THREE MONTHS EARLIER

I shuffled into Paul’s apartment with my grocery bags. I have about two hours before he comes home from work, so I can easily cook dinner and surprise him. I pulled out the chicken and placed it on the counter top.

“Fuck!” Paul’s voice echoed from his bedroom.

What?

He isn’t supposed to be home … did he leave early from work today?

“Paul?” I whispered, moving toward his room at sloth speed, almost afraid to go in.

A loud orgasmic moan filled the apartment. A loud …female moan. I came to a halt, overcome by a blizzard that was also burning me up. I watched the crystal door knob carefully, knowing that if I made contact with it, it would change my world.

“Fuck, me harder Paul.”

The words rang inside my ear painfully, yet almost falsely. Was I imagining this? Was I in a dream? I focused my attention on the small crack on the door where the paint had chipped off. Seconds passed, which then turned into minutes, then hours, then years. The only thing that brought me back to reality was her lustful moan.

I covered the vintage doorknob with my hand and turned it slowly. The door was quiet when it slid open, like it knew we were on a mission. My heart sank deeper and deeper into the abyss of my body as the silent door inched forward, revealing my boyfriend fucking a girl from behind.

“Fuck, you’re my sexy little slut,” Paul roared under his breath as he smacked the small girl’s ass leaving a red mark, declaring it as his territory.

I watched my boyfriend fuck another girl right in front of me and I didn’t leave. I wanted to leave, but I was rooted to the ground witnessing something I … I always wanted. My boyfriend of two fucking years was fucking a girl, and not just fucking her, but fucking her like I’ve always desired to be fucked. Fiercely and crude like he was all animal. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. They were so wrapped up in their affair that they didn't even notice me.

I was a ghost.

A phantom.

A shadow.

That was until the long-haired brunette rotated her long neck to witness her shadow.

“FUCK!!!” she pulled away from Paul and grabbed the covers to hide her thin body.

Paul turned back and gasped like he had just seen a ghost. He didn’t say anything. We all didn’t say anything. His wide eyes examined me quickly then morphed into a sharp, fury-filled gaze. I was numb and I didn't know how to express my emotions, unlike Paul and the girl, whose faces were bouncing around through every emotion, like they were inside of a pinball machine.

Without any control of my body, I let out a scoff and turned sharply to exit the murder scene of my relationship. I remained silent while I headed toward the kitchen. The apartment transformed under my eyes as I noticed things I’d never noticed before. The random holes in the wall, the discolored wooden floor, the broken molding, and the random dust bunnies in the corner. Everything was changing before my eyes, like they had been closed all along.

Paul called out my name a few times, then yelled at the girl (whose name was Rachel) to get dressed and get out.

I went toward the grocery bags to grab my Coke and the Jack Daniels bottle from the countertop. I mindlessly made my desperately needed drink, but it felt odd. I felt like I was watching myself outside of my body as I made my drink.

I took a sip of my warm Jack and Coke, making eye contact with Rachel who instantly regretted it and looked away as she hurled out of the apartment. She looked familiar, but I didn’t know from where.

“Mal? Mal? Mallory?” a once upon safe, but now painful voice addressed me. “It doesn't count. It was nothing.”

I heard some more muffled sounds coming out of him, but it was hard to understand what he was saying. I thought I heard:

It doesn’t count?

It was nothing?

“Mallory, please. Can we talk about this? MALLORY!” Paul’s angry voice turned up a few notches.

He grabbed my arm and I instantly ripped myself away from him.

“Don’t. You. DARE. FUCKING! TOUCH ME!” All my emotions from the past few minutes blasted out of me. I chugged my drink and looked into his dull brown eyes, which didn’t have a hint of remorse in them.

“Mallory please. Let me explain. It was nothing,” Paul tried to step closer to me. But I took a step back, compressing the glass.

“It’s nothing? It doesn’t matter?” I clenched my teeth together so hard I could feel my blood pulse through them.

“It doesn’t. Look, Mal, she is my ex. It doesn’t count. It’s not really cheating, since she isn't new,” Paul let out a faint smile.

I looked down at my glass and let out a burst of laughter. “Let me get this straight? It doesn't count because you FUCKED HER IN THE PAST?”

I chucked my glass at the wall behind him. I let my anger get out of hand. I felt weak, like a child throwing a tantrum, even though I knew that in this situation it was completely logical. But I didn’t want Paul to see this side of me. I didn’t want him to see how it really hurt me.

“HEY! Whoa! What the fuck! No need to get aggressive. You’re overreacting!” Paul took another step closer to me.

You’re overreacting!

“I’m overreacting?” my cold voice covered my body in goosebumps. “You are telling me … I am overreacting. NO! Listen to me very carefully, Paul. I am underreacting. You cheated on me and all I did was throw that fucking glass at that fucking wall. You piece of —” I screamed into my mouth and turned around to wipe the one burning tear that escaped my eyes.

“Mallory, calm down. It doesn’t matter.”

“How long have you been fucking her?” my voice cracked as I tried to stay strong, looking at the front door.

I heard Paul mash his lips together, afraid to tell the truth. “It’s been a few months …”

“A few months … How. Many?” my breathing was heavy and short as I spun around to see Paul’s long, horse-like face.

“Eight. Eight months,” he looked me in the eyes, not ashamed of his answer.

“It doesn’t count,” I puffed my laugh. “If it doesn't count then I can go fuck my exes? And it won’t count as cheating, right Paul?”

Paul chuckled while his eyes rolled in their sockets.

“Please. You have got to be kidding me. Your exes won’t fuck you even if you begged. If I told you once, I've told you a thousand times, no other man will love you as much as I love you, Mallory.”

My mouth dropped, heartbroken but mostly furious that I wasted two years with this piece of shit boy. I called him a boy, because he did NOT deserve to be called a man.

“Go fuck yourself, Paul. We are done,” my teeth scraped against each other making a noise loud enough for Paul to hear even though he was at least five feet away.

Paul became enraged at the fact that I even dared to talk back to him. That I even dared to talk about us breaking up.

“You think that you will find anyone better than me? NO ONE will ever love you as much as me you — YOU FAT BITCH!” Paul snarled through his teeth as if he had been holding in that name for a very long time.

I flattened out my hand and raised it slowly, but something inside of me told me not to do anything stupid. Not to waste another minute with this — this boy. I took a deep breath, the last breath I was ever going to take around Paul, his shitty rundown apartment and his childish behavior.

I marched toward the door. The last image Paul was ever going to see of me would be of my long ash blonde hair and fat ass. I felt Paul rush toward me, hugging me from behind and telling me over and over again that he loved me and he was sorry for what he did and what he called me.

I stood in silence until a laugh escaped my lips. “Any man is better than you.”

I ripped his hands off, which wasn’t hard to do since he was smaller than me.

Any.

Fucking.

Man.

I smiled to myself while I walked out of Paul’s apartment, but instantly was hit with anxiety.

Everything was going to change now.

Everything.