.....................
D
Keith lied. He always did. He lied about moving away from New York with his family in tow.
She anticipated the pain that will later follow, the crippling sadness she always expected to feel. But no trace or hint of it ever rushed into her.
She just felt awfully numb.
It was a few days after he'd left her, she'd consumated every bottle of liquor she had in her fridge, and even the stash she had from her corner of the room, from the bathroom cupboards--because yes, she's crazy enough to hide a bottle of hard whiskey in her bathroom, and each and every fissure of her place.
So when she felt shit enough that her breathing constantly craved the hardness and the taste of alcohol, she managed to tame her coarse hair, finally wore clothes in days--because yes, when you're alone and naked this can benefit you from the torture of doing laundry and left the confines of her shitty apartment wearing some Yankees tee, a way too old baggy jeans and her boots and onto the crisp, cool air of 10th street.
It was never her intention to have passed his clinic. Maybe the universe did its weird thing of aligning you with people you don't even want to see. In fact she was too fixated on her raggedy boots that in her periphery she caught its perfect glass doors and windows, and white walls--in all its prefect glory.
And there he is, he seemed happy, and perfect, with no hint of guilt, or any remorse. But who is she even kidding? She's just a little thing on the side of his perfect world.
Just a blip.
Everything seemed like falling into place in his favor and that's when she thought, fuck it, I'd walked away and never looked back a million times in my life now this one should add to that, she reminded herself.
As she walked up her complex, she thought of an idea. Ever have those moments when you forgot about someone or something for a while then suddenly there's this little flash of memory sparking up in your mind?
Like standing up too fast you get a head rush.
Danes mentally thanked the virtual light bulb on the top of her head and stopped at a door-- three doors down from hers and knocked on it.
No-- practically banged on it since the person most likely living there was rather preoccuppied over something.
"Kenji! Hey! Kenji!" She continued banging the door. "Hey! I know you're in there! I can hear your stupid video games playing!"
Moments later, the door opened and revealed a grumpy-faced, tousled-haired Kenji-- her half-Japanese, half-American neighbor sporting some sweats, his sweater with Japanese characters written on it, and his eyeglasses-- which has a cracked frame wrapped in duct tape to keep it from breaking.
Whom by the looks of it, is not happy seeing her.
"I can't hang with you, Danes. I'm bu-" His sentenced got cut off when her pointer finger literally zipped his mouth shut.
"Busy what? Playing video games all day? Or memorizing all the countries and their capitals? Or," she paused and pondered as if to resemble an in-deep-thought philosopher.
