Shacking Up(100)

"Hi, Banny, it's Brittany! I just heard from Mimi and I couldn't get through on your cell so I thought I'd try this number instead. I'm so sorry you had to go away on business this week. Such a disappointment when you just got back. I really hope you'll be back in time for dinner this weekend. But don't worry if you're not. We can always reschedule our date. Mimi said you're just as excited as I am about being able to spend time together again. I can't wait to pick up where we left off last time. Call me when you can!"



I stare at the machine. Hit rewind and then hit play again, listening to the message a second time. Then I listen to the voice mail from Bancroft.

There's really no guessing anymore. I can't believe he's been screwing me all over his condo all week, telling me my pussy is his, while he's been planning a date with another woman. Brittany of all people.

I listen to the message again, looking for some sign that this isn't what I think it is. Has he been playing me this entire time? I remember our conversation about Brittany back when I moved in here, how he said she wasn't that bad. Did he have sex with her that night after he kissed me? Has he been talking to her the way he's been talking to me while he's been away? It sure as hell seems like it, based on her enthusiasm. And what the hell does she mean picking up where they left off?

Fucking asshole.

Talking to me about trust and honesty and here he is, screwing me and he'll probably be screwing Brittany this weekend.

There really is no question now, I need to find a new place to live. The sooner the better.





Chapter 20: New Digs


RUBY

Everything happens for a reason. I hate that saying, even if it's true most of the time. It's something people say to you when crap luck slaps you in the face. It's not their crap luck, so it's easy to throw out a useless, annoying saying in an attempt to make a person feel better. Here's the truth: Telling someone everything happens for a reason doesn't actually make them feel less crappy. In fact, it usually makes them feel worse. 

Which is why I'm so glad I have a best friend like Amie. As soon as I stop crying-it takes a good twenty minutes to get myself under control. I might be pissed off, but I'm not angry enough that this doesn't hurt-a lot-I call her and tell her what happened.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Amie rarely swears these days. Her anger makes me feel so much better.

"I need a new apartment. Like tomorrow."

"Do you want to stay here until you do? I know there isn't much space, but is it better than staying there? Why don't you pack your things and we'll get you out tomorrow."

"What about Armstrong?"

"What about him?"

"What are you going to tell him? He's going to ask why I'm staying with you."

"He won't know. He never comes here. My mattress isn't soft enough and I don't have much space. I'll probably be at his place twice next week-I can even try for more, but he's got this thing about having his space. At least you won't have to sleep on the couch or an air mattress those nights. Do you want me to come get you tonight?"

"No. That's not necessary. He's not even in the country. And he won't be back tonight, or at least for a couple of days, so there's no point. I need to pack, anyway."

"Okay. I have to work in the morning. Do you need me to take time off so I can help you?"

"I have a shift tomorrow night, but I have the day free. I can see about getting an Uber van or something."

She's quiet for a few seconds. "Oh! What about Bancroft's truck? Are the keys there?"

"You're a genius. I don't know why I didn't think of that. I bet I can get the people who work in this building to cart all my stuff down to the truck, too."

"I'm sure you can, and you should."

I'm so angry I don't even think twice about using Bancroft's truck without his permission.

I spend the rest of the afternoon packing. Mostly it's me throwing stuff into suitcases and then crying when I can't get them closed. I'm so stupid. I made this into something it wasn't. I was convinced there was more between us, but obviously I was wrong. I still have to go to work, which sucks. It doesn't matter how long I lie with cucumber slices over my eyes, they're still red and puffy.

I guess Bancroft has turned out to be another Last-Name-First asshole. I should know better than to equate sex with feelings. I sleep like crap, and get up after just a few hours of fitful sleep. No matter, I need to get out of this place. I find Bancroft's truck keys and I call the front desk guy to bring a trolley or something up so I can move my boxes out.

Ms. Blackwood comes out to see what all the noise is about. Precious is tucked under her arms. She snarls at me. It's everything I can do not to snarl back.

"Oh, Renee, are you moving?" She looks past me, into the condo. I take a step back and close the door halfway since Francesca's cage is in the living room.