Byron: Babe, you know you’re the only one in the world for me. You’re my princess. You’re the most important person in my whole universe. I made a mistake. Please don’t punish me. We can talk. We can sort this out. I’ll pay for counseling. I’ll do anything!
I don’t even consider typing anything nasty in response. That would be low, and I’m not stooping to his level, in that direction, or any other. I’m done with Byron. We were one of those couples who should have broken up instead of getting engaged, so it’s better that he did something before we had to go to the lawyers and pay a bunch of money to undo something else.
Still, I really can’t handle this right now. In an hour, I’m supposed to go into a meeting with the rest of the company to get introduced to our new CEO, so I’m trying to focus on that and get into work mode. I’m also scared the jerkus of a CEO is going to ruin our company. Ever since I heard the news, I’ve been sweating about losing my job. Honestly, we’re all scared, and coming into work the past week hasn’t exactly been fun.
Byron: Sugarplum! Love of my life! Juliet to my Romeo! Please, come down and talk to me!
Oh no. He did not just invoke the bard. He’s gone too far now.
I push back from my desk and fly out of my office. With purpose, I stride down the hall on the ground floor, take a right so hard at the reception desk that I nearly slip and fall on the tile floor—which would probably ensure a broken hip even at the age of thirty-one—and push out the glass door, right out in the streets.
Byron is right there. He really wasn’t kidding about being on the doorstep.
“No!” I hiss before he can say a word. I jam a finger in his direction. “Just, no! There is nothing to say. We are done. Over. I’m changing my number as of freaking tonight, and the locks were changed days ago. You were warned. Anything you didn’t come to get that day after your little performance is going to get burned. I’m done. We’re done—end of story. Please leave here and don’t come back. Don’t come to my house, and don’t come anywhere near me. If you do, I’ll call the police and file a restraining order. I don’t want you in my life. I can’t be any clearer than that.”
“Jeez,” Byron sulks. He’s one of those overgrown man-child types. I mean, he’s handsome if you like shaggy blonde hair and the surfer kind of look. He would do alright in California, but we live in freaking St. Louis, so the vibe is kind of tiresome, especially since he’s pushing thirty-five. “Redheads really do have serious attitude problems.”
“My hair is dyed, you freaking moron!” I’m finished with this conversation. I can’t even shake my head at his stupidity. Sure, I have fire engine red hair. But yeah, like as if it’s natural. Byron has known me for three years, and I just started dyeing it last year because I wanted a change. I’d never done something funky, but when I finally did, I loved the look and decided to roll with it.
“What did you do with my laptop?”
Great. I just knew this was going to spiral down into a muck pit of grasping and moaning about the shit he left behind. I knew it was never actually about me because Byron cared more about living with me for free and letting me support him than he ever did about me as an actual person.
“I burnt it.”
“No!” Byron’s eyes get impossibly large and nearly goggle straight out of his head. “You didn’t!”
“I actually didn’t, but I did say you had one day, and you told me you already had all the shit you wanted. I literally have written evidence. So, if you want your laptop back, go down the street a couple of blocks over and check with the homeless guy who sits in front of the mall. It really made his day when I dropped it in his lap.”
“You bitch!” Byron growled.
“Mmmhmm.”
“I want the ring back! It’s mine!”
You are seriously a loathsome, shitsome ballbag. I don’t let that out because, shit, I don’t want to encourage Byron to stick around a second longer. “It was actually mine. Anyhow, it’s also been donated to someone who needed it more than either of us. If you really want to buy it back, check the pawn shops around here. I’m sure that’s where it ended up.”
“You…you…”
“You know what? I’m done with this. You need to leave, or I’ll go in and get security.”
Byron’s tanned face becomes a shade brighter than my hair, which is incredibly impressive given that my hair is an amazing shade of wonderful. It was professionally done by a very talented stylist who I always tip well because she works miracles. Miracles, people.