Page 111 of Their Arrangement
I torethe photo in half.
Then again.
And again.
The sound wasn’t loud enough.
Nothing was loud enough.
I stood in the center of my tiny apartment, barefoot, shirt inside out, wine glass on the floor next to an unopened bottle I couldn’t afford, and Selene’s voice still echoing inside my skull like it had a lease.
He’s back in town.
He misses you.
Motel lace. Motel bruises. Motel shame.
My chest heaved. Too tight. Too hot. My fingers shook as I picked up the scraps of the note and threw them against the wall like they could bleed.
They didn’t.
They fluttered.
Mockedme.
I paced. Back and forth. One hand in my hair. The other still curled like it wanted to punch something.
“Fuck.Fuckfuckfuck?—”
I ripped open the drawer beside my couch.
Camille’s old heels? Pawned last month.
Designer perfume she gave me? Half a bottle left—but that wouldn’t pay for shit.
“Think, Cloe.”
I grabbed my purse. Dumped it out.
Four dollars. A sample lipstick. A receipt from a sandwich I never finished.
I checked the coat pocket.
Nothing.
I opened my bank app again.
$1.21.
Not enough to buy dinner. Definitely not enough to disappear.
I tried to breathe.
Didn’t work.
The walls felt like they were inching in.
I opened the fridge.
