The Girl I Used to Be(98)

I took the bottle and my glass upstairs with me. I needed oblivion tonight and this was the quickest way there.

When I got to my bedroom door I knew what to expect, but still, the sight of the quilt cover, fresh and clean, upset me again. I’d changed the bed linen the Sunday before and just by chance had put on the burgundy cover he’d brought with him when he moved in. That was gone now; the quilt cover and pillowcases on our bed were embroidered white cotton, mine from long before I’d met him.

I steeled myself and opened his wardrobe doors. Of course it was empty. Wire hangers hung on the rail and there wasn’t even the faintest smell of his cologne. There didn’t seem much point in checking the drawers, but I did anyway. I opened each one and they were as empty as the day I bought them.

I took off my clothes and dropped them in the empty laundry basket in the bathroom, found my oldest and softest cotton pajamas and put them on, all the while avoiding my reflection in the mirror over my chest of drawers. I was too mortified to see my own face.

In bed as the night grew dark, with just the light from the landing coming through to the room, I poured glass after glass of wine and drank it without tasting it. I reached into the bottom drawer of my bedside dresser and found my headphones. They were the kind that canceled noise, just what I needed tonight, when I didn’t want to hear anything, not even my own thoughts. In the darkness of the room, I could feel my head buzzing and my cheeks tightening as the alcohol entered my bloodstream. I took the pillow from Matt’s side of the bed and curled into it. It smelled clean and fresh; there was no trace of him there. Tears ran down my face and no matter how many times I dried it, within seconds it was drenched again. When I thought of him packing up everything and leaving me without a word, without a hint that he was going, I felt like a fist was clenching my heart, squeezing it tight. I could hardly breathe.

Where was he?