? He never goes in there. Maybe I want to get caught? Maybe I want to fight. To yell.

To live.

But there’s no fighting. There’s no yelling. There’s no goodnight kiss.

There’s no sex.

Of course there’s no sex.

There hasn’t been for one year, seven months, and six days. I look over at the clock and see it’s crossed over midnight.

Correction, seven days.

Parker snores softly beside me, but I know it’s more from the start of the season change than anything. There are three weeks when summer starts to turn to fall that make his allergies go crazy. And during those weeks? The softest snore.

I don’t mind it, really, listening to the sign of life. At least it tells me I haven’t gone deaf. That the silence is of our own making and not some sudden onset medical condition.

My fingers tap, tap, tap out the seconds as they go by, my eyes watching the fan blades spin above me through the darkness.

I keep waiting for the right time. The right time to throw back the covers. Slip from the bed. Grab my bag.

And leave.

Leave and never come back.

Maybe I’m a coward for it. There’s really no maybe about it. I am a coward. And he deserves so much more than this. Than me. Than the pain I’m about to put us both through.

But this is all I have left to give.

The second hand on my bedside clock ticks and I feel it. The perfect time. When my determination crystallizes and I know if I don’t leave now, I never will.

And I’ll have to walk by that bedroom every day for the rest of my life.

Looking at Parker’s back, I slide out from under the covers, trying not to make the bed move too much, but I shouldn’t be worried. Nothing can wake him.

I creep from the bedroom, gently shutting the door behind me and move on silent feet through the house. Stepping over the squeaky boards of our ranch-style house, I make my way to the closet, pulling out my bag. The keys to my car threaten to jingle, but I clasp them firmly in my hand, lifting them off the hook.

Looking back at the house, I take a moment to soak it in before letting myself out one last time.

Jewelry stores are the seventh circle of hell. Between the price tags and pressure, sweat is already starting to bead along my forehead despite the excessive air conditioning. The last time I was in a jewelry store, I was eighteen and had no money and the sales associate knew it. Embarrassment coursed through me as every ring I picked was above my price range.

My hands were shaking as I paid for the simple gold band.

But this trip is much different.

First, this store is not located in a mall. Second, I’m not the one buying a ring.

“Hello, how may I help you?” the sales associate asks kindly, her white hair tied in a demure knot at her neck.

“Good evening, I’m here to pick out a ring for my hopeful fiancée,” Alec, my best friend’s soon-to-be fiancé, says, a giant grin on his face.

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