Unforgiven(80)

I pack one more box of clothing from my dresser before taking a quick shower and crawling into bed for the evening. My stomach twists with anxiety when I think about talking to Rob at the TV station tomorrow morning and cleaning out my desk—closing the door on that job and moving forward to my new life back in Wilmington.
As I lie in the dark, the mirror on my wall begins to shake from the beat of the bass next door and I lie sleepless, much like I did my first night in Phoenix; the irony. I push the sheet off of me and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I reach for my cellphone and swipe the screen. Pushing the contacts button, I scroll to Jonah’s name and push the call button. Reaching over, I turn on the bedside lamp that sits on the nightstand while the phone rings. After the fourth ring, I get sent to voicemail. I end the call and set the phone back on my nightstand while I contemplate whether to go knock on his door.
My cellphone begins vibrating and I reach for it as Jonah’s name flashes across the screen.
“Hello?” I answer quietly. Loud music and screaming voices fill the line in the background.
“Lindsay.” His voice is cool, his attitude clipped. “You called?”
“Hi, Jonah.” He doesn’t respond. I can hear the music clearly through the phone as I sit deciding what to say to him. “Think you can turn the music down? I’m trying to sleep.”
“Where are you?” he asks quickly.
“In my bed.” With no other words said, the line goes dead. Suddenly, the mirror stops shaking, the music is shut off, and I lay my head back down on my pillow. I leave on the lamp on my nightstand and close my eyes. Not even five minutes later, there is a loud rap on my door and I take a deep breath, knowing that it’s Jonah.
I walk through the dark living room, careful to avoid the coffee table and end tables as I make my way to the front door. I peek through the peephole and see Jonah with his forehead resting against my door. I flip the deadbolt, unlocking the door, and turn the handle. Jonah stands on wobbly legs as I pull the door open and braces himself against the doorframe. He smells of alcohol and nicotine.
“Jonah,” I say as he smiles at me and stumbles.
“You’re here.”
“I am. You’re drunk.”
“I am. Can I come in?”
“No. I have an early appointment in the morning and I have to get to bed.” He looks over my shoulder and sees the boxes stacked on and next to the kitchen island.
“You’re moving?”
I nod quickly. “I am, back to North Carolina.”
“No, Lindsay, wait…”
“Jonah,” I cut him off. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” I place my hand on his chest to help steady him, but to also keep him from coming into my condo. “I promise. As soon as I’m back from my meeting, I’ll stop by. You need to sleep—and shower,” I say. The odor of alcohol is seeping from his skin.
“Can I sleep here?” He leans into me and I push back on him.
“No.” My answer is firm and direct. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Don’t shut me out, Lindsay,” he says quietly.
“Jonah,” I say, my voice strong in warning. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” I step back and shut the door, turning the deadbolt. I stand momentarily, waiting to hear him shuffle next door, but I don’t hear him leave. I retreat back to my bedroom, shutting off the light and crawling under the covers. I lay awake most of the night, a million thoughts swirling through my busy mind. I vaguely remember closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep just as the sun is beginning to rise.
My eyes flutter open to the sun bleeding through the sheer curtains of my room. I jump out of bed and quickly shower and dry my hair. I step into a multi-colored cotton shift dress and a pair of wedge heels. Nice enough for a meeting with Rob, but comfortable enough to pack up my desk at the same time. I spend a few minutes applying make-up and running a large curling iron through my already wavy hair. Satisfied with how I look, I feel good—confident.
Grabbing my cell phone and purse, I pound out a quick text message to Mike, letting him know I’m picking up coffees on my way to the office and I need his order. Pulling the door open, I find Jonah sitting in the hallway, his legs propped up and bent at the knees. His head is resting against the wall and his eyes are red and bloodshot.
“Jonah,” I say, shutting the door behind me and locking it. “What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting for you.” He swallows hard and I watch his Adam’s apple jump slightly in his neck.
“I told you I had an appointment this morning and I would talk to you when I got back.”