We should have a child. With no delay.
This has the merit of stopping him and then he sets his eyes on me. I try to explain myself before his anger resumes and he will no longer be listening to me.
— Why wait? You said it yourself, I'm available, I'll have plenty of time to take care of this. What matters is that we love each other and that this child is a proof of it.
Brandon laughs out so loud that it echoes in our sparsely furnished living room.
— You suggest to me to have a baby you will take care of, while I toil like a mad man to take care of you and your offspring?
My offspring? I almost choked on my saliva and somehow I sit down on a chair before collapsing on the floor.
— Because do you really imagine that I still want to have a baby with you? After all our arguments, do you really think I want to be this committed to you?
His eyes are icy while he scrutinizes me, waiting for my answer. However, what can I answer to this? I realize that I was not aware of the gap there was between us. I thought it was only a passing setback and that eventually we would get over it. However, I am far away from reality. I can only speak in a whisper, my voice is stuck in my throat.
— No, I suppose not.
Brandon is worn out. He collapses on the sofa with all his weight, making the seat squeak, while he resumes in a dreary tone.
— Honestly Mallory, I'm not even sure I want to go on.
Second dagger in my heart. I do not want him to clarify his thoughts but at the same time, I need to understand the extent of the damage.
— Continue what?
— Us.
I have to be masochist, asking him to clarify.
— That is?
— I'm not sure I want to live with you anymore. I think we should take a break for a while.
A break... Everyone knows the meaning of "taking a break" for a couple. It is a polite way, if there is one, to break up without saying it clearly. If I had not been sitting, I probably would have fallen to the ground in pain. I'm losing my footing and I need Beth more than ever. I need my best friend to heal my wounds. However, I'm too proud to call for help.
— I'll give you time to turn around, but I'd like you to pack your bags as soon as possible.
Because on top of that he is kicking me out of the house? I stand there with my mouth open and my arms dangling, while my life goes adrift.
— You don't have to look at me that way. You can't afford to pay the rent and the expenses. In any event all the bills already come to my name, and I'm the one who paid for all the furniture.
In one day, I lost everything. My job, my dreams of an ideal life and my fiancé. Ex-fiancé. So I better get used to it right away. I get up with a stiff movement.
— Why wait? I'm going to pack my bags.
— Mallory.
He sighs before he continues.
— Don't take it like that. I do it for the both of us.
I'm choking with rage.
— For us? So, you are kicking me out to repair our relationship?
At least he has the decency to look down.
— You only do it for yourself. And now, if you allow me, I will hurry to pack my things so that my presence will no longer bothers you.
Luckily, Brandon doesn't follow me into the room. I wouldn't have had the courage to continue our verbal jousting. The day is not over and my heart is already in tatters when I pack my clothes in a travel bag. I only take the essentials, having no more space, and the sound of the zipper when I close the bag makes me realize the finality of the last events. I am going to have to start from scratch, to rebuild myself, and I'm going to have to do it alone. Go back to my parents? No need to even think about. I am old enough not to live with mom and dad and then have to account for everything I do.
I leave the house without saying a word and without looking back. Brandon kindly offered me to take his car. I bite my tongue so as not to tell him that he could shove the key up to where I thought. As if it were not to later on scold me for having used HIS car! I'd rather have my feet on fire walking than endure another humiliation.
Chapter 3
Mallory
I don't know how long I have been walking along the road, but the strap of my travel bag is starting to hurt my shoulder and my legs have trouble supporting my weight, to which it is now added the weight of my big bag. I drag myself around aimlessly, not knowing where to go, when a car pulls up next to me. I turn my head in the opposite direction, having no desire to explain to a stranger what I am doing on the side of the road with my stuff on my back. The unwelcome stranger decides otherwise. I hear the passenger window coming down and the music coming from the car twists my eardrums. The hard-core music is carried by the wind at a mind-boggling sound level. Suddenly the sound dies off and a voice that I did not expect addresses me.
— Mal? What are you doing here?
I turn around to be sure I am not hallucinating, but no, it is my friend behind the wheel of his car. I would cry for joy if my tears were not dry. All I do is stare at him, without moving or answering. He then decides to pull over to the side of the road and goes around the car to join me.
— You're okay?
I nod, unable to speak.
— Let me help you.
He takes my bag and throws it in the trunk before opening the passenger door.
— Hop in. I'll take you home. Let’s both talk and you’ll tell me what's going on.
I get into the car like an automaton, always silent, and my friend straps on my seatbelt that I did not even have the reflex to do. I suddenly feel less alone and I hope that emptying my bag will allow me to see more clearly and have a plan for the future, because I cannot wander aimlessly forever.
I realize I had never been to his house. Not even once. His house is small, away from the road and from any neighbors. The small path which leads to his front door is rough and I jump on my seat. That dangerously stirs my stomach, which revolts with these chaotic movements.
— Sorry. I haven't had time to fix the outside of the house yet.
I give him a weak smile, keeping my mouth tight so as not to vomit on the gear stick. Fortunately, it does not last more than a minute and we park in front of a small exposed brickwork house that has a crazy charm.
— It's very pretty.
He smiles at me and a dimple appears on his left cheek.
— Thank you, I inherited it from my grandmother a few years back and I've been trying to revamp it ever since.
He
