Page 102 of Inflame

Bent in a repurposed delivery box, I find my rewards chart that I use to help keep my eating and workout routine monitored. It is a dopamine rush for me to add a star next to each goal I conquer in a day’s time. Ethan often alluded to the whole concept being childish, but his opinion no longer matters. I regret that there was a time in my life that I allowed it to take precedence.

I pull up on the first trash bag, trying to get a good enough grip to lift it toward the opened door. I make it about halfway, when the plastic pulls and shreds, emptying out the contents of the bag onto the nasty floor. My clothes and shoes spill out into the collecting puddle of water gathering in the dip in the concrete. Dammit.

I bend and scoop up as much as I can fit in my arms and carry them to the car. My outfit just gets dirtier from the muddy water that soaks into the fabric. Yuck. I go back into the unit to grab more loose items and find a perfectly wrapped gift box, addressed to me, tucked underneath a pile of dresses.

I examine the wrapping paper and bow, knowing that it was done by a professional. I have never seen a more beautiful box. I tear through the paper and discover that the gift is a set of bath products all with a chocolate scent. Lotions, bath bombs, and shower gel. I notice the little emblem as coming from the cactus garden and chocolate shop in Las Vegas. Nic Hoffman sent this to me. I don’t need a little card to verify that it was him. I just know.

Tears bite at my eyes as I am overcome by the reality of my situation. I wish I could identify the paramount emotion burning in my heart. However, I feel like a mixed bag of them all. Maybe this trip to the storage dumpster is exactly what I need to move on. Maybe how Ethan is basically shitting all over our relationship is the cleanest breakup I’ve ever had. There is no coming back from this. No amount of therapy will ever erase these defining memories from my brain.

Whatever Ethan Maxwell needs, I am certainly not the woman to give it to him. I hope I never see that man again.

In roughly eighteen minutes, I have all of my meager belongings packed up in the trunk of my candy-apple-red Nissan Maxima. I really hope I do not have to trade her in for something more practical. She has done me well ever since I moved out here to Portland from the East Coast. If I have to go without a car, I will go nuts. I shudder at the thought of waiting in the rain for the city bus to arrive late.

Get your head on straight, Claire. Calm down.

I turn in the key at the main office and do not even look the attendant in the eye as I wave an insincere goodbye. My phone buzzes to life as I plug it into the charger so I can access the GPS on my screen. Every city seems to have a “wrong side of the tracks” section and with all these years living in Portland, I finally found it.

When I get back in familiar territory, I park at the lot near the city park and walk down to the river. I sit on an empty bench and check through a series of alerts from Entice. Wow, that was fast. I barely even activated my profile, and I already have a surge of potential dates. I will call this fate.

Now, I just need to find an affordable apartment that won’t break the bank. I doubt Blake’s apartment is in need of estrogen, especially if this Henry character is as he describes. Blake can be a bit overdramatic sometimes, so it’s hard to take his words at face value. Regardless, my days on the uncomfortable sofa are limited. I do not want to overstay my welcome, mainly because I never know when I may need that type of favor again.

I scan through the list of dates, some overlapping and causing what I hope would be a minor bidding war. This is good. Increased hourly rates are in my favor. I don’t even bother worrying about who I am accepting or not. Everyone is vetted with background checks done regularly. I just upload everything to my calendar, and because I no longer have much of a social life at the moment, I know I am free.

To decompress everything that has happened today, I decide to take a walk along the path by the water. The fresh air always helps me to refocus and center myself.

My brisk walk turns into a slow jog. Once I get my breathing under control, I turn the jog into a run. My feet hit the pavement and my hair blows in the breeze. My arms chug along, and I feel rejuvenated from the ability to move my body freely. That is what exercise does for me. It recharges me and makes me feel alive.

When my body is physically exhausted, I slump into my car and make my way to the free clinic a couple of blocks away. If I’m going to be active at Entice with the sole purpose of making easy money, then I better follow the protocol and update my test results.

When I get back to Blake’s place, I am confronted with a partially nude Henry meandering about the kitchen. At least that’s who I assume it is. Who else would be making a skillet of pancakes for dinner, wearing a low-cut pair of boxer briefs?

He smells of stale nacho cheese, and it makes me want to vomit. He must take my look of disgust as approval, because his eyes flame with possibility.

Blake was right. This Henry definitely doesn’t look like the golden retriever type. He doesn’t have sandy-brown hair and isn’t anything I would describe as wholesome. He has a man’s body but a teenager’s sex drive.

“Shit,” he mutters, running his hands through his hair. “Did I drunk text you? You look-”

Familiar? He has seen my picture on Blake’s phone. I narrow my eyes at him but play along. “Here for the booty call. Hope your dick can stay up this time. You have quite the reputation forming.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Did Stella—” He pauses, waving the spatula in the air. “No, Stacy…yeah, Stacy. Did she talk shit about me? Lies. It’s all lies.”

“She said the surgery was supposed to fix the issue.” I make a point to move my eyes down to his crotch and look at it as if I am trying to solve the most complex math problem. “But maybe the doctor messed up.”

“Hot damn, she’s a crazy bitch.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I never had surgery. She’s just mad that—”

I can’t contain my laughter as it bursts out of me. It is refreshing to laugh this hard again. Today has been such a mess that this is exactly what I need.

Henry steps closer and takes a better look at me. I try to only breathe through my mouth. It is like he is dusted in powdered cheese. Maybe it is oozing out of his pores when he sweats. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. Gross.

“Wait a minute,” he says, looking me up and down. “You are Blake’s best friend, Claire. My future booty call girl.”

“Well, that is never going to happen.”

“Neverjust makes me work harder,” he counters.

I start to turn around and take my place on the sofa, when Henry pulls my attention back to him with the clearing of his throat.

“Blake told me you were looking for a place to stay. For your information, my bed sleeps two.”

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