After that day I try to keep my distance from Jimmy. We don't talk. When he comes home, I'm already asleep, and in the morning he leaves early before I wake. It feels like we're avoiding each other.
Scrolling through my phone, I search for my previous landlord's number. I've decided—I'll move back to my old apartment. Finally, I find it and quickly type a message: Is my previous apartment still empty? I want to move back.
Now I wait for the reply. The silence suffocates me. Frustration builds, so I grab my jacket. I need a distraction. A club. Music. Whiskey. Anything.
Opening the door, I freeze. Jimmy is standing right there. He just got back from work.
For a second, I hesitate, then force a smile. "You came back."
His eyes scan me from head to toe. "Where are you going?"
"Club," I answer casually, trying to erase the tension from my voice. "Wanna join?"
"Nope." His reply is short, flat.
