I can spiral later, but right now I need to focus on getting out.
I pull my ring off slowly, the metal slides across my skin, warm from my hand. I stare at it, remembering how he didn’t care if we got married, stating that in his life being his ol’ lady trumped any other title… I don’t know if it was the disappointment he saw on my face, but a few days later he drove us to the courthouse with a pair of rings in a small box and we got married.
It wasn’t romantic, if anything it felt like he was ticking something off a list of things to do to make me happy. But I romanticized it… made it bigger in my mind. Because he did something he didn’t believe in and that matteredright…I wore his name and he wore my ring…
I close my eyes trying to keep the tears at bay and for a second I almost leave the ring on the nightstand. I almost leave it forhim. Instead I shove it into my pocket, deciding I’m not leaving anything behind. Not a letter, or goodbye. Not a trace of me.
He did this and I don’t owe him an explanation.
I sling the backpack over my shoulder and grab my work bag with the opposite hand.
Then I take one last look around the room, a room that holds three years of empty words and broken promises… “Goodbye.” The word barely leaves my lips on a whisper.
Then I turn and walk out, the hallway is unusually quiet. Doors are closed with muffled voices behind them. Everyone is waiting for the storm to pass.
The main room should be empty, so I move quickly. Angel said lockdown, with ol’ ladies being sent to their rooms and club girls sent packing or to the shared bunkroom.
I keep walking. My heart beats faster the closer I get to the stairs. I am almost there. Almost…
“Miss Bex?”
I stop and a young prospect steps into the hallway from a side room. He looks barely twenty, with floppy blond hair and green eyes. He looks almost… sweet. Too young and innocent to be in this world.
His eyes dropped to the bag on my shoulder, asking, “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.” The words come out calm. Matter-of-fact. Even if I feel far from it.
He shifts awkwardly, saying, “Um… Clutch said to keep an eye on you.”
I keep walking and he follows.
“And Angel said lockdown so…”
“I know what they said.” My voice cuts him off. “But it doesn’t matter to me, not anymore.”
We reach the bottom of the stairs and I add, “I’m not his ol’ lady anymore.”
The words feel strange in my mouth, but I push through the discomfort and keep walking.
“I’m leaving.”
The prospect looks unsure… like he wants to argue, but doesn’t know how.
We’re just in the main room when…
“Well.” The voice slithers through the room like oil. “So good to hear that.”
My entire body stiffens.
Razor.
I turn slowly and see him leaning back in one of the chairs near the far wall. Like he’s been there the whole time. Like he never left. Almost like he knew I would be coming out and was waiting for me.
A table of brothers sits nearby, the same ones I’ve seen around him for years. The ones who laugh too loud and drink too hard. The club girls are draped across their laps and look bored, until they see me. Then they straighten.
I force my voice to stay steady, when I say. “Aren’t you supposed to be on timeout in your room?”
Razor stands slowly, a wicked glean to his eyes, “Plans change.”