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I don’t want to be like this, I really don’t. I’m not like this normally. I just want to live, but I’m being dragged down every time I try to do something right.
God, my apartment really is a small place. The front door, with its chipped paint job and rusty handle, makes a loud screeching sound whenever it moves. The interior walls are peeling paint and are full of scary discolored patches. The super-thin curtains barely keep out the light. The living area is a kitchen, dining room, home office, and TV room all in one minuscule space. The kitchen isn’t even a kitchen – it’s the barest of kitchenettes. The sink is stained, and the fridge constantly hums ominously in the background like a hissing cat. My small bedroom contains only a single mattress and scarcely enough space for my clothes. This is where I moved after I left my marriage. It was the first place I could find in Crystal River - the only available place I found that accommodates my tiny budget. My main focus on getting this place was placed less on luxury and generating a homely feeling and more in the realm of getting the hell out of my marriage home as soon as possible once shit went down.
I lie back on my petite mattress and sigh. Above me, the solitary lightbulb flickers threateningly – yet another issue I’ll have to deal with. From across the room, I spot my travel bag. I’ve barely unpacked the entire thing even though it’s been months since I’ve moved in. There’s not enough space in this apartment for me to let loose in, so I’ve kept a lot of things piled on top of the bag until greener pastures arrive. Hopefully.
That hope feels very far away at the moment...
I spot a photo frame sitting on top of that pile on the bag. I instantly know the photo the moment my eyes fall on it. It’s me and Kevin. My ex. We’re hugging in the main park of Crystal River, opposite The Oak. It’s a photo of happier times.
I don’t know how the hell that got to the most visible place on the pile. It ain’t welcome.
I stagger out of bed in a huff, grab the photo frame, and shove it deep into the nearest drawer. I can’t deal with that, not just yet. My heart is still raw. I’m still angry at Kevin. I can’t see his face right now.
God, I am in such a funk.
We were high school sweethearts. I left him, and now we’re separated. Some people in town think I was the heartless one in all of that mess, but the truth is that Kevin used all our savings to fuel his online gambling addiction - the addiction he kept secret from me and everyone else until he ran out of the money in our accounts. I don’t have a problem with the addiction, but I do have a problem with keeping it hidden from me and for using all of our money behind my back. I mean, I would’ve helped him... I would’ve done anything for him. I would’ve supported him through the struggle, like any partner in a marriage would. But he deliberately kept it secret for as long as possible and when he finally told me – only when the money was completely and utterly gone - it broke my heart. He lied until he couldn’t.
Because of Kevin, I have no savings left. No money in the bank. No inheritance in the pipeline. Nothing. All those years of my work gone into fueling his obsession without even asking for permission. People think I’m the bad guy because I like to keep things private and not air it in the open. I don’t tell everyone that Kevin’s got this problem and that he kept it a secret from his wife.
I never mentioned it to my family. I never asked for help, and especially not for pity. I wouldn’t be able to bear everyone’s pity.
I don’t want charity.
And, in Crystal River, no one actually understands why I left him. None of my old friends do. Kevin and I were meant to be the fairytale couple who were high school sweethearts. We were supposed to be a perfect family - we were supposed to be a couple that others would point at in the street and remark on our enduring love.
But it all went to shit because Kevin likes to keep a secret.
I’ve thought about giving him a second chance, but why should I? The last time we met, he screamed at me. He told me I was being a bitch. He said some horrible things to me that day – things that I never, ever want to relive. Things you simply don’t say to your wife.
I’ve heard of too many stories of women sticking by their abusive man, and I can now understand the situation they’re in and their thought process, but I resolved that wasn’t going to be me. No. Not when I had the lucky chance to leave.
I now work at The Oak to slowly save and rebuild my life. I allow myself no luxuries, and I budget every day like I’m on fire. I listen to podcasts about financial maturity. I read books authored by self-help gurus. I’ll do anything to get myself out of this sinking hole. And I’d rather deal with the comforting, repetitive motions of making coffees and taking orders over anything more stressful, like working in an office.
I want to end all this and actually divorce Kevin, but I don’t have the money or the emotional security to go through that whole... process. Separation and never seeing him again is the next best thing, even though it hurts me every single day.
Kevin doesn’t have any money due to his addiction, but I have been asking for some from him. I want a divorce lawyer to get me what I’m due, even if it’s a little bit of what I’m owed. That would be more than nothing.
I get so angry at him sometimes that I don’t sleep.
I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him. I certainly don’t ever want to see him again. The moment he sends me the last cent he owes me then I’m going to cut off all communication.
It’s so sad it makes me physically sick.
I close my eyes and try to block out thoughts of my ex. It’ll only make me suffer another restless night and another evening spent retching over the toilet.
I start to drift away instead, dreaming of Victor Penmayne gorging on an almond croissant in the back alleyway of The Oak.
12
JOSIE
I take in a deep breath and make the last, apprehensive step toward the counter. As I do so, it seems like the lights in the busy bank around me dim and that the constant chatter of the other people standing in the line goes quiet.
Yeah, it’s clear I am reaching my last chance of a future.
The teller behind the counter is an older woman. She peers at me expectedly through her dark-rimmed glasses as I approach.
Here goes...
