Page 33 of Never Fall for an Angel

“He’s gone.”

I jump, letting out a squeak at the voice behind me. An older woman stands in her doorway, her hair in curlers and an old chihuahua in her arms. A cigarette hangs out of her mouth, smoke billowing from the end, but it’s not what makes my stomach drop to my toes.

“What?”

“He’s gone. Left about a week ago. Moved out in a hurry,” she mumbles as if the concept of someone leaving so fast is in poor taste.

“M-moved?”

Her gaze narrows on me.

“Are you hard of hearing?”

Turning away from her, I shove my key in the lock, the tremble in my hands making it difficult. She continues to standthere and stare at me like she’s the neighborhood watch when I push the door open and rush inside.

Empty.

It’s completely empty.

A shaky breath leaves me, my heart cracking with tiny fissures as I look around the living room and kitchen area. The furniture is still here. The chair and coffee table. The couch where he made me come on his tongue for the first time.

I step inside, shutting the door on the nosy woman out in the hall, and make my way on shaky legs through the apartment. I stop at the bathroom, flipping the light on. All his toiletries are gone. No soap. No razor on the sinks edge. Not even a speck of lint or a roll of toilet paper.

A quiet tear slips down my cheek, and I’m powerless to stop it, heading instead to his bedroom.

The California king bed still sits against the wall, a lamp on one end of the table and a clock on the other. The curtains are partially open, filling the room with an eerie glow. I push open his closet door and nearly fall to my knees.

All his clothes have been wiped out.

He left. He really fucking left.

I step back into the living room, a numbness taking over me, and I stand in the center for what feels like ages, just staring at the couch.

He left.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know it’s Tomas asking if I’m okay, but I ignore him. I’m too busy spiraling.

A quiet sob wrenches from my throat, and I sink to the carpet on shaky legs.

He really fucking left.

As if I never meant anything to him.

You need to forget about me, little devil.

My eyes stay glued on the mantel, my heart cracking in my chest, and that’s when I let myself cry.

“Mila, please wait up.”

I continue walking, ignoring my sister.

I was doing so well, ignoring everything that happened. It’s been three months sinceheleft, and yet the moment his name was mentioned tonight at the family barbeque, all the pain I’ve been burying under a mountain of numbness came crashing back in.

I want to forget him. I want to erase the memories that he exists in from my brain so I don’t have to be reminded that while I may still be in love with him, he doesn’t feel the same.

“Please talk to me? What happened between you and Christian?”

Anger swells in my chest, and I scoff. I turn around, nearly forcing her to run into me.

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