Chapter 1
“We’re done, Dennis. Pack your shit and hit the bricks,” Ashley stated, fairly calmly, she thought. Plucking up the duffle bag she had pulled from their community closet, she tossed it at him, hitting him in the chest with its emptiness. She couldn’t help but think he wasn’t much unlike that vacant container. It was the same one he had arrived with and had been hidden in a back corner since he had unpacked that first day. It was hideous with its splotchy green color and brown straps – ugly, like him.
“What are you talking about, babe?” he replied, tossing the bag to one side, and returning to whatever he was viewing on his phone.
He was always on his phone, never really in the room. It was the most tiresome thing on the planet, watching him scroll through the screen beside her, constantly. Sometimes, he smiled down at it or even laughed aloud. She had no idea what he was looking at or who he was talking to, but he was careful with it. The screen was always carefully tilted with the cover in a position. He put it in his pocket if he got up to walk away. He even took it to the bathroom with him – the fucking bathroom!
“I’m talking about you getting your lazy, mooching ass off my sofa and out of my apartment,” she replied, her voice still even.
Dennis put the phone down on the coffee table and looked at her, smiling broadly. There was a time when that smile melted her. He could smile at her and the earth moved beneath her feet. Now, it just made her want to punch him in the face.
“Come on, babe. You’re just having a bad day or something.”
“You’re damned straight I’m having a bad day. I just got a notice from the landlord that the rent check bounced. It would seem that you’ve spent every penny in our bank account. So, I thought I could just put it on the credit card while I sorted it out, but guess what?”
He looked at her blankly, finally shrugging as if he had no idea, which infuriated her even further. He knew damned well what the problem was but chose to play dumb rather than accept any blame for the situation. Typical.
“Maxed out. Not just one, but all of them. We’ve not got a penny to our names.”
“Ah, babe. That’s no big deal. We’ve been broke before. It’ll get better,” he said, reaching for his phone again.
His dismissive tone was more than she could stand. Without another word, she stomped into the bedroom and began pulling his clothes from the closet. Fuck the bag and fuck him. She carried as much as she could at one time. Returning to the living room, she opened the French doors that led out to their balcony and began tossing his things over the railings.
“Hey, now. What are you doing?”
“I told you to pack. You don’t seem to think it necessary, so I’m throwing your shit out of my house. If you are still here when I’m done, I’m going to call the police to have you removed.”
“Ashley, come on. I’ve just been going through a tough time, lately. My work isn’t selling. I can’t help it.”
“Yes, you can. I’m working long hours to pay bills. If we were careful with our money, we could get by, but you act like our bank account is your private petty cash drawer and spend whatever you want. There’s nothing left for obligations or food. You’re completely selfish and irresponsible!” she yelled at him, finally losing her cool.
“That’s not fair. I’m trying so hard and I need things for my work.”
“Like eight dollar lattes every day when I can’t even afford a cup of coffee from the office machine?”
“It’s important that I appear successful to the people that matter.”
“And you don’t think that is important for me? I work in one of the best galleries in the area. I worked hard to even get that job and have to maintain a certain standing to keep it. My bosses require that I live a life that ensures they don’t have to worry about me dealing with international buyers and handling their money. Do you think it looks good when I’m always bringing cheese sandwiches and water for lunch and can’t afford to go out and eat with potential clients, even when I’m being reimbursed afterward?”
“I think you’re overreacting, babe,” he replied.
She scowled at him and then walked back into the bedroom. A glance back toward the living room revealed that he was back to scrolling through his phone again, oblivious to the fact that she had just thrown a large quantity of his belongings out of their apartment. She saw red as she gathered up another bunch of clothes, returning to the balcony to toss them across the railing. It was only then that he launched a more serious protest.
“Ashley, stop this. Let’s sit down and talk about this.”
“No, Dennis. We hardly talk. We never have sex. I don’t even know where you are half the time. That is, unless I check the credit card receipts to see where you spent my money last. You contribute absolutely nothing to this relationship and haven’t since the day you moved in. We both know you are only here because you need someone to support you financially.”
“That’s just not true. I love you, Ashley.”
The words were spoken with all the conviction of a serial killer apologizing for his actions during sentencing. They meant nothing to her anymore. He had shown her time and time again that she meant nothing and that he had no respect for her. Walking back into the bedroom, she gathered up an armload of shoes and returned to toss them over. He stopped her, grabbing them from her arms and begging her to stop.
“Ashley, people are going to see. You are doing damage to my reputation. I told you how important it is that I keep up appearances in order to mingle with the right sorts.”
“And I told you how important it is for me to do the same, but you don’t care. Let’s face it, Dennis. The only one that really cares about whether or not you can drink a caramel vanilla double espresso soy latte with your other talentless artist friends, is you.”
“My friends are not talentless. That’s unfair.”
“Right. We are having a fight about the fact that you have spent all our money and the only thing you get from the conversation is that I insulted your friends. You are right, Dennis. Many of them may have a bit of talent. It’s only you that doesn’t.”
“Now, you’re just being mean.”
“Yeah. I’m mean. I’ve got an idea for you, Dennis. Why don’t you go another route and portray yourself as a starving artist?” she replied, marching over to the corner of her place where his easel and paints sat and throwing them all in a nearby box she had emptied earlier in preparation for moving him out. When she was done, she walked to the open doors and threw the whole thing over the rails. Brushes, paints, sponges and the like spilled all over the lawn below.
“You bitch!” he shouted at her.
“That’s right. I’m a bitch now. You made me one. Either gather up the rest of your stuff or I’m going to keep throwing it over the rails until it’s all out of my apartment.”
Dennis muttered under his breath as he put the shoes in the old army duffle she had retrieved for him and walked to the bedroom to finish filling it with what was left there. He returned with it packed and then tossed a few things of his that were sitting around into it.
“Where is my phone?” he asked, noting that it was no longer laying on the coffee table.
“Oh, I bought that too and I’ll be keeping it.”
“You can’t take my phone!”
“Wanna bet?”
“Ashley, come on. Be fair, babe.”
“I’m not your babe and you weren’t fair when you emptied our bank account and spent every available dime on the credit cards. By the way, I’ve closed all those accounts now, so you no longer have access to them.”
He glared at her for a moment and then looked over at his easel and canvas, shaking his head as he spoke. “I can’t believe you are doing this to me. We’ve been so good together. We can fix this.”
“No, we can’t. All packed? Get out.”
“Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow for my easel and art supplies that are left.”
“You’ll need to call first. I also took your keys to the apartment.”
“You’re going to be sorry, one day, when I finally hit it big and you are still working your shitty gallery job and teaching toddlers to finger paint at the community center or some shit like that.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll hold my breath for this unimaginative garbage you paint to be displayed anywhere but the nearest dumpster. Fuck off, Dennis.”
Yanking open the front door, he walked out, leaving it wide open for her to close. As he stomped down the hallways, he turned back and shouted at her.
“I’ve been fucking your best friend in your bed while you work, anyway.”
Ashley stood there, her mouth open as she absorbed this. Was it true or had he just said it to be hurtful? It didn’t matter as far as he was concerned, but she couldn’t believe Sasha would do that to her. It was something she’d deal with later. Right now, she was royally pissed that he said it, true or not.
Marching over to where his easel still sat, she folded it up and took it over to the open patio doors, tossing it overboard like she was throwing a spear. It shot downward, hitting the lawn just to the side of where he was already picking up the paints she had previously thrown and causing him to jump visibly. He looked up at her angrily. Ashley realized that she was smiling. This felt good. It was cathartic.
Walking through the house, she threw everything she could find of his down toward where he was retrieving what had already landed. Several people had stopped and were watching with mixed expressions of horror and amusement.
“What the fuck are you doing? I told you I would get the rest tomorrow!” he yelled toward her.
“I forgot. I won’t be home,” she yelled back, sending a jar of brushes flying past his head.
Walking back inside the apartment, she found that everything was gone except for a painting on the wall that he had done of her when they had first met. She had thought it was so sweet, despite the abstract nature of it and rough brush strokes. Now, she understood that it truly was just shit from a talentless hack. Pulling it down, she ripped the front to shreds and then tossed it over the balcony with everything else.
“Bitch!” he yelled back, still retrieving things from below.
“You already said that. Your insults are just as lame as your work. Bye, Dennis,” she replied, closing the doors, and locking them.
If she had any doubts about whether she was making a mistake, they were laid to rest by the fact that she felt nothing but calm now. He was gone, and she was glad. There were no tears, no regrets. Instead, there was just a tremendous sense of relief. He was gone. His shit was gone. It was over.
Walking over to the fridge, she rummaged around, finding a cold beer in the back of it. At least there was that. She sat down on the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table, looking around her apartment. Her apartment. It felt good to be alone again.