Porcelain by Moby
In My Arms by Kylie Minogue
Sea of Love by Cat Power
Bare Bones by Rainbow Kitten Surprise
ILYSB by LANY
Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
Here Comes the Rain Again by Eurythmics
Pull Me Down by Mikky Ekko
Toledo by Elvis Costello
Believer by Imagine Dragons
I Need My Girl by The National
Fancy by Iggy Azalea
Farther Figure by George Michael
Million Reasons by Lady Gaga
Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley
Hands Clean by Alanis Morrissette
After The Storm by Mumford & Sons
Tears Dry On Their Own by Amy Winehouse
Somewhere Only We Know by Lily Allen
Fade by Egyptian
For my B
Early July 2018
I count out the wad of bills, each of them eventually leading up to two hundred pounds. The man in front of me looks at the cash, probably annoyed I’m making sure it’s all there. His scent of stale tobacco and beer fills the small flat, but I say nothing. In fact, I’d love it if the scent lingered long after he was gone, long after I’m gone too.
But I doubt I’ll be so lucky.
“You sure you’re okay with parting with all this for two hundred quid? I mean, it must have cost you at least nine hundred.”
It was nearly two thousand, but I don’t tell him that.
His deep voice yanks me away from my counting, and I pocket the cash into my skintight black jeans, hoping he paid in full. To be honest, I don’t really care if he didn’t. This transaction is a symbolic act more than anything; I won’t even keep the money. Bobby the homeless man on the corner could use it more than me. Hell, maybe the two of us could grab a pint before my departure.
“Lass?”
I’m pulled out of my tangled thoughts, my attention redirected to the big burly Kevin. Wait, is that his name? Maybe it’s Cullum. Who knows at this point? It honestly doesn’t matter. After today I won’t see him or anyone in this town again. I guess I should feel sad. Edinburgh isn’t a bad place, and I’ve even come to love it over the past six months I’ve lived here. Too bad it took one night to taint the entire thing.
“Sorry,” I quickly reply, trying to sound attentive. “No, it’s honestly no problem. I’m moving soon anyway and can’t keep it.”
He nods, his long salt-and-pepper beard moving up and down with his face. “Well, I guess it’s my luck then to stumble upon your ad. Whereabouts are you moving to?”
“London,” I reply, hoping we can move this all along so I can continue to pack. Kevin or whatever his name is genuinely seems curious, his attention not causing me discomfort, but if it did, I’d have no issue pulling out the pepper spray I keep nearby.
“I can hear that classy accent of yours. You’re definitely a London girl, although I have to say you don’t look too posh.” He chuckles to himself, as if it’s some big revelation that my tattoos, combat boots, and jeans aren’t exactly blue-blooded.
I squint at him, not sure how to respond.
“Now I see why I’m getting such a deal.” I know what he’s implying, that I come from money so I don’t need money, but that’s not the full case. Sure, my parents have money, but I’ve been independent from them for years.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” I lie, “but packing calls.”
He quickly grabs the TV and I pick up the stereo, then walk him to his car so I can continue to get my things together. He carefully places all Beck’s shit in the backseat.
“You have a good day, lass,” he says, rounding the car and pulling open the creaky driver’s-side door. The car jolts as he jumps into the driver’s seat, a shit-eating grin on his face.
I give a half-hearted wave before retreating into the flat.
I look at the empty TV stand, the space where the stereo went next to it, also bare.
He is going to lose his shit.
A smirk double the size of Kevin’s overtakes my face.
I don’t have to wait long for the reaction, because an hour later I’m sitting in our living room, boots propped up against his coffee table, my Betsy Johnson suitcase at my side, when he comes home. I’ve made sure to have my makeup done, bleached hair straight, just resting upon my shoulders.
My eyes are locked on the front door when he enters, his hair disheveled and some slight stubble growing on his chin. It’s unfortunate he’s so pretty and has a fit body to match, because his personality is probably the worst fucking thing in the world. His eyes are laced with deception and his lips tainted with venom. Every kiss, every promise he’s made me over the past year has been a lie. While I changed my entire life for him, moved countries and left my friends and family, he’s been fucking some whore down the road.
“Lottie,” he says, taken aback when he sees me, probably because he assumed I’d be at work. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that his ruffled collar and ruffled hair are the result of his latest girl.
Since I found out about his little rendezvous over two weeks ago, I’ve been avoiding him like the plague, taking more shifts at work and planning my escape back home. Sure, I might have had a slight slip-up and slept with him the other night after an entire bottle of whiskey, but what can I say, I was so blind drunk it could have been anyone. Seeing his smug face the next morning was the stark wake-up I needed to get my ass into gear. I knew instantly I had to get out this week.
I smile at him, and it’s completely calculated and probably slightly deranged, but that’s the point.
“Lottie?” He squints at me before finally looking around the room. When he spots the missing TV, I can see the wheels churning in his mind. Beck knows how I am—hell, we’ve been together over two years. That’s why I’m so shocked he didn’t expect me to retaliate earlier. I live by extreme emotions and I’m highly loyal, to the point of blindness clearly, but this past week has also taught me I’m highly reactive too. Hence all his sold electronics.
“Lottie, what the fuck did you do?” he yells, spit flying out of his mouth.
I unhook my legs, the studs on my boots clicking together. Standing tall, I look him directly in the eye.
“Well, Beck, I sold them.”
His face distorts, crimson overtaking it in patches. “What do you mean you sold them?”
“Let’s just call them payment for emotional damages.” I lift my suitcase handle up, beginning my retreat from the living room, from this life.
Beck pulls at the strands of his hair, looking around as if everything might somehow reappear.
“You crazy fucking bitch!” he screams in my face as I walk by him. I stay neutral, not responding his reaction, which only furthers his anger.
“What, you’re pissed I cheated on you? And so you fucking sell my shit. Wow, so fucking mature, Lottie.”
“Goodbye, Beck,” I tell him, not giving in to the plethora of swear words I want to hurl at him. I already did that when I found out. You see, I’ve never been one to contain my anger well; my dad always called me a firecracker for a reason. But today feels different. Selling the stuff we got together when we moved here, the stuff I didn’t want to waste thousands of pounds on but he insisted on having, the stuff that because I loved him, I gave in about… Selling all that shit was liberating, if I’m being honest.