The room is quiet.
When I opened the door, I expected... Her. Something,anything. Because if she threw something at me when I opened the door, that would mean she still cared... she was still here waiting to fight… she’d be… But as I step one foot into our room... it's empty, hollow...
The door creaks softly as it swings open the rest of the way. I standthere for a second, waiting for movement or sound… for her to say something sharp and cutting so I could agree with her and fall to my knees. Or for the sound of a drawer slamming, so I could step between her and leaving and beg her to stay.
Anything. But…nothing happens.
I scan our room looking for something, anything… The bed is made, the dresser is closed. Her work bag isn't on the chair where she normally leaves it... Did she have it with her when she came back from work?
I take a slow step further inside. The place looks exactly the same. The same worn rug by the bed, same stack of books on the nightstand. The same chipped mug she keeps beside the lamp, for water, because she doesn't like going into the common areas when she is half asleep or in her sleep shorts.
For a second my brain stalls there, like it's trying to tell me everything is fine. She's just in the bathroom and everything will be ok… Then something shifts, something small. Somethingwrong. Because the look in her eyes when I tried to talk to her, when my brain finally caught the fuck up, and I tried to talk to her, get her to take her cut back.
But she told me she was done, and Bex doesn't lie.
Fuck...Fuck…
No…
Bex doesn't lie.
Panic starts to crawl up my throat, and I don’t feel right in my skin. I move toward the dresser, my fingers pull open the top drawer.
Empty.
The second drawer.
Empty.
The third.
My stomach drops.
I pull the closet door open and half the hangers are empty. The only things that are left of hers are clothes I bought her when we first got together, because I thought she might feel like she fit in more if she dressed like the women in the club.
She'd answered,"If you want a club whore, tell me now, those clothes aren't me."
I stand there staring at the empty space, remembering.
I was so angry with her, I had thrown in her face that she should try a little harder to fit in, and she had responded that she never would, and I should find someone else if what I wanted was what the other brothers had.
I saw it as her not wanting to try... But did I try or did I just expect her to bend...
I turn, leaning back against the door frame. I don't know if my body or mind is more tired...
Three years and somehow the space looks the same. Except she's gone.
My hand scrubs down my face.
For a second, anger flashes through me. Hot and sharp. Like a reflex.
She never tried to make this place home.
The thoughts slip in before I can stop it.
Never hung anything on the walls.
Never acted like this is where she belonged.