Page 33 of Leverage & Obedience

There’s a lease renewal sitting on my kitchen counter that the landlord dropped off in case my work assignment was extended. I didn’t ask for it, but I also didn’t decline it. It’s been sitting there for a week.

I don’t turn on a light. I don’t need to see the lease mocking me.

I sit on the couch in my work clothes, and suddenly my knees are pulled up to my chest and I’m rocking. That’s when the crying starts. No sound. Just a stream soaking into my blouse. My chest hitches in tight little pulls. I press my hand against my mouth to muffle the sound, even though there’s no one here to care.

I sit like that for a long time. When my neighbor turns off their loud TV, I know it’s late.

My phone is in my purse on the floor, and I don’t bother with it. He’s not going to text. He opened up to me, and I left. He didn’t chase me then, so he’s not going to now.

When I finally lie down on the couch, I pull the throw blanket over me and close my eyes.

I don’t sleep. I just lose chunks of time without meaning to.

My body is trained for my work schedule, and I wake up at 5:14 still in yesterday’s clothes.

The first thing I do is fish my phone out of my purse. The notification tray is empty. I put it face down on the coffee table.

I’m not going to work, and I’m not calling in sick. HR can figure out what to do when a temp vanishes. I don’t have the energy.

My back hurts from the couch, and my mouth tastes terrible. I pass the bathroom and end up at the refrigerator with the door open. I’m looking at a container of leftover teriyaki chicken from last week. I can’t remember why I came over here.

I’m a stranger in my own kitchen, looking at a stranger’s food. I close the fridge.

Whatever this is, I can’t name it yet. I’m not allowed to be this empty over a man I’m not even dating.

But I am.

I go back to the couch.

The day disappears in pieces. My thumb taps the phone awake every twenty minutes, looking for a text that never comes. I drink half a glass of water and forget I drank it. Food isn’t happening.

Every time I pass the lease on the counter, I tell myself to toss it in the trash. Even that’s too much effort.

It gets dark. I leave the lamp off.

I finally shower on Friday morning because I’ve started smelling like a person who needs a family intervention. I stand under the water until it goes lukewarm. By the time I’m in clean leggings and a t-shirt, I’m feeling a little more human.

I dial the staffing agency, and a woman named Janet answers. She has a warm voice but sounds like she’s doing three things at once. I give her my name and my contract number. She pulls up my file and makes a sympathetic noise.

“We were sorry to hear about the Harrison placement ending early. They gave you great feedback.”

“Yeah, it didn’t work out.”

“Understood. So, where are you thinking next? We’ve got openings in Raleigh, a great one in Atlanta—actually, there’s a law firm in Savannah that specifically requested someone with financial services experience…”

“Charlotte.”

It comes out before my brain can stop it.

“You want to stay in Charlotte?”

“Yes.”

“Let me check.” Her keyboard clicks. “There are a couple of possibilities. Give me a day or two. I might have something perfect for you.”

“Great. Thanks.”

I hang up and stare at the wall. I’ve never requested the same city before.