Pete’s presence was a rush of reality. Of resentment. I was suddenly infuriated that he existed. That I’d invited him into my life, committed myself to him.
He didn’t even look up from his phone when I walked into the apartment. That was good. I was afraid he’d see the guilt I wore. That he’d see something was utterly and fundamentally changed about me. That the dark and twisted parts of me raised just underneath my skin were impossible to miss.
But I was expecting far too much of Pete. To see what I’d done, he’d have to really see me. He never really had, and that had never been more obvious or inescapable than it was right now.
“Hey, babe,” he said distractedly.
“Hi,” I said, forcing my voice to sound as normal as I could.
What was normal? I was trying desperately to remember how I used to act before last night.
I placed my purse on the sideboard, frowning at the mess of takeout on our coffee table. There was a beer sweating on the wood without a coaster.
I gritted my teeth. Now was really not the time to comment on the lack of a coaster. His worst sin was putting a ring on our reclaimed wood coffee table, mine was letting a stranger fuck me all night.
I walked farther into our apartment, waiting for that thing to hit. The thing that I’d worked very hard and spent a lot of money to create. The thing that I hadn’t had my entire childhood. What washed over you when you walked into a place that was yours. A home.
Our space was large. Large enough for us to have a full sized, white sectional in our open plan living room. One I vacuumed and shampooed weekly. That I arranged the cushions on every morning. I moved woodenly, bending to fold the expensive mohair throw that Pete had left on the floor the night before. The windows gleamed, letting the morning light in because I cleaned them religiously and because I needed natural light. That’s what sold the apartment. It was bathed in it. The white kitchen with its gleaming countertops—well, usually gleaming, they were covered in crumbs currently. The dining nook where I sat with my morning coffee. My bookshelves were color coded, filled with my favorite books, first editions. Everything about my space—our space—was designed to separate me from my past. To show where my hard work had brought me, even if Pete technically bought the apartment.
It was my salary that paid most of the bills since he had invested a lot of his trust fund into some new app idea. He was cagey about the details, superstitious, but he told me it would be the next big thing, and we’d make millions. I smiled tightly whenever he said this.
Before the app had been the chain of gyms that turned into bars. Before those had been a ride-sharing service that was clumsily designed and didn’t measure up to its competitors. Pete was desperate to be the innovator of something. To become a name. The last thing he wanted was to be like his father, the real estate mogul whose money made it possible for Pete to invest and fail in all of his business ventures.
That hadn’t bothered me. I knew for men like Pete, from families like his, he would never be cut off.
At the beginning, it attracted me. His creativity. His need to make his own name, to live outside of the norms. Then I realized his creativity was just flakiness. His vision was delusion. His confidence poorly masked insecurity. He was just an ordinary trust fund kid trying to be interesting.
Maybe that was part of the reason why this place didn’t feel like home. Though that probably had more to do with me opening my eyes to the fact that I didn’t really love Pete. That I was beginning to despise him. That I had for quite some time.
“I’m late to work. I stayed at Jessica’s last night.” The lie came smoothly as I crossed the room toward our bedroom.
“Uh huh,” he said, glancing up from his phone. “Figured as much.”
My teeth grated together. My fiancé hadn’t heard from me in twenty-four hours, I didn’t come home, and he didn’t so much as text me to ask where I was because he ‘figured’ I was staying at my best friend’s. Like it was something I did often.
It was not.
Not once had I stayed at Jessica’s. I did not like to stay anywhere, even my best friend’s place. Pete knew this.
“I won’t be home until late, I’ll have to catch up,” I continued, voice tight. That was partly true, I had a lot of work to do. But mostly I wanted to be away from this apartment as much as possible. I was already planning on making sure I didn’t get in until he was asleep.