Getting settled in took… well, it took forever. Turns out that "buying a house" and "actually having the stuff you need to live in a house" are two very different things.
So, I caved and went shopping, and guess where I went first? The local Walmart. Look, I know I've got money now, but you can't just abandon the place that kept you stocked with ramen and off-brand cereal when times were tough. Besides, Walmart has everything. Plates? Check. Cups? Got 'em. And I even picked up this ridiculous little toothpick holder that looks like a tiny alien soldier, holding a toothpick like it's gearing up for a toothpick duel. Totally unnecessary. Absolutely a must-have.
After that, I hit up the marketplace, which I'd almost forgotten existed. They have this endless stockpile of stuff you didn't know you wanted—kitschy salt-and-pepper shakers, weird mugs, miniature houseplants that look like they're straight out of a fairy tale. My mom used to drag me here, spending half our grocery budget on things we definitely didn't need but couldn't resist. So, obviously, I honored the tradition and filled my cart with random, useless treasures.
By the time I got back and unloaded everything, my new place finally started looking less like a ghost town and more like… well, like a place someone actually lives in.
And then, right as I'm admiring my excellent taste in alien-themed toothpick holders, it hits me.
I left something really important back at the old apartment.
As I walk up to my old apartment, I'm hit by the full force of its… ambience. The hallway reeks of mildew, and I swear the floor's gotten stickier since I last walked on it. This used to be normal for me, and now? It's like walking through a haunted house, only the ghosts are bad choices and missed opportunities. Maybe I really have been living it up a little too much. Fancy rooms and luxury shampoos might be getting to me, because I can't imagine how I used to tolerate this place.
With a sigh that could power a wind turbine, I jam the key into the lock and push the door open.
The apartment is practically hollow now, barely recognizable as my own. I had dreams of making this place feel unique, maybe even cozy. I'd even bought some funky, mismatched furniture that my girlfriend hated, claiming it made the place look "juvenile." One by one, she replaced every piece with stuff that was cold, sleek, and soulless. The kind of furniture that screams "this could be anybody's place" and "I'm deeply afraid of personality."
But whatever, that's not why I'm here. I head straight for the bedroom, where the stale scent hits me. Ugh. The bed is still a disaster from… that incident. Yeah, the one where I came home to find her… entertaining company. My stomach twists. It's not pleasant to see the evidence of that moment still lying around, but I'm on a mission.
I kneel on the floor, digging through the mess under the bed, half-expecting to get bitten by a dust bunny. Shoes, piles of papers, random crumpled receipts—ugh, no bracelet. I keep digging, heart thumping harder with every piece of junk I toss aside. My mother's bracelet, with its old leather strap and beads she added each year to mark my birthday, has to be here somewhere.
"Arthur?"
Oh, for the love of… My fingers freeze, and a chill crawls up my spine. I don't need to turn around to recognize that voice. There's only one person who could manage to sound both innocent and insufferably smug at the same time. But I turn anyway, because of course, old habits and all that.
There she is, standing in the doorway like she owns the place. Her hair's cascading down her shoulders in these perfect waves, her makeup is flawless—just enough to look "effortlessly" perfect, as usual. She's looking at me like I'm some tragic figure she's just stumbled upon by accident, her face all soft and… pitying.
"Oh, hey," I say flatly, keeping one hand under the bed as if I might still find the bracelet in the next millisecond.
She tilts her head and gives me that sweet, wide-eyed look. "I didn't expect to see you here."
I shrug, trying not to look like I'm a breath away from slamming my head into the wall. "Yeah, just here to pick up a few things."
Her gaze drifts down to my hand under the bed, and she sighs like I'm the one causing a mess. "Arthur… if you're looking for that bracelet of yours, you won't find it."
The words punch through me, and I freeze. "What do you mean?"
She rolls her eyes, "Well, I sold it."
"You… sold it?" I say, each word slipping out as if it's acid.
She shrugs, lips pursing like she's doing me some massive favor by explaining. "Yeah, I mean, it's not like you were going to get much for it, but I figured you wouldn't notice. I needed the money for… well, things."
I stand up slowly, my mind racing between a hundred different things I want to say, all of which boil down to a single, blistering What is wrong with you?
"'Things,' huh?" I echo, my voice laced with as much sarcasm as I can manage. "And did 'things' also happen to include telling me you were pawning off my mom's bracelet?"
"Oh, Arthur." She waves a perfectly manicured hand, "It was just… sentimental stuff. I mean, who gets so attached to a piece of old jewelry?"
My jaw clenches so tight I'm surprised my teeth don't shatter. "That piece of jewelry happened to be the last thing my mother gave me before she passed away, but sure, let's just call it sentimental stuff, right?"
She rolls her eyes again, the barest hint of annoyance flashing across her face, like I'm inconveniencing her with all this talk about things that apparently have no value to her. "Arthur, you're being dramatic. It was a bracelet."
"Yeah. A bracelet. From my mother," I say, my voice deadpan, praying it's clear I'm a half second away from bolting out of here just so I don't do something I might regret.
She sighs, crossing her arms like she's the one suffering here. "Look, if you're going to be like this… maybe it's best you don't come back."
"Trust me," I say, backing toward the door, "you're not going to have to worry about that."
And with that, I'm out the door, out of the building, and out of her life—though she probably moved on from me ages ago, right around the time she found someone else's bed more inviting. I slam the door shut and walk out onto the street, hoping, somehow, to leave the past exactly where it belongs.