Page 30 of Stay Scared

Cade’s mask angles toward me. “Owen didn’t build our apartment.”

“You gave them the memories.”

“I did.”

I turn toward the photographs. “You preserved all this because you think remembering makes you right.”

“I kept it because you made forgetting me look easy.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The song restarts before reaching the end.

I walk toward the narrow hallway. The bedroom door stands half open, with a pair of my old boots waiting near the wall, toes scuffed from years of kicking them off without loosening the laces. The bathroom light shines over products I stopped buying long ago, and only part of the bed is visible beyond the doorway.

The left side is unmade. Cade used to sleep there even after I started choosing the couch following arguments. He slept turned toward my side, one hand extended across the mattress.

I look away.

Our final argument happened in this hallway because neither of us gave the other enough room to retreat.

Cade stands in the doorway behind me with one shoulder against the frame. He used to watch me dress from there. Sometimes I made him wait until the zipper was closed. Sometimes I crossed the room and put his hands exactly where I wanted them.

The skull mask turns the memory dirtier.

“You blocked this doorway.”

“You were packing.”

“I was trying to get around you.”

“You wouldn’t look at me.”

“You kept deciding that meant you could stop me.”

My suitcase waits near the bedroom door, and that hurts more than the photographs. It is the same faded black case, including the strip of duct tape near one wheel. Clothing spills over the open edge, and a sweater I remember leaving behind lies on top.

“You described the suitcase.”

“I remembered what you packed.”

“You inspected it while I was leaving?”

“I was trying to figure out if you were coming back.”

“I told you I didn’t.”

“You said a lot of shit while you were angry.”

“And you heard only the parts you wanted.”

Cade steps into the hallway, his shoulders taking up most of it.

“You said you needed air.”

“I needed space that stayed mine.”