Chapter 3: Salt on the Wound

Maya

The next three days passed slowly. I stayed on Kiki’s sofa, wearing a faded gray hoodie she lent me that smelled faintly of lavender detergent and stale tea. I didn't leave the apartment once. Most of my day was spent staring at a strip of off-white paint peeling from the corner of her ceiling, listening to the muffled hum of traffic on the wet street two floors below.

Kiki brought me bagels and hot chamomile, but my appetite was completely shot. Every time I tried to force a bite down, my stomach tightened into a hard, sour knot. My jaw stayed clenched even when I was trying to sleep.

On Friday afternoon, the rain finally stopped, leaving behind a cold, thick fog that pressed against the windowpanes. Kiki pulled on her boots to go down the street to the corner bodega for milk, eggs, and paper towels. She was only supposed to be gone for ten minutes, but fifteen minutes went by before I heard her key scrape against the lock.

She shut the front door hard behind her, the heavy wooden frame rattling in its socket.

I sat up on the sofa, rubbing my dry eyes with the back of my hand. "What happened?"

Kiki set the plastic grocery bag onto her small kitchen counter with a sharp plastic thud. Her face was flushed, her dark eyebrows drawn tight together in a hard, furious line.

"I ran into Sarah on the corner," Kiki said, kicking her boots off into the entryway mat. Sarah was an older girl who lived in my old apartment building, two doors down from the unit I had shared with Trevor.

"Okay?" I asked, pulling the hood of the sweater over my head.

"She told me what's going on at your place," Kiki said. She pulled out one of the wooden dining chairs from the small kitchen table, dragged it over to the sofa, and sat down directly across from me. "Trevor was outside an hour ago."

I felt a dull, heavy thud in the center of my chest, but my face didn't move. I kept my hands buried inside the front pocket of the hoodie. "What was he doing?"

"He had his silver sedan parked up on the curb right in front of the gate with the trunk popped wide open," Kiki said flatly, her voice tight with anger. "Sarah said he was carrying large cardboard boxes and a metal suit rack out of his trunk and hauling them right up the stairs into Colette's apartment."

I stared at her for a long moment, processing the image in my head. "He's moving in with her?"

"Yes," Kiki said, resting her elbows on her knees. "And that's not even the worst part. Colette was standing out by the front gate in her pink silk bathrobe, holding the iron door open for him while he carried his stuff inside. Sarah said they looked completely comfortable, like they'd been planning it for weeks."

I didn't yell. I didn't break anything, and I didn't start crying. The sharp, overwhelming panic from Tuesday night was gone, replaced by a cold, heavy stillness that settled into my bones.

Trevor didn't feel an ounce of guilt. He didn't care that he had ruined my life, or that I had worked double shifts at the diner until my feet bled just so he could afford to register his fake consulting company. He didn't care that I gave up my spot at the ballet academy for him. He simply needed a place to sleep without paying rent, and my mother offered him a bed. He had traded me for my thirty-six-year-old mother in less than seventy-two hours because it was easy.

"Hand me my phone," I said.

Kiki looked at me carefully, her eyes narrowing. "Maya, don't call him. He isn't worth the breath."

"I'm not calling Trevor," I said. My voice was steady, almost monotone. "Hand me the phone, Kiki."

Kiki reached into her tote bag on the counter, pulled my phone out, and handed it over. I held down the power button, waited for the screen to light up, and opened my settings. I unblocked Colette's contact number and pressed the call button.

She answered on the second ring.

"Maya?" Colette's voice drifted through the small phone speaker. She sounded calm, completely relaxed, as if she were taking a routine call from a grocery store clerk. "Are you ready to stop being dramatic now?"

"You're moving him into your apartment," I said. I leaned my head back against the wall behind the sofa.

"Trevor needed a place to stay," Colette said, her tone unbothered and dismissive. "He couldn't afford your lease on his own after you threw a fit and walked out on him. I'm just helping him out until he gets back on his feet. You can't expect a grown man to sleep in his car, Maya."

"You are a disgusting human being," I said quietly.

"Oh, please don't start with the dramatic victim act again," Colette snapped, her voice turning sharp and annoyed. "You left him. You packed your bags and ran off to sit on Kiki's couch like a child. What he does now is none of your concern. You were always too stubborn and cold for him anyway. He needed someone who actually paid attention to him."

"If you ever try to contact me again, I will come back to that building and throw every single thing you own straight into the street," I told her, every word deliberate and slow. "Do not call me. Do not look for me. You don't have a daughter anymore."

"Maya, listen to me—"

I hung up before she could finish the sentence. I re-blocked her number, did the exact same thing to Trevor's contact, and set the phone face down on the low wooden coffee table between us.

Kiki watched me silently from her wooden chair. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I said.

And for the first time since walking into my bedroom three days ago, I actually meant it. The heavy, suffocating sadness in my chest had evaporated. I just felt clean, cold, and clear-headed.

"He's a literal parasite," Kiki muttered, shaking her head.

"He's handsome," I said, looking past her out the window at the gray sky. "That's his real problem. He grew up with a symmetrical face and blue eyes, so people always gave him what he wanted without him having to work for it. He thinks he can cheat, lie, and take advantage of women because he knows someone will always give him a pass for looking good."

"Most handsome guys are like that," Kiki agreed quietly, pulling her legs up onto the chair. "They think they're doing you a favor just by standing in the same room."

"I'm done with them," I said, turning my head to look at her. "I am never going near a good-looking man again."

Kiki raised an eyebrow at me. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's simple logic," I said, resting my chin in my hand. "Ugly men don't have options. Women aren't throwing themselves at them on the street, in restaurants, or at work. An ugly man knows he isn't pretty, so he actually has to bring something else to the table. He stays loyal because he knows how hard it is to get a woman in the first place."

Kiki stared at me for a few seconds, her mouth slightly open, before letting out a short, quiet snort. "Are you actually being serious right now?"

"Completely," I said. "I gave two years of my life to a pretty boy who lived off my diner tips and slept with my mother. From now on, I'm using my head. I'm going to find a plain, ugly man with money, fix my life, and never look back."

Kiki leaned back in her chair, studying my face to see if I was joking. When she realized I wasn't, she slowly nodded. "Well... at least you have a plan."