Page 14

“Home sweet home,” I said, eyeing the orangey pine headboards on the two full beds, the minuscule table for two—though I was reasonably sure two plates could never fit on the little round tabletop—and the cabinets in the itty-bitty kitchenette. I had a sink, a microwave, and an apartment-sized fridge.

Really, it wasn’t bad.

Sure, I had neighbors. Sometimes they were loud or invasive or, yes, creepy. But some part of me was happy not to be completely alone.

And, hey, this was mine. For however long I wanted to stay, this place was mine. Not Perry’s. I paid for the room. I bought the food in the fridge. I could come and go as I pleased. I could wear my pajamas all day or eat junk food in front of the TV. And no one could stop me.

I stepped out of my shoes and into my slippers, then made my way to the kitchen, pulling open the freezer to check out my selection of frozen dinners I’d bought on clearance.

One big perk to doing gig work that had me shopping for other people is that I was always aware of when a great sale was going on somewhere, so I could stock my own fridge and freezer at the lowest price possible.

And for the time being, I had to watch every single penny. Divorce, it seemed, was a lot more expensive than you’d think.

I grabbed a box of fettuccine Alfredo. No protein. No veggies. I felt the familiar tug in my stomach, Perry’s presence still inside me, his words still in my mind.

“That is all carbs. I don’t want you getting fat. Eat a salad instead.”

I pierced the plastic with a little more force than necessary, feeling like throwing the plastic tray into the microwave was an act of rebellion.

I changed out of my street clothes and into a cheap set of sweats I’d bought at a big box store that Perry would have wrinkled his nose at, then sat down with my pasta and a side of chips, feeling the weight I’d been carrying on my shoulders all day fall away.

I put on some trashy TV as I ate and scrolled through job listings.

For the time being, gig work was, well, working for me. It allowed me to work as much—or as little—as I wanted, depending on my mood and needs. I mean, mostly, the ‘need’ was high. Especially with more lawyer fees coming up. And in an area as densely populated as Navesink Bank, it meant that I was never short for gigs.

My favorite were the grocery shopping ones. For years when living with Perry, I hadn’t stepped foot in a grocery store. He didn’t trust me to ‘make the right decisions’ when it came to what food to buy, so he ordered them to be delivered to the door.

Walking around and seeing all the new snacks that were available had been like visiting a new country and checking out the local foods.

The first time I had a little money leftover after paying for my room and data for my phone, I splurged on all of the treats that sounded appealing.

Had I gained some weight from it?

Probably.

But I also wasn’t paying attention. Not the way I had to when living with Perry, who, when he thought I’d put on a pound or two, had me strip naked and step on the bathroom scale in front of him. If the number wasn’t what he wanted to see—which was five pounds less than when he’d first met and ‘fallen in love with’ me—he would put me on a strict diet and exercise routine.

I didn’t own a scale anymore.

My only form of exercise was walking up and down stores shopping for other people all day.

Not finding any ‘normal’ jobs that seemed worth giving up the freedom of gig work, I brought up Janet and Jill’s newest video, liked and commented, hit play, and set it to mute as I watched a bunch of rich people on TV manufacture stupid drama while I ate.

It wasn’t long, though, before my mind was drifting.

For once, not back to all the red flags I should have seen with Perry early on in our relationship—back when I could have still freed myself before I’d gotten too sucked in.

Nope.

Instead, I was thinking about what work-roughened hands might feel like sliding over my skin. What kind of shivers his deep voice would create when spoken in my ear while his body weight pressed me into the mattress and—

The door in the room next to mine slammed, making me jerk back to the present.

“That stupid, lying, fucking whore!” my neighbor raged, storming through his room.

Right.

That right there was why I’d sworn off men.