sunday
Tamara comes into the apartment, not sure what horror to expect, especially late on a Saturday night. Just the thought of another night at Barbie’s is worse than dealing with Q. She needs resolution.
Unlocking the door, her nose twitches as she reaches for the light. It smells different. No pot anyway. What is that odour? Perfume?
As light floods the living room she is startled to see that everything is in order. Neat. No dead bottles or pizza boxes, or ashtrays. Well. Now that she sees this unnatural sight she can identify the smell– the perfume is Febreze. Maybe he’s trying to change …
Wait a minute. Why is she giving him credit for this.
She knows Q.
No way. Q does not clean.
It was probably the cunt he was fucking who cleaned the place up for him.
Tamara’s moment of happiness is killed by fury that Q fucked another woman in her bed. The man she married wouldn’t have done that.
Bastard.
Tamara sets down the cheap empty suitcase she’s brought in the doorway. She’d better go see if he’s here before packing. Make sure he’s not fucking anyone else right now. Although, Saturday night. Great night for partying. Even students who work at their courses are out partying tonight.
Taking a deep breath — Febreze, shit — Tamara goes down the little hall to the bedroom. The bimbo probably bought it. Q would never … And she opens the door. The window is open a crack, the bed is made, hell, it looks laundered. Clean sheets. Smells fresher in here. Hiding the evidence no doubt.
She opens her side of the closet. Reaching in she freezes seeing his side only holds empty hangers. Tamara’s breath catches in her throat and she sinks down on the bed.
Shit.
He’s moved out. Tamara bursts into tears.
Bastard.
