The Psychic Next Door

[First Draft] Chapter 1: Homeless

Did you know you're reading the first draft of this book? The revised edition is now on Wattpad. Check out the earlier chapters of this book to read it now!

🔮

Every inch of my body throbbed with a dull ache. It surged through me, pushing outwards like a wave, starting from the centre of my chest and moving with my pulse until it reached my fingertips and toes. And every time it felt like I was drowning in it, being pulled under the waves as it washed over me again, and again, and again.

He was staring out at me from the screen of my phone, that familiar smile plastered across his stupid face, his name—Rick—emblazoned above. He was trying to call me, again, but I was not going to answer. I was never going to answer his calls again. Anyway, it wasn't like I would be able to speak with him even if I had to. I couldn't help but freeze up whenever I saw his face, even if it was just a picture. It physically hurt me to look at him, and the pain was too much.

My rational half told me I was being ridiculous and melodramatic, and I knew that was true. But I also knew that love was not a rational thing. I knew my heart and my mind were separate entities, and sometimes they held very different opinions. And right now, even though my rational self told me—frequently—to get over it, and that I was better off without him, my heart still hurt, and there was nothing my head could do to change that.

I dismissed the call, sending it to voicemail so that he could leave yet another message that I would delete without listening to. What didn't he get about 'fuck off'? I thought that setting our bed on fire had been a very clear message.

It had been a week since I had last seen him, but it seemed like much longer, more like a month. So much had happened. It was hard to believe it had been a mere seven days since I caught him in bed—our bed—with another woman.

Retracing those memories made the next wave of pain a little stronger. I dug my fingers into the centre of my chest, right above my whining heart, my shirt bunching up beneath my grip. Yes, it was all very melodramatic. Part of me still couldn't believe it, a part that still awoke expecting to roll over and find him there beside me. He was all I knew. We had been together for four years. We had met in high school, moved away to college together...

But apparently I wasn't enough for him. He had to go and cheat on me. And worse, I had been completely oblivious. I noticed he had started being strangely secretive, but I hadn't even been suspicious. I trusted him. Pathetically, I had entertained the idea that his secret was that he was planning to propose! I can even remember wondering what was taking him so long to do it. Now I knew.

I stumbled to the nearest lamppost and leaned against it, fighting off the tears that were now threatening to emerge. I needed to collect myself before I moved on. I couldn't show up for my apartment viewing looking like a wreck. I couldn't risk giving the landlord a reason not to rent to me... Not another reason, at least. I was already in a tight spot; I hoped they wouldn't ask too many questions. I intended to lie if they did, because I didn't exactly have glowing references from my previous landlord after he kicked us out. There had been something in our lease about "intentional destruction of property" and lighting your own bed on fire in the alley fell under that clause.

I admit that it was my fault, that I should have known better, but it had been an act of passion. After I had discovered Rick's indiscretion and threw him out, I dragged that bed—our bed—out behind our apartment complex and set it ablaze, frame and all. It burned, oh, it did. It went up so easily, like the furniture itself thought that it deserved to be destroyed, like it had been implicated by his actions. Though, unfortunately, it burned a little too well, and the fire department had to be called to put it out, and my apartment manager lost his shit.