The Marshall Boy

One

One
Lucy. 

I have had the worst day of my life. When I was eighteen, I was rejected from my dream college, when I was twenty I was rejected from my dream job, and yet, the worst ache of my life comes at twenty-two, from being fired from a bartending job. Pathetic. How can I be good at anything, if I can't even keep a bartending job? I worked harder than anyone there, and because the owner's niece needs a job I get the boot? I scowl as I pass fellow New Yorker's, who all seem to be abnormally happy which does nothing to better my mood. I stomp up the steps of my old, rustic apartment building, and sigh heavily when I reach the top of the them and walk down the hall. Trevor will cheer me up: he always finds a way to cheer me up. I'm fishing around my purse for my keys when I hear it. A female laughing- in my apartment. I jam my key into the lock, and the door flies open, exposing my boyfriend of four years, and a half naked girl straddling his lap on the couch. The half naked girl is my best friend. She's on my boyfriend's lap, and they're on my couch.

"Lucy-" She starts. She's Jenna Williams; I met her while I was in college, and she's been my best friend ever since. I can't look at her.

"Get out." My voice is steel, despite my heart laying shattered in my chest.

"I'm-" My eyes land on hers, and she shrinks back a bit, then grabs her shirt and jacket; she leaves with her head down, and I don't feel anything but rage when the door shuts behind her and my focus is on my soon to be ex boyfriend.

"Baby-" He starts, and I rush toward him, beating against his chest as hard as I can.

"Get out! Get out! Get out!" I scream as I hit him repeatedly. Trevor is a personal trainer, he's pure muscle, and a foot taller than me, but I continue to beat against his chest as my fury takes over. "I never want to see you again!" I scream as I shove him toward the front door.

He's letting me shove him. He lets me shove him toward it, lets me shove him out into the hallway, and lets me slam the door in his face as he turns to attempt to reason. I lock the door, before turning around and looking around the apartment. My eyes land on the picture of us at prom and I rush forward and throw it to the ground, smashing it. I suck in a deep breath, the sound of the frame shattering music to my ears. I grab his football trophies and throw them across the room, knocking his MacBook off the kitchen counter and not even looking down to assess the damage. I smash every existing piece of our life together: every picture in a frame, all the gifts he gave me into the garbage disposal, then I throw his college degree on the ground, shattering the frame like all the rest. I continue my rampage until I feel weak. A sob wracks my body, and I drop to the floor, curling around myself as the weight of how horrible my life is at this moment slams onto my shoulder.
No job. No boyfriend. No friends here. I fall forward and curl into a ball on the hardwood floor, surrounded by the carnage I've created, as I press my phone to my ear. It takes two rings before a familiar, southern voice enters my ears.

"Momma," I sniff, as I close my burning eyes. "I'm coming home."