Page 5 of Revenge of the Forgotten

Vega kept some distance between herself and what she was beginning to believe was a stalker. “I am not letting you know where I live,” she huffed.

“I already know where you live.”

Vega yanked her coat off the rack by the door. Her throat constricted, fear making her skin tingle. “Stay away from me.” She walked backward out of the bar, keeping her eyes on Arlet, who only rolled hers in reply.

Once back outside in the wet Chicago night, Vega turned on her heels and picked up her pace. Her feet were heavy against the sidewalk, water splashing up her legs.

She kept checking over her shoulder, scared she was being followed. The last thing she wanted to do was go home to her apartment, where Chase might be, but at the very least, it would feel like a safe space after whatever this mess was!

The building loomed in the distance. Vega beelined for it, stumbling her way up to the entrance. Her fear did nothing to sober her up.

Vega’s breathing was ragged after climbing the stairs to her floor. Drunk or not, she would always avoid the death trap this place considered an elevator. She’d lost track of how many times the fire department had come to pry someone out.

Vega fumbled with the keys in her chilled hands, the metal jingling against each other. They slipped through her damp fingers and hit the floor with a rattle. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Vega stood in place, looking down at her keys—defeated by the day, by her life. Don’t tempt the universe, she noted. It was in the mood to show her how lousy things could feel in a single day.

Without attracting any more unwanted inconveniences, Vega stepped inside her apartment and put her back against the door. Her heart rate still sputtered in her chest. What the fuck was that girl talking about tonight? If she hadn’t pinched herself at the bar, Vega could have chalked this up to a silly dream she’d laugh about in the morning.

The apartment was dark, the only light coming from the glow of the streetlights outside the kitchen window. It was quiet—too quiet. She was alone.

Vega finally let herself break down. When the first tear fell, so did Vega. She slid down the door and let out a sob she was sure her neighbors heard. Her shoulders heaved while the tears continued to fall. She cried for all she had already lost and what was unavoidably going to happen next.

Who was she supposed to be now? Chase was her everything—but she wasn’t his. There was no coming back from what he’d done.

Vega’s hand slid across her face, wiping away tears and snot. She laid her head back against the door with a thud as her mind began to see all the red flags she’d been blind to over the last several months.

Chase staying late at work, leaving on business trips that came out of nowhere—his excuse being the new position he’d taken leaving no room for proper planning sometimes.

Her heartache turned to rage in the blink of an eye.

Vega let out a guttural screech, the echo vibrating off her eardrums. How could she have been so stupid, so gullible?

There were plates laid out on the table, presumably for the dinner Chase was making for his fucking mistress. Vega stomped over to the table and swept the ceramic to the floor. They hit the tile, shattering into a million tiny pieces around the kitchen.

Once the first piece shattered, there was no stopping the destructive path Vega went on. Pictures were ripped off of the walls, their glass frames mixing with the smashed plates on the floor. Anything around the apartment that was Chase’s wasn’t safe—his clothes were ripped to shreds, in ribbons around the apartment.

Vega continued to scream, letting the hurt and confusion from tonight’s events pour out of her. She didn’t care if she woke her neighbors, if the cops were called, or if someone broke down the door to make sure she wasn’t being murdered.

She didn’t stop until the rust stained porcelain bathtub was full of water and Chase’s laptop sat at the bottom with little bubbles floating to the surface.

Vega’s eyes fluttered open, and the light from her open blinds made her squint. She groaned, throwing the blanket over her head. If it weren’t for the smell wafting into the bedroom, she might have fallen back asleep.

Bacon.

She sat upright, her hair wild from a fitful sleep. Clothes from last night, a towel, and the pajamas she’d meant to wear littered her bedroom floor. How drunk was I? Vega rubbed her temples, racking through her fuzzy memories from the night before.

Vega dressed in clothes strewn on the carpet, avoiding Chase’s shredded clothing like they’d grown eyes and were staring directly at her.

The smell of breakfast hinted that Chase had come home to talk. Vega didn’t bother brushing her teeth—there would be no kisses. She crossed her arms across her chest defiantly, ready to ask him if he thought making food would solve their problems.

Except the person in the kitchen wasn’t Chase.

“Do you still like your eggs scrambled with cheese and hot sauce?” The angelic voice brought Vega’s blurry memories back. When Vega didn’t answer, Arlet peeked over her shoulder.

Vega fought to find her words. “How. The fuck. Did you get into my house?”

Arlet looked back at the food in the frying pan. “This is an apartment,” she deadpanned.

“I’m calling the cops.” Vega spun towards her bedroom, hoping she remembered to plug her phone in to charge. Fuck, what did I do with my phone? She didn’t make it three steps before Arlet was blocking her path.

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