A little further down, I passed the bus stop. Once, after a fight, I'd jumped out of the car and bolted. He chased me down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into his chest. I struggled twice but couldn't break free. He told me to knock it off, said we'd talk about it at home. I said I wasn't going home. So he threw me over his shoulder.
I kicked him. He smacked my butt and said if I kicked him again, he'd toss me in the dumpster.
The people waiting at the stop all laughed.
I laughed too. And somewhere in the laughing, I stopped being angry.
I was twenty-four then. He was twenty-six.
I thought that was forever.
Now I looked up at the same bus stop. Empty. Rain had soaked the bench through. A flyer on the ad board was waterlogged, its edges peeling, drooping down like something giving up.
I stood there for a while. Drenched to the bone. Hair plastered to my face. Water running down my neck and pooling inside my collar.
Then I kept walking.
At the apartment gate, Old Mr. Barrow leaned out of the guard booth. "Oh, honey, look at you! You're soaked through. Come in and dry off!"
I waved him off, swiped my card, and went in.
I was alone in the elevator. The mirror showed me a wreck of a person. Hair hanging in wet clumps. Eye makeup smeared into two dark streaks down my face. Clothes clinging to my body like I'd just been fished out of a river.
I stared at the woman in the mirror.
Who was she?
I'd followed her for ten years, and suddenly I didn't recognize her.
The elevator doors opened. I stepped out, fumbled for my keys, unlocked the door.
The apartment was dark.
I didn't turn on the lights. Just stood in the entryway, breathing in the familiar scent. The lemongrass diffuser I'd bought. He said it smelled like dish soap. I told him he didn't know the first thing about anything.
His car keys were still sitting on the entryway console. He'd taken my car to the bar tonight, said his had an odd plate number and couldn't be on the road.
His shoes were on the rack. Sneakers tossed at lazy angles, sprawled next to my boots, which were lined up perfectly.
In the living room, the instant noodle cup from last night was still sitting on the coffee table. He hadn't thrown it away.
His jacket was draped over the couch, tossed there when he left that morning. I hadn't folded it. Just left it where it landed.