Eventually, she starts to calm down and pull away. I release her, and we both take a step backward.
“It’s not the books,” she says, wiping the wetness from her cheeks. “I mean, I loved the books, but I can replace them. I just can’t believe he did this.”
We silently work our way around the room, shoving pages and pages of destroyed books into the trash bag until it’s overflowing. When we’re done, I tie it off and set it by the door.
“You can’t sleep here tonight,” I say. “You can stay at my place until you get this straightened out.”
“Ethan…” she starts to object, but I cut her off.
“There isn’t even a bed here, Margot.”
“I can sleep in the chair in the living room.”
“You’renotsleeping in that chair,” I say firmly. “What if he comes back? If he was angry enough to do this, he might be angry enough to try something else stupid.”
Margot’s teeth clamp down on her bottom lip. She releases it with a sigh and declares, “I can get a hotel room for the night. The building manager should be able to change the locks tomorrow while I’m at work.”
“Stop being so stubborn. You’ve seen my house. I have more than enough room to spare. It wouldn’t be any imposition at all.”
“Okay,” she mumbles eventually. “Thank you.”
I can’t help but shake my head and bite back a laugh at her unwillingness to let someone help her. I’ve always known she’s stubborn, but this is a whole other level.
There’s a door to my right, presumably her closet. I walk over and flick on the light, relieved to find it still half full. At least he didn’t shred all of her clothes, too.
“Do you have a suitcase somewhere?” I ask, turning back to Margot.
She walks over and takes inventory of the closet. “Jeremy must have used it to pack up his stuff.”
So he stole that too. Perfect.
I don’t know if I’d rather punch the guy in the face or call the police and let them handle this. Right now, I’m leaning toward the first option.
Margot walks out of the bedroom and returns with another trash bag. She starts plucking items off hangers and stuffing them inside. It must kill her. Margot is the most methodical person I’ve ever met. She probably packs her suitcase like the TSA might randomly assign her a letter grade at the security checkpoint. She most fucking certainly is not the type of person who shoves their belongings in a trash bag and calls it a day.
There’s not much I can do to help, so I stand there holding the trash bag open for her. It’s a job the floor could do just as well.
After she’s placed a week’s worth of clothing in the bag, she glances around like she’s looking for something. When she looks down, she finds the answer to her unspoken question. Lying in a heap under all of her clothes is a pile of bras and underwear. Her ex just dumped them all onto the ground when he stole the dresser.
Margot and I have had our share of awkward moments this weekend. She’s seen my porn history, for god’s sake. Somehow, none of it feels as awkward as standing quietly in her closet while Margot picks lacy bras and panties off the floor and places them inside the trash bag I’m holding. Maybe because I know that these are the panties she’ll be wearing to work this week. Presumably, they’re the same panties she always wears to work.
For some reason, my dick has a completely inappropriate reaction to this. Suddenly, I’m very happy that I have a garbage bag to hold in front of my crotch.
I’ve never thought about Margot that way. Not that there’s anything wrong with Margot. She’s funny, smart, and pretty. There’s something mysterious—maybe even alluring—about the contrast of her sharp, sarcastic mouth and her reserved disposition. But we aren’t looking for the same thing, and more importantly, she’s always been taken. Now that she’s not, I guess my dick got the memo and went rogue.
Chill, buddy. This woman is not for us.
“Okay, I think that’s it,” she says, topping off the bag with a pajama set with cats all over it.
I clear my throat and nod.
Without another word, we make our way out of the apartment. Margot locks the door behind her, even though there isn’t much left to steal. On the way to the parking lot, I toss the bag of shredded books into the nearby dumpster. Part of me worries about Margot driving herself over to my house. Who knows if Jeremy is angry or stupid enough to mess with her car somehow. But when I breach the topic with Margot, she quickly shuts it down.
“He wouldn’t do that.”
She didn’t think he would tear up all her books either…
I can tell she isn’t going to budge on this, so I watch with bated breath as she starts up her little gray car and backs out of the parking spot.